Novelas y relatos de Mystic Falls

I wanted to complain, but he was the leader here, and I had to obey. "Yeah, whatever." Reluctantly, I obliged. Cynthia and I set out towards the waterfall she had mentioned. The tension between us was palpable, but I focused on the task at hand. The forest was dense and the sound of the rushing water grew louder as we approached. When we reached the falls, I could see that the rocks were steep and slippery. It was a dangerous area, just as Cynthia had described. We carefully assessed the place, noting potential weak spots and hazards.

SIA POV “Brace yourself princess,” Greg said, winking at me through the mirror. “We're here.” A few seconds later, the car pulled over in front of a huge property with high walls and a massive gate which had iron spikes and a heavy looking lock. The top of the wall was sharp barbed wire that seemed to glint. “Where are we?” I asked, feeling a shiver run down my back as I stared at the building. “This is my private mansion,” Nicholas replied, beating Greg to it. “You'll be safe here for now. I'll take you home later… when the heat dies.”

He crashed into it, and ripples emerged that obstructed his path. “This is called the Mystic Prison. If it was set up by a hundred ancient experts. Even a real immortal wouldn't be able to escape. Although my guards aren’t as strong as ancient experts, this is still more than enough to trap you!" Damien laughed loudly, his lips a smug grin. Frederick frowned a little before punching the wall with his fist. His punch seemed to fade into ocean waves that rippled on the surface. Frederick kept changing directions while he did this, but he always ended up hitting the walls of air.

Slight wrinkles appeared on her forehead as she surveyed her surroundings, then she stared intently at the waterfall with a strange, familiar feeling. "For years, the Frostholm Pack and the witches had a good relationship. It all started when chaos broke out, forcing us to work together, and this waterfall is the silent witness to that history." Rowena's voice caught Vione's attention, causing her to blink and reflexively look at Rowena. She saw that Rowena was standing right in front of the waterfall. "We call this waterfall Mystoria Falls," Rowena continued, tilting her head up. She tried to look further up, towards the highest point of the waterfall, but her view was limited by thick mist

“…You said you know where the third artifact is.” Sybil stands slowly. “Yes. So let’s get some rest.” All of us look at her. She points toward the rising mist where the waterfall crashes into the pool below. “That way.” I stare at the rushing water. “You’re kidding.” Sybil shakes her head. I look where she’s pointing, the edge of the falls. Where the water drops by more than 100 feet. Way past it, I swear I see a little town. “The magic is strongest in that direction. I can feel it.”

He tells me, and my eyes widen. “Oh, of course. I’ve seen some of your pack members compete. Very impressive.” I tell him. Mystic rain is a pack far from the rest, hidden in the caves halfway across the world, he had to have traveled a week to meet up here. They pride themselves in their strength, and hunting abilities.

Celeste's POV The resort car dropped us at the edge of Silver Mist Forest, where the path to Eclipse Falls began. From there it was a short walk in, just enough to feel the shift in the air as the trees closed around us, cool and dense, the light breaking through in scattered patches. I was still carrying the glow from the morning and the drive over, Mason beside me, Jason just ahead moving like he always did when there was something to get to. We heard the falls before we saw them.

POV EMMA BELLE The Inner Sanctum of the Whispering Falls was a monstrosity of alchemical engineering—a jagged fortress of iron and bone built directly over the geothermal vents of the mountain’s heart. As we approached, the roar of the falls was drowned out by the rhythmic, mechanical thrum of the Mother-Key being forced into the core.

"We are forever grateful." “Mystic,” Aaron repeated. “It’s an honor.” They began moving east. Fast enough to escape. Slow enough for the women to keep up. Five minutes later, Mystic gasped—soft, pained, and trying to hide it. She pressed a hand to her ribs, her face pale. “I’m fine.” She wasn’t. She swayed. Aaron moved instantly, catching her before she fell. His hands were careful, grounding. For a heartbeat, she leaned into him—forehead near his chest, trembling but not pulling away.

"Moonstone Inn, 1847 Shadowbrook Lane, Mystic Valley, New Orleans." Mystic Valley. The name had sounded mysterious when her finger jabbed the map orb in frustration, searching for anywhere that wasn't home. Anywhere Marcus and Jenna wouldn't be. A tiny corner of New Orleans parish she'd never heard of, barely visible unless you zoomed in close enough to see the dust motes. Her mother's voice replays in her skull. "Ivy, sweetheart, maybe you should wait. Research this place first. You don't just fly somewhere because it has a pretty name."