Patrick White Novels & Stories

Behind Douglas, an attendant wearing a black suit, shoulder-length hair asked his master: "Do you want to investigate what just happened?" "Find out what that birthmark is like." "Yes." The entourage quickly left in the quiet of the night, leaving only one man standing there, his eyes full of thought, looking at the scene of the scuffle just now.

"You can even sit next to me. I promise not to abuse you again." He winks and I roll my eyes, pushing back the grin I think he already saw. I'm immediately pissed at myself because there's something about him I like. And the last thing I want is some random dude thinking I need help. "Nope, I'm good. I'm pretty sure I can at least find a seat." "I'm Brad Davis, by the way." He reaches out his hand and I take it because what else am I supposed to do? "Um, Candice-Candice Crawford."

He winked at me before walking down the stairs and rushing toward his car as I looked at the glass of orange juice and pushing it aside. “Rough night?” A man asked from beside me. I raised an eyebrow and turned to look at him, watching as he smiled. His hand had a phoenix tattoo, and judging by his scent, I could tell that the man was an Alpha. “And you’re choosing to forget about it by drinking orange juice?” “I don’t drink alcohol.” I said, and he chuckled before nodding at my stomach. “I can tell, your child’s heartbeat beats you to that.” He said, and I laughed. He extended his hand to me, and I raised an amused eyebrow. “Malakai, but friends call me Kai.”

Jasper narrows his eyes at me, but decides not to bring up my thoughts. Instead, he says, "I will not stop until this deal is complete." "Do you know anything about Cyprian? Where he may be?" I ask, hating to bring up the name of the man behind the uprising. Cyprian. Young, strong and extremely manipulative. An outsider of the Love Pack born and raised. A rogue now. All these things are a dangerous concoction I don't want my beautiful mate witnessing. Unfortunately, my end of the deal must be upheld.

Farrah didn’t hesitate to follow, curiously looking at the person inside the room. It was a man, shirtless, with an outstanding figure. He was holding hefty dumbbells with both hands. In Farrah’s estimate, this dumbbell probably weighs gigantic. The man finally noticed Twilight and Farrah. With a distorted face, he screeched. “What the h*ck is your problem, old hag? Not even knocking! And who the hell is this woman?” Sadly, it didn't affect Twilight even when called an Old Hag. She just tilted her chin and said to Farrah, “Dr. Lee, the sharp-shooter of the team, Patrick.”

Third Person POV A black SUV comes to a sudden halt in front of an old shack. The dim light turns on inside, and an old man with a body length walking stick comes out. His eyes are white matching his head full of slivered hair, midback length. He wears an old dark gray robe and slips his flip flops on to step outside. "Blake son! Is that you?" The old wolf says. The SUV door opens and Blake makes his way out wearing combat uniform, matching with the uniforms his warriors wear.

You remember those? Blowing out a breath, he stuck out his hand. “Hi, sir. We haven’t met yet, which is a mistake I’m here to rectify. Pierce Walker.” The instant he spoke his name, the preacher’s face closed up. The man eyed him from the collar of his leather jacket to the tattoos peeking above the buttons of his shirt and down to the hard tips of his combat boots. Fuck. The suit that had gotten ruined last night would have gone over far better.

I walked in knowing more about most of them than they probably knew about each other. The remaining three were Jeremy's people, loyalists whose positioning I was not here to shift today. Today was about the nine. 'Ms. Crawford.' The woman who spoke was Patricia Hale, seventy-two, independent investor, someone who had been buying into Whitman Corp for fifteen years and whose name appeared on the board minutes with increasing frequency as someone who asked uncomfortable questions. She had a face that had made peace with its own age, which I always found more interesting than a face that was still fighting it. 'I have heard a great deal about you in the past twenty-four hours.'

He releases his grip on my mouth and forcefully spins me around to face him. This man is nothing like Thomas. His eyes are a deep shade of brown, and a scar runs across one of his eyebrows. His hand is grimy and covered in black grime, slicked back by natural grease, and I can detect the lingering smell of smoke on his breath. I glance over his shoulder and spot Dale standing there, offering me a smile accompanied by a gentle wave of his finger.

The firelight danced across his face, softening the edges of his features. “He did love once,” he said after a moment. “His mate. A powerful she-wolf from the Eastern Ridge.” Serena leaned forward slightly, drawn in. “She left him,” Alexandro continued, voice calm, low. “For someone else. A warrior from her own pack. She broke the bond, publicly. It humiliated him. Wounded him in a way no blade ever could.” Serena’s lips parted. “That must have destroyed him.” “It did,” Alexandro said. “But he didn’t show it. Not the way others do. He buried it. Deep. And let the bitterness shape him.”