The Descendants Novel Novels & Stories

‘The Emperor didn't say you should keep this matter a secret from her. Venus shook her head, smiling eerily. Langit knew that whoever could save baby Venus from darkness was no ordinary person and, whoever it was, would be a more dangerous threat to her. More serious than just her daughter Venus, the Bizura who is said to be a descendant of darkness.

he shouts questioning glaring at the wall. “My children and their late father are descendants of Gwanhoya!” Takada answers him from the entrance of the cave, “How do you know that name?” “I saw it in some sought of a vision or dream, I do not understand what it was but you confirming that for me means I was not hallucinating!” “I understand, that is why you passed out at that time!” “Yes, but I don’t understand, if they are her descendants why is she causing your family so much trouble?”

“Sunnie is not one of us. But she has always been there and followed us. Her defecting is a great loss.” I am really confused. “Wait so Sunnie is not a descendant? Then how does she fit in?” I ask. Sam looks at Mayhem. He nods at him to give him the okay to tell me. “Sunnie is a child of a descendant and a mortal. She is not a full-blooded descendant. All of us are descendants of descendants. Every single one of us both parents can be traced back to the watchers. Not Sunnie only her father was a descendant. I guess she felt like an outsider with us. She did not have to feel that way. We all loved her.” Sam says.

A loud and deafening screech welcomed them; the band of darkness was no longer lingering the cauldron’s mouth. The piercing cry grew louder as they entered the cabin. Clarence did not care about what the sound was, so he went over to the alpha and tried waking him up. Unfortunately, it was hopeless – Cliden was no longer breathing. Clarence, though he was envious of his brother’s position, cared for him. After all, Cliden was the only family he had left who was bold enough to accept his unfriendly nature despite of him being indifferent, and he regretted it – he regretted choosing envy over love.

She walked into Roverthhood not as prey, not as outcast— but as the daughter of Robin Sterling, the forgotten heir. And in her silence, vengeance took root. ---

"She sent a message. Tell my granddaughter that Rossi women don’t hide in holes. We bury our dead in the mountains where the wolves can’t dig." He hands me a coat. Heavy wool, smell of mothballs and old lavender. Nonna’s coat. She’s sending me her armor. I stand up. My legs shake, but they hold. The spotting has stopped, for now. My body is a traitor, trying to purge the stress, but my will is stronger. I’m not a ghost anymore. I’m not Alessandro’s phantom or Torrino’s bargaining chip. I’m Elena Rossi, daughter of a dead don, carrying twins in a war zone, and I’m going home to dig graves in the high ground.

Lila clung tighter to him, her smile faltering. Nana knelt beside me, her hand gentle on my shoulder. “Child, breathe through it,” she murmured softly, shielding me slightly from the worst of the stares. The pain began to ebb, replaced by a strange, buzzing power humming in my blood. The runes faded slowly, sinking back beneath my skin, but I could still feel them—waiting. “They will pay for what they’ve done to you,” my wolf whispered, her voice gaining strength. “But not tonight. Tonight, we survive. We endure. And when the time comes… we rise.”

I respect you, and your decision to continue with the task our mother has neglected, but do not ask me to offer my future descendants in sacrifice. You have my address and my new name. I hope to hear from you. Yours always. Eduardo Bruxain. Havana December 1888 Dearest Katerine: After receiving your letter a month ago, I made some inquiries and your fears are fully founded. Someone has been murdering the descendants of our brothers and sisters in England. You said that in your dream you saw a white chapel, bathed in our mother's blood and I fear that your dream is not just a bad omen. I don't think it's a mere coincidence, sister. You know more than I do of the extent of your powers.

I say, seeing which papers that idiot was looking at. "I'm not a peeper". Speaks sitting in the chair facing my desk. "I just don't understand why you feel so much hatred for him". "Don't you understand?" I ask louder, not believing what I had just heard. "You are the daughter and heiress of businessmen, fairy tales don't exist for any of us". She answers seriously. "You should be happy because he's young, he's hot, and you have an overwhelming chemistry. I'm still recovering from what I saw". She says, shaking herself with a smile.

I sniffed, inhaling the strong sweet scent deep within my lungs even as the repressed sensation of disappointment swelled over my chest, and I felt bitter once again. Still, I forced myself to smile despite my pain as another thought occupied my head: I was no more important than a descendant to Dicken, just like the crystals he had spread across various lands. Though he searched for me and protected me, he did all that to protect his blood which flows in my body—I am one of his few descendants, and the most disobedient at that.