Miranda Books Novels & Stories

But the tension in the air is like a knife cutting through your skin. What the hell happened here? HER SWEET REVENGE.. By: favorfollowme Blurb: Miranda has died twice-each time betrayed by the man she loved: Alpha Lorenzo. But this is her last life. The Moon Goddess has returned her memories, her power... and her chance at revenge. No longer the naïve girl he once fooled, Miranda now hides her heart and sharpens her claws. She'll pretend to love him-just long enough to destroy him. But the deeper she goes, the more secrets she uncovers: a broken fated bond, a cursed bloodline, and a love she never saw coming. This time, Miranda won't die for love. She will rise-for vengeance, for truth... an

she asked, her voice low and conspiratorial. Fel's eyes widened in excitement. "Yes, please do!" she said eagerly. "Well, the truth is...I'm not really a commoner," Miranda began slowly, her eyes darting nervously to Fel's face. Fel's expression changed from one of amusement to one of surprise. "What do you mean?" she asked. "I mean, I'm not just a maid," Miranda explained. "I'm actually a black blood.” Fel's eyes widened even more in shock. "You mean a witch?" she asked, almost breathless.

As we hung up, I then put a call into my dear friend, and witch, Miranda. Miranda was a childhood friend of mine. She is a witch with various powers that exceed the traditional witches doing spells. She can identify if magic has been used in a situation, what spells or potions might have been used and a bunch of other things, even I can’t fully understand. I needed to talk to her about what was going on and get her here as fast as possible.

“Esmerelda is not responsible for what happened to Melanie. Nor is she a police officer who is required to investigate what happened. She’s a guest in this house just like the rest of you. I would appreciate your consideration in this matter.” Ignoring the open glowering and snide remarks that were being whispered about me and my association with the very coveted Lance Northrup, I closed my eyes to see if I could get an impression from the house as to what happened. All I could get were the words, ‘The other side of the mirror.’ They made absolutely no sense to me, even though they sounded in my head over and over again. Frustrated and irritated, I walked to the far side of the room, a

’ And then I heard it. A low, groaning scrape from the stairwell. I darted up the steps, taking them three at a time, stumbling over debris. The door to the west wing was ajar—splintered. Inside books scattered. Mirrors cracked. Tapestries shredded. And in the middle of it all— Miranda. Our beloved head maid. Pinned beneath a fallen shelf. Her arms bled. Her face was bruised. But her eyes, oh her eyes—they were still fire. “Thank the devils, you are fine..”

Damien’s research couldn’t be continued by anyone. Then, Mira stopped when she spotted a brown leather journal on the desk. It had a name written on the bottom left of the book. “Mirabelle...” she said, tracing her fingers on the engraved name. She opened the journal and her legs buckled when she saw a picture of her mother with her baby bump, presumably before she told her father about the child. “Mira,” Winston called her. “She looked so happy,” Mira sobbed. The doors swung open and a guard entered. He stared back and forth between Mira who was holding onto the journal and Winston who was holding explosives.

“I’m listening.” Mirrie smiled. “Well, first and most obviously, to hide.” “From me?” he asked quietly, and with no anger. He understood her choices now, he really did. “Partly, yeah. Partly I was trying to hide from the MC. But really, I was trying to disguise myself from everyone who may have known me before.” “Before you were Miranda Campbell.” “Right. I mean, like I told you, I left Denver when I was eleven, but I came back and worked here after I finished high school, so some people did know me from my office job.”

the spirit mused then invited, "come over to the bookshelf. It's time we conducted a little research." Miranda rose her eyebrows in bewilderment and shook her head, "I guess." She sighed out, then she approached the bookshelf where the ghost started to point out which books Miranda needed to read. By the time Miranda sat at the small table, she had up to ten books piled on the wooden surface. "Now, let's start with The Legends of the Wolfe, then we'll read Creatures of the Moon, Myths Versus Facts, then we can go from there." The ghost coached.

I stare at the screen for a second and turn off the phone, putting it face down on the table. --- I watch it that night, alone, with the door locked and only the desk lamp on. Miranda is sitting on what looks like the edge of a bed, hands folded so tight her knuckles have gone pale, like she's holding herself together by pressure alone. "My name is Miranda. I'm doing this because I can't carry it by myself anymore." She says they met at a bar. That he bought her a drink, that he'd clearly had several before that. That he asked her out and she said no, and he laughed it off, told her to get home safe.

“Quiet doesn’t mean unbothered. Just good at hiding it.” We fell into silence. The only sound was distant thunder rumbling above ground. I wondered how long we’d be down here. Minutes stretched. My mind wandered to how close he was. How alone we were. “Tell me something,” I said finally. “Why’d you become a librarian? You don’t seem like the type who likes being stuck behind a desk all day.” Mr. Kane exhaled softly. “Books don’t talk back. They don’t expect small talk. I like the order. And the stories. What about you? History major with a focus on obscure trade? That’s not common.”