Wrath A Novel Victoria Christopher Murray Novels & Stories

The memory that haunted him most was Beta Marcus striking her with the silver whip while he stood there unable to stop it. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t force that image out of his mind. Victoria didn’t have a wolf. She couldn’t heal the way everyone else could. Every lash would have torn into her flesh, leaving her to endure every second of the pain without relief. The more Carlisle thought about it, the angrier he became. His hands slowly curled into fists until his knuckles turned pale. His jaw tightened so hard that it began to ache. Rage simmered beneath the calm expression he fought to maintain.

she said before leaving the house. Victor slumped onto the couch, his mind flooded with everything that had happened earlier. It played in his head like a movie reel; her eyes, her words, the humiliation in front of everyone. And then… Damien Cruz. Victor’s jaw flexed. “Who the hell are you, really?” he muttered under his breath. He closed his eyes, but before the anger could settle in too deep, the living room door creaked open. Sophia stepped in, her expression tight with frustration. She made her way toward the staircase—toward the bedroom he used to share with Lyriel.

She stumbles back, barefoot, her breathing already unsteady. “For once in your damned life, Elara,” I snap, stalking towards her as she retreats, “just—” She bumps into the wall. I close the distance and grab her by the throat, slamming her back against it. The impact knocks the air from her lungs. “Shut. The fuck. Up.” Her hands fly to my wrist, fingers trembling. Her eyes are wide, red, already shining with tears. “Y-You’re—” she gasps. “Victor, I can’t— I can’t breathe—”

Blood spilled to the floor. Rage overtook her. Without a second thought Victoria jumped to her feet. She moved in a flash, suddenly standing before Vincent, her fist connecting with his jaw. To her shock Vincent was knocked back by several feet. He caught himself, staring at her with mild surprise. Then with a harsh snarl he advanced on her, only to have Nicholas appear in front of him, his foot slamming into Vincent's stomach. The hit sent the werewolf flying backward and into the wall, the stone cracking under the force.

"You're nothing but a shell, a vessel we'll use to return to Decresh. You don't matter." Veryon clenched his fists, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. "You'll have to kill me first," he muttered, drawing on the last ounce of his strength. But Lust wasn't about to let him die so easily. No, they needed him alive. They needed him to carry them back. They couldn't afford to waste another moment. "Wrath," Lust called, her voice unwavering. "You always did love a good challenge. Take him." Wrath stepped forward, his eyes burning with fury, his muscles coiling in anticipation. He wasn't one for patience, but the chance to tear this mage apart and take what they needed was too tempt

She crossed her hands under her breasts. Feeling her daughter's frustration, Karina took a deep breath to remain calm. Understanding the need for a straightforward answer, she replied, "I apologize if my response seemed overwhelming. Mother Ophra is a renowned spiritual leader who has influenced and inspired many people through her teachings and guidance. She has touched the lives of countless individuals with her wisdom and compassion."

Christopher unleashed a barrage of punches on Wyne, each punch crashing heavily into Wyne's flesh. Initially, Wyne was defiant, boldly threatening, "You'll regret this! I'll make Natasha suffer a tragic death. I'm going to make her—urgh!" With each threat, Christopher's punches intensified. Wyne, bound and unable to defend himself, could only curl up, writhing in agony. Amid the turmoil, he peered into Christopher's rage-filled eyes. Wyne understood this man was serious and could very well beat him to death.

'God help her, give her strength. What else could I do but pray for this poor soul? ༻❁༺ The night was terrifying with snow storms hitting the window over and over again, the weather unexpectedly changed from serene to chaotic. Just like her life. Painful whimpers escaped her lips as she dragged her feet toward the full-length mirror. Her right hand clenched the white sheet against her naked body while the left one held the cold wall for support. There's a noticeable limp in her walk. Emma took in a shaky breath attempting to endure the agonizing pain between her legs but it was futile. The hours-long session had sapped all of her energy.

Rising from my seat, I wanted to take Emma from the bedroom, but Preston grabbed my hand with a vicious look in his eyes. He shamelessly threatened me, "I cannot marry you, but I can afford to pay for you and Emma, as long as you listen to me." "Darling—" Tara stomped and pouted in protest, but she dared not lash out at Preston. Instead, she silently cursed at me while shooting daggers. I knew how to read lips. She clearly said to me, "Bitch, I'm gonna kill you." I did not have the time to react when she slapped me on my face. "I knew you were here to take my husband from me, you bitch!"

Ashlyn's voice was ice. "Or what?" Christopher sneered. "You'll run to your new lover? Did you spread your legs for him like you did for—" CRASH! The ceramic pot connected with Christopher's head, sending him sprawling. Gasps echoed through the hall. "You..." Christopher touched his bleeding temple. "You actually hit me?" "Surprised?" Ashlyn stood over him, another pot ready. "Did you think I'd stay that docile little girl you could abuse?" "Abuse?" Christopher scrambled up. "I never—"