Snake With A Hundred Mage Hands Novels & Stories

When I was eight months pregnant, I received an anonymous email. The attachment was a security camera recording. In a dimly lit VIP booth at a bar, my husband — a vampire who had lived for three hundred years — was holding a human woman in his arms, kissing her. At the end of the video, the woman smiled and asked him, "Adrian, do you really love me?" Adrian's voice was low. "Of course." "Even though you're human, I'll make you the happiest vampire bride in the world." He had said those exact words to me ten years ago. In that moment, my hand rested on my belly. The baby kicked once. As if reminding me. It was time to wake up.

Sara's legs straddling Austin's lap, their lips clashed in a fierce, passionate kiss. The sound of their lips meeting was like a spark, igniting a flame that threatened to consume them. "Mmm," Sara murmured, her lips vibrating against Austin's. "I hate you," Austin growled, his hands grasping her hips, pulling her closer. His fingers dug into her skin, sending shivers down her spine. Sara's hands were just as busy, her fingers tracing the lines of Austin's face, her thumbs brushing against his lips. "I hate you too," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of their kissing. Their lips parted for a moment, and Austin's tongue darted out, tracing the curve of Sara's lower lip. She moaned, her hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. Sara's hands began to roam, her fingers tracing the contours of Austin's chest. She reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head. As she exposed his chest, Austin's eyes locked onto hers, a warning flashing in their depths. "You'll hate me tomorrow," he said, his voice low and rough. Sara's eyes flashed with defiance, her hands continuing to explore Austin's chest. "We don't like each other anyway," she said, her voice husky with desire.

Harley Lawrence is a young vampire hunter who comes from a long line of hunters. Every night she patrols the city, ridding it of the evil that stalks the innocent. Without her mother, the past two years have been tough and now she can't help but wish for something more than a life of hunting. Mason James is a five hundred year old vampire who runs with the biggest clan in New York City and yet is still bound by his humanity. The leader of the clan, Demitri Van Santen, has plans that touch upon a whole new level of evil, and Mason doesn't like them. So he finds Harley and warns her of what is to come.

To help her lover win the rally championship, my fiancée, Alanna Johnson, deliberately sabotaged my race car. The vehicle lost control on a curve at nearly two hundred miles per hour, and in utter despair, I called her one last time. Her voice, however, brimmed with impatience. “Stop being dramatic. “This championship means nothing to you, but Jack is about to retire. This is his final chance. “Once this race ends, I’ll cut all ties with him and marry you. All right?” But she never realized that this event had drawn unprecedented global attention. After my death, the in-car surveillance footage would be released to the world. And she would face a judgment far worse than death.

Naomi Green spent a hundred million dollars hiring an older man, Jack Hough, to fake a marriage, not knowing that he was Gin City's most influential person! After getting married, Jack doted on her as if she was his precious, pure, and kind little Buttercup, regardless of whatever she did!Beating someone up so badly they ended up in the hospital? Great job! Spending a fortune on acquiring a trashy company? Way to go! No matter how despicable Naomi's reputation was, Jack spoiled her through and through! Everyone thought that Jack was nuts for marrying her. No one knew of Naomi's multiple secret identities: genius hacker, brilliant doctor, supermodel, and exceptional gamer! Naomi was hellbent on revenge and she would stop at nothing!

After their marriage, Evangeline spent three lonely years dreaming of having a child with Walter. However, when he flaunted his old flame in front of her, she lost all hope. In front of his friends, she slammed the divorce papers down, declaring, "I'm done with you!" She figured there were plenty of men if she wanted a child. Besides, she was wealthy, beautiful, and the heir to a top financial empire. Shortly after the divorce, news of Evangeline offering a large sum for a sperm donor spread like wildfire in the capital's elite circles. "Divorced because her ex-husband was infertile, now offering one hundred fifty million dollars for a high-IQ, handsome, and skilled young man to father her child."

I once made a promise to the top actress in the industry. If I publicly proposed to her 99 times on livestreams, she would, on the hundredth, officially launch our relationship. But when the hundredth proposal came, she was on a private yacht kissing a new rising actor. Her smile had been so sweet and carefree. I became a complete joke. Feeling guilty, she texted me: [I will say yes on your 101st proposal.] She entered my livestream, looking like a goddess had descended to earth. As she looked on, I lit all one hundred love letters I had ever written for her, as well as the stomach cancer diagnosis I had hidden inside. “There will be no 101st time, Miss Ford.”

I begged Dylan Leveson three hundred and four times to take my dying dad on one last trip out to sea. Guess what? He bailed. I stood on the shore, watching the warmth fade from my dad's body, breath by breath—alone—while Dylan played Romeo in the highlands. Millie Stone—his forever flame—posted a cozy little selfie: [Far from the world, as long as I have you.] I accidentally hit like. Dylan popped up instantly. [How many times have I told you to leave Millie alone? Can't control yourself? We're getting a divorce!] Oh, the classic divorce threat. I'd lost count. [Cool. Divorce it is.]

My husband was a senior military officer and a hardcore military fanatic. When I went into labor and my life was at risk, I begged him to sign the consent form for an emergency C-section. Instead, he looked at me coldly and asked, “What’s the maximum cruising speed of a Boeing 747? Answer correctly, and I’ll sign.” Later, my body tore from the prolonged labor, and our son suffocated to death. He said calmly, as if reciting a fact, “One thousand one hundred and twenty-seven kilometers per hour. Remember that?” At that moment, I looked at his indifferent expression and realized that I no longer loved him. With that, I left behind the divorce papers and disappeared from his life. “Felix, the military-illiterate wife you were ashamed of will never come back.”

At my eighteenth birthday celebration, my cousin gave me a half-scratched lottery ticket as a coming-of-age gift. When he realized I'd won twenty dollars, he suddenly demanded to buy the ticket from me for two hundred thousand. Something about it felt wrong, and I refused. Then he snapped. Like a man gone mad, he cursed me, wishing me dead, and in front of all the guests, shoved me off the balcony. Dozens of people watched, including my own parents, silently condoning him—joining in, shouting that I deserved to die. And then I opened my eyes… and I was back half an hour earlier. My cousin sneered, tossing the lottery ticket toward me, speaking the same familiar words.