[Epilogue]2 MONTHS LATERMy wedding dress was draped over the armchair next to the window. The curtains were drawn slightly and Valerian’s tux had been folded away neatly into the top drawer in our room. There were representatives of the twelve most powerful vampire covens downstairs, and the witches took quiet tours of our home as they waited for the ceremony to begin.I lay naked on the bed, wearing only my diamond ring and bridal garter. Valerian’s head was buried in between my legs. My head fell back on the pillow and I cupped my left breast, rolling the nipple around with perfectly manicured fingers. Valerian was stark naked and his tongue pushed in deeper with each moan that escaped my lips.I looked down my belly and I met his eyes. They glinted wickedly as Valerian thrust his tongue in deeper. I fell back to the bed, grabbed the bedsheets with both hands and arched my back. Valerian pushed me to the edge, brought me back, and pushed me right back. My hair stuck to the sweat o
“Guys, we can hear you from the reception room,” they said.We both jumped and then we burst out in laughter. Valerian lowered me to my feet, grinned like a little boy, and kissed my birthday. He danced as he dressed in his tux and he blew me a kiss before he left.“I’ll see you downstairs, Mire. Hurry down, we’ve got some unfinished business.”I sat naked for a few more minutes and thought of the turn my life had taken. Dragos was gone, I was about to marry the man I loved, and we already had a baby on the way. I giggled in delight, hopped off the bed, and started to get dressed.I walked down the stairs ten minutes later and was delighted to find the staircase decorated with flowers. Rafael was going to give me away, and he smiled when he saw me coming down. I held my flowers with my left hand and extended my right to him.“Are you ready to become our new Vampire Queen?” he asked.I smiled as I hooked my arm around his. “I have never felt more alive. Or more ready, Rafael.”Rafael g
[APPRECIATION]Dear Readers, I aspired to be a writer for a significant portion of my life.It began when I was a young child. When I first started writing, I began to realize the power of words. I can recall those early days. From sonnets to brief tales, I started to string words together, making my craft gradually Even then, I realized how deeply words could connect with other people's experiences and how validating that could be.I began to write more as I got older. I wrote poetry and short stories in journal after journal. I spent every spare moment jotting down my thoughts on napkins and torn notebook pages. I was courageous in offering my work to other people, and it seemed like I could write constantly.The shift started in college. I had little time for anything other than studying and working full-time as a college student. My writing ceased gradually. I switched from undergraduate to graduate school and increased my work responsibilities.I wed someone. I had a family. Beca
Devil brings forth.That is the very thing that my dad saw me as, and he made sure that mark slipped from his lips and stuck to me, a ten-year-old youngster that simply needed to satisfy her folks and feel acknowledged. Be that as it may, as I heard the unreasonable crying of my wiped out three-year-old sibling, Balrus, reverberating through the corridors of my Alaskan home in the gloomy hours of the morning, I pondered assuming my dad had been correct. Be that as it may, for a child to cry to the point he was shouting and unfit to pause and rest, he probably was maniacal in a wicked way. It was clear in the manner my mom cried as she battled to shake Balrus. The aggravation and absence of rest transmitted from her indented cheeks and empty eyes. It was tangible by my dad's peaceful murmurs and frantic tone that broke as he addressed somebody on the telephone. Despite the fact that their torture decreased within the sight of my sibling, I was as yet the wicked produce, undesirable and
I cleared my considerations away as I twisted into my level pad that scarcely had sufficient pad to prop my head and tucked the bothersome cover under my jaw. I was asking briefly for quietness so I could float off into a profound daze, yet my eyes were immediately frightened when I heard a whirlwind turn outside and sleets of ice beating against the wooden walls of our miniscule two-story cabin. The leafless tree appendages ripped at my window as though they were battling to hold themselves from blowing endlessly. The rotting flooring planks squeaked as the home softly influenced from the strain of the breeze, and chills crawled down my spine as I heard the front entryway squeaked open. The strides of this secret individual reverberated up the steps and raged down the lobby towards my sibling's room where my mom was shaking a fastidious Balrus. I could detect the air of this individual, and my skin shivered from a mind-boggling feeling of commonality. The fragrance of sandalwood and s
Voices resounded from the parlor making my stimulated advances delayed into an uncomfortable pussyfoot. The old pendulum clock ticked bizarrely uproarious as it read seven AM, which implied I was just a brief time before my mom discourteously woke me. In Fairbanks, Gold country, we were not graced with the sun because of the presence of the polar evening, a period of haziness, snow, and winter's fierce virus. The main touch of light was the imperial blue sparkle that tossed over the town.I anxiously kneaded the odd skin coloration to my left side wrist. It consisted of light brown written lines that entwined together. Throughout the long term, the lines became hazier and more unmistakable. It was challenging to make out, however to me, it had all the earmarks of being the letters M and V impeccably adjusted like a riddle. Kids at school generally prodded me that it was the checking of the failure's club and my dad said it was the stamp of Satan.It was basically irregular lines engrav
Despite the fact that I seldom felt any of my mom's glow myself, I realize that she was unique. Thus she would shield me before this more bizarre or even better, request that he leave our home. Definitely she would. To that end I was dumbstruck by what occurred straightaway. My mom, still kneeling down, raised her head somewhat to the point of being heard. I paused my breathing, completely alert then, at that point."You heard his name, isn't that right? This is Mr Zakharov," she said, "and he is correct about your life being the installment we want for Balrus. You will leave with him when you turn 18." My mom's voice sounded dry and deadpan and when she talked, she dropped her head and stayed kneeling down close to my dad. I glanced back at the outsider in my dad's seat in shock and horror.At my mom's words, I felt a flood of feelings at the same time. I felt alone in a manner I had never felt, and I felt previously neglected. Like a line written in pencil that has previously been de
As my brother's sickness persisted, my parents' disposition towards me got worst. My mom developed more far off and apathetic towards me. She spent extended periods of time at Balrus's bedside all things considered, holding his fragile hands and attempting to encourage him. Also, when she wasn't sitting in his room, she was either elbows somewhere down in cultivating or exploring some new wonder spice that could be useful. I realize that mother seldom rested most evenings. I knew this on the grounds that from my room I frequently heard my mom's stifled strides outside Balrus's room as she paced and trusted that the shouting would start in the future.I attempted to quiet my tears however they just wouldn't stop. I took a gander at the stooping figures of my parents , opened my mouth to talk, however acknowledged there was something else to say. I took a gander at my dad and despite the fact that he mistreated me, I felt my heart throb considerably more. The type of Balrus's disease had