Nathalie Miraculous Novels & Stories

“What are you talking about?” “My missing mittens last week. My overly salted soup. My burnt cherry pies. And now the spoiled milk on my gravy. Care to explain?” Magda was still pretending, “I don’t know what you are talking about. You are insane.” “I am insane?” “Yes.” The tall minion said, it was Claudette, “Normal people don’t go around, slapping anyone.” “Back off, skinny.” Fatma warned, and Claudette was mortified with the compliment.

Katerina: “You’re being serious?” I asked, wide eyed. Nathan chuckled and nodded, and shaking my head at him, he pulled me to his chest, hugging me tightly as we lay in bed. “Carter and I found him at the bar alongside Natasha. I have to admit, the woman was right when she said that she had him wrapped around her finger. The man wouldn’t look at another woman throughout the whole night, at least, not in a sexual way, and needless to say, we did offer him to get whichever girl he wanted; but he rejected. Eventually, after a drink or two, I invited him to the gala, and he agreed to attend. But he doesn’t really know that you’re my wife, at least, I think. So, for now, we have the Grimaldi Lyca

I cuss under my breath as images of Nathalie sprawled on the bed in her panties and bra suddenly pops into my mind. Fuck. I can't keep the image out of my head and it's driving me fucking crazy. I think I need a quick break. I take off my shirt using it to fan my sweaty body. Turning around, I do a double-take at the sight of a wide eyed Nat at the entrance. She is putting on a skimpy pink crop top and a white short short that puts her long legs on a perfect display. I let out an inaudible groan, my cock automatically straining in my briefs as an image of those legs wrapped around my head replaces the one on my mind.

She made a small incision right above the bulge. ​From the open gap, a thick, grayish mucus flowed out, followed by the small head of a shiny white worm. It was already nearly the length of her hand, writhing wildly. ​Without hesitation, Sua grasped it with a clean cloth, then pulled slowly. The veins in her hands stood out with the effort. Rai, who was nearly holding his breath, stood up slowly, realizing that what he was witnessing was no ordinary task. It was the composure of an assassin… and the love of a daughter.

She didn't have to wait very long before Myriade's brother showed up. Hestia looked at the handsome man in front of her and was amazed at her luck of seeing so many good-looking people recently. "Are you Myriade's brother? The doctor is waiting for you. She seems to be stable now, so you don't have to be too worried." "Ms. Deschamps?" Nathaniel looked at this woman who seemed to have no memories of him and went under a different name. He smiled and moved his glasses. "Thank you. Can I have your number, please? We can have dinner with Myriade when she's better."

Adele~ “Adele! So, it's true!” Oh, tell me about a warm welcome from a stranger hanging around my resort like some decoration I didn’t order. My eyes flicked to the source of the voice, and there she was in her well pressed brown uniform…. Matron Nathalie. The same woman who tortured the living heaven out of me in that orphanage.

She would never understand this family’s cutthroat methods. Patricia was the only innocent one among the three, but she dreaded to think about what might happen once Greg and Christian tainted her mind with manipulative teachings. “Of course not,” Camille said quietly. “My loyalty remains tied to your family.” “Good. Then you’ll have no problem doing this little mission for me, right?” Christian said, his voice turning chipper. Which only meant that bad news was coming, Camille dreaded. “What is it?” “I want you to get close to Michael McGregor.”

It felt like it was growing out of me. I stood tall, facing my reflection. My heart hammered against my ribs. The woman in the mirror was a stranger. She wasn't Claire the preschool teacher, covered in crayon marks and weary from wrangling seven-year-olds. She wasn't Claire the Desmond pawn, sold off to cover a father’s gambling debts. She looked regal. Authoritative. Breathtaking. "Perfect," Nathalie murmured. "Let’s show your friend."

It was even more exquisite and ethereal than the outside. “You have a wonderful and lovely home.” I said and heard Mirah thank me from behind. And then Natalia walked down the long large stairs. She had her hair short and more like a bob cut and her eyes were glued to her iphone. I heard Mirah sigh defeatedly. “Nat! How many times have I told you not to always look at screens! They aren't good for your eyes.” But she didn't seem to be paying any attention. And I heard the sound of a car pulling up outside.

“Not ready? I’ve bled more than you know. I’ve survived things that should have killed me. Don’t tell me I’m not ready.” She didn’t flinch at my anger. Instead, she sat slowly on the edge of the bed, her braid slipping over her shoulder. For the first time, her voice held something almost human. “You don’t understand what Nathalie is,” she said. “What she does to people like you.” The air between us thickened. I swallowed hard, my voice small. “Then tell me.” She hesitated. Then, quietly, “She doesn’t kill wolves. She breaks them. She bends them until they’re something else. Something she can control.”