Novelas y relatos de Morgana

“I don’t know anyone named Morgana. I know her as V.” “What does she look like?” “She uses disguises. Sometimes she’s tall and blonde, sometimes she’s short, curvy and African American. Its changed each time I’ve been near her, but she smells the same. A strange burning metallic overlayed with a mustiness, like mold. But she tries to cover it with perfume. Her voice hasn’t changed either, but I know she can do that too.” I nod, not surprised by his information. “Who is he planning on attacking next?”

His gaze froze on a figure lying motionless just ahead. It was Morgana. She lay crumpled on the blood-soaked ground, her once-proud robes drenched in crimson. Her left arm was gone, severed at the shoulder, while her left leg jutted out at an unnatural angle, grotesquely twisted. Her face, pale as a ghost, was etched with pain and simmering hatred, every breath a fragile thread threatening to snap. The serpent still loomed beside her, its massive body coiled protectively. Its crimson eyes glowed like twin embers, unblinking, locked on Leon and the others. Its muscles tensed, ready to strike at the slightest provocation.

Puppets carved from blood and bone. And at their center… Morganna. She didn’t ride. She glided. Feet never touching the earth, her robes billowing like smoke, her silver crown gleaming like ice. She looked almost human—beautiful, even. But that was the lie. Her power dragged behind her like a corpse. And her eyes—those cruel, gleaming eyes—found me across the battlefield and lit with pleasure. “Well,” she said, her voice somehow both soft and booming. “The little ember returns.”

Morgana smiled courteously, giving a slight bowed. "But—" "Why do you doubt, Vera?" Begritta butted in. "It is obvious Morgana did it. She is after all the strongest breed of the century. She should be able to summon a wolf spirit." "Not as easily as she did, Begritta," Vera grunted. "Summoning a wolf spirit takes years of practice. She shouldn’t have been able to pull it off easily. Unless..." She peered at Morgana curiously. "She is the Moon Goddess reborn."

He's not someone to joke with his health, but first, he would discuss it with his friend. ******** Meanwhile, as soon as Drake stepped out of the room and shut the door, his cat had slowly transformed into a very beautiful lady with glowing brown skin. Her brown mane reached down to her waist, shining beautifully, just like her skin. It was the same lady that goes around with the priest to recruit their kind to fight against Morgana and the rest of the royal family. The same girl turning everything upside down and effortlessly ruining people with her schemes. The one that caused Morgana to be living as a maid. The one that betra

Her nervous face seemed relieved. After seeing it, I started eating again. While chewing the juicy steak in my mouth, I suddenly remembered the girl with a mask. The one and only Magda. I stopped eating and leaned my back on my seat. I remembered that Magda is living in the village where Angela lives. The village is small so it's possible she knew the mystery woman. "Angela..." I called out. She looked at me and stopped eating. "Yes, Clark?" she asked. I took a deep breath and released it slowly.

I want to be the first person you see when that happens. Me : Why? Reece : I'm your mate. It'll be great feeling your wolf for the first time. I want to experience it with you. Me : That's not a good idea. Reece : Oh but it is, little wolf. Come on, say yes. Me : No Reece : You're hurting me Morgana. Me : I have a boyfriend. Reece : I don't acknowledge that fact. Talk about being stubborn. I'm going to get my wolf senses for the first time and I don't think it's a good idea to be around him when that happens.

Twelve warriors, Kael beside me, Marcus on my other side, Reyna behind with her hand on her weapon. The woman standing at the territory’s edge was not what I’d built in my imagination. I’d been imagining Vivian — that precise, managed quality, the clinical distance. Same generation, same training, the same twenty years of building toward something. Morgana was nothing like Vivian. She was older, that was visible — mid-sixties, perhaps, with white hair that hadn’t been managed toward youth and silver-gray eyes that held the accumulated experience of someone who had seen a great many things and had stopped being surprised by most of them. Tall, elegant in the wa

“Trust me, your father will not live to see another moon.” “How are you so sure of this?” She smiles. And I swear her necklace does something. “Trust me, babe. Do you?” “Of—“ Morgana’s face comes to my mind. Her eyes, bright and blue like a summer sky. The way she smiles, the way her eyes light up whenever she sees me. Her voice, calming and soft. And her lips— “Ryker,” Delilah’s voice pulls me back to the present. “Morgana is not a good person. Please remember this. You’ve not forgotten how she drowned me when we were kids?”

I didn't draw my steel, but my thumb flicked the guard of my blade free of the sheath with a quiet, metallic click. Morgana stepped out from the shadow of the arched doorway leading to the high archives. She was dressed in her dark velvet strategist’s cloak, her hood pulled low over her head. In her left hand, she gripped a small, sealed leather scroll tube. Her face was pale in the torchlight, her dark eyes wide with a frantic, desperate intensity. She froze when she saw me standing directly outside the room, her fingers tightening around the leather tube before she masked her panic with her usual arrogant grace.