Smallville Lana Lang 소설 & 이야기

Julia and I chuckled from our seats, exchanging looks. Lana shook her head slowly. “That's where we all die then. First, you breathe like a construction site, then you convince us it's just a breathing problem. Afterwards, you'll start breathing like a siren and because you naturally have a terrible singing voice, you breathe. Like a siren. Luring the rest and eating them alive.” Everyone in the office stopped and stared at her. Even Grey who was still seriously working. The entire thing she just said sounded like what Craig would most likely say, not serious minded and straight Lana. It was so absurd that I thought I'd switched universes, not just timeline.

I wanted to run my hands over her body and make sure she's not hurt again, to gather against my chest, bury my face in the crook of her neck and breathe in, but I went still, waiting for her to speak. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Lana blinked, her cheeks turning bright pink. It may be the sun. I thought under my breath as she smiled up at me. “I am fine.” “Let’s go then,” I mumbled while turning over and resting a hand on the curve of her hip. *** I watched as Lana blended into the crowd like she had known them forever. The elderly woman of the pack weaved a flower crown for her, blessed her to have a healthy pup and gifted her a basket of cherries.

“Xyla, why do I feel like you’ve become prettier after not seeing you for a while? I really adore this face of yours… “If I were a young lady right now, I would have used your face as a reference and do plastic surgery to look exactly like it,” Lana added. She adored Xyla because one, Xyla had saved her life, and two because Xyla was too gorgeous. Looking at this face gave her comfort. Lana was wearing a crimson sleeveless tight-fitting knee-length dress, accentuating her exquisite figure. Although she was over forty years old, there was not a single wrinkle on her face.

“She . . . takes care of the house . . . and us. She cooks and cleans . . . she cooks for the ranch hands sometimes, too. Do our laundry.” Mr. Anderson snorted. “A house assistant sounds like a fancy title for a nanny and a maid.” “Daddy?” Dax knew that soft, sweet voice anywhere. It was Lana. Dax was grateful she wanted to see him but he was more grateful that she had come quickly. He didn’t want to spend any more time with Mr. Anderson than he had to. Mr. Anderson stood aside to let Lana past. She was wearing a white poufy jacket with white fur around the collar. She looked real pretty as usual. “Dax?” she said like she couldn’t believe he was at her door.

Lana said and she begins to glow really bright. I cover my eyes since the light is so blinding. When the light fades I slowly open my eyes to be taken by surprise. Lana now stands before me in human size with her beautiful wings gone but the same look as to when she is so tiny. Long wavy brownish hair with greenish highlights until her hips, greenish eyes, pinkish lips, dressed in a lovely greenish dress partnered with skinny caramel colored tights, and her feet are now covered in a brownish warm boats. Wrap around her hip is a belt leather bag. “You- You can do that? B-But how, I mean......”

Her silky long hair had been cut to a shoulder length, her eyes were bloodshot, and sleep-deprived as if she had been on some kind of drug lately. “Lana?” She called as if to be certain of who she saw standing there. “What? You’re surprised it is me? Who else would bring you here, if not me?” Understanding the situation better now, Alvira calmed down, “What do you want Lana?” “You know, it’s funny how you act so innocent when you took what belongs to me,” Lana said as she slowly paced around in front of Alvira, her hand folded around her chest. “I have nothing that belongs to you.”

My heart dropped. What was Lana’s new plan?

He says nothing. “What a terrible host,” the woman comments. I could see a few lines in her forehead and neck, hinting that she had a good decade on me. “My name is Lana, I am currently the person holding down the fort.” “It’s a rather large fort,” I said, eyes glancing around the room. “Oh sweetie, you haven’t seen nothin’ yet.” There she goes, flashing her teeth as if she knew they were her best asset, because let me tell you, it wasn’t the off country accent she was showing. “So, what has Will told you so far?”

Lana looks lethal, dressed in a sleek, knee-length black designer dress that masks her dangerous physical training. As they sit—Clark sinking into an overstuffed leather armchair that seems to swallow his frame, while Rodolpho and Lana occupy an antique velvet sofa—Rodolpho deliberately pulls up the hem of his dark trousers to expose the fresh tattoo marking his skin. "Look at this, Lana," Rodolpho Simmons commands, his voice a low grunt. "The script is exactly where your fingers gripped me in the Crown Syndicate District club." "I absolutely fucking love it," Lana Lang purrs, her sharp blue eyes tracking the ink before she presses her palm directly against the inside of his muscular thigh.

The space was meticulously clean, almost sterile. Jason led him to a dimly lit bedroom, where Lana lay on the bed. She looked pale, her hair spread out like a halo against the pillow. Her breathing was slow, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that felt unnatural. Nelson forced a smile, stepping closer. “Lana?” he said softly. Her eyelids fluttered, and for a brief moment, her gaze met his. Recognition sparked, but before she could speak, Jason’s voice cut through the air.