Penelope Eckhart Novels & Stories

I’m just contemplating if I want to head home or if I want to stay curled up a little while longer when a voice interrupts my thoughts. “Hey Shifter. My name is Penelope, although you can call me Penny if you like. Most people do.” The woman whose voice I have been admiring perches herself on the arm of the couch by my feet. She doesn’t seem nervous around me at all which is unusual. Up close I can see that her hair is definitely white, pinned up in some complicated hairstyle. I can also tell that her eyes are dark, so dark they are nearly black and that she smells like the ocean. I can’t see her mark anywhere, but I doubt this woman is human. She smells different to any other human I’ve eve

It’s more like the generic hold music you get when you call customer service, pleasant enough, but you’re just waiting for it to end. My name is Penelope Jones. Everyone calls me Penny, probably because “Penelope” sounds like someone who owns a yacht and knows which fork to use for salad. I do not own a boat. I own approximately seven pairs of scrubs, a coffee maker that’s on its last legs, and a laptop that’s seen more werewolf smut than any piece of technology should have to endure.

She didn’t look as if she knew much and if anything, I was pestering her wasn’t I? “Could you sit with me for a little over five minutes?” she asked and I nodded. What did she want to tell me? “I’m Penelope Fischer. I am the Phi or pup sitter of the pack also the omega,” she said offering her hand for me to shake. I shook it and decided it would be rude if I didn’t introduce myself. “Sierra Blair…” I realized I had no life currently.

She was wearing a simple candle, but nothing looked simple about that, too. This made her more appealing to me. The ambiguity of her identity crafted an unknown yearning inside my heart, and I was ready to do anything for her. She took a slow, deep breath of air with her eyes closed and opened her mouth to let the air pass away. She smiled when another woman came out of the restaurant. They linked their hands and went in the direction where only one car was parking. I knew this new woman. Penelope Gibson is the owner of this place and the only daughter of a multi-millionaire hotelier, Patrick Gibson.

Surprisingly, my soul floated midair. I didn't disappear right away. I watched Healer Petra Holmes gasp the moment the scalpel dove into my skin, and only one kidney was found. "Why does she only have one kidney?" she boomed. "This is ridiculous! How could they make her donate her kidney when she only has one? This is murder!" Just then, her assistant panicked and yelled, "Healer Petra, the patient's stopped breathing. What's going on?"

Maybe they understood me better than I thought. "I don't want to talk about it anymore, Colton.” “Then go. Keep running away. It's what you do best.” “Go to hell.” "I'm already in it.” I didn't pay attention to Colton. I made my way through the guests and didn't wait to know how the party would unfold. I, Penelope Maxwell, at the height of her early twenties, the baladeira friend who never shook for bad times, was leaving a party after half an hour of arrival. This has never happened before. That wasn't me. Definitely not.

Someone grumbled angrily when Ashton and Maya passed by. The person thought that she had lowered her voice enough. But who was Ashton, he had the sharpest hearing that he could even hear the breathing of a fly let alone the murmuring of a grown person. He turned around and looked at the person who was talking. Just one glance and that person almost went down on her knees. She felt that she had already died from the glance and only after Ashton disappeared from her sight did she touch her pounding heart. It was just a one-second glance but she felt like she had already reached hell.

Erica walked over, her eyes on Penelope. "Erica, this is Penelope, Jayce's mother. Penelope, this is Erica. My best friend and my manager." She introduced. The women shook hands. "It's a pleasure. May I ask what brand of eyeliner you are using?" Penelope asked, curiously. Erica raised a brow. "Mystique." She replied. Penelope's smile grew more. "I'm glad to know you like my line of work." She said. Erica's other brow shot up with the first.

I pick her up from the ground and hold her in the air with her feet dangling. She simply laughs at my anger. “Do you think the warlock has only one place he is hiding? He is always hiding in plain sight,” Penelope says as she coughs trying to get a breath of air. I toss her against the wall, and she slides down with a smile on her face. “You are all so naïve. You think you are protected. You were never protected,” she says.

I don’t want to upset her. “No, I’m not. My mother, is─was part Brazilian. She was an anthropologist. She died years ago, and I moved in with my uncle until he died last year. It’s just Lyria and me. We were celebrating my twenty-fifth I lean back in the chair with a quirked brow. “You’re twenty-five. I would have thought you were much younger.” Penelope shrugs her shoulders, loosening one of the strings as it glides haplessly down her arm. “I told the woman who took us that I was eighteen after I overheard her saying she wanted young, innocent girls. Have your men found her?”