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Chapter 43
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2024-10-29 19:42:56“What is your kind again?”
“Winnowers,” Laara replied while accepting the pudding that Rozelyn gave.
“Which means?” Rozelyn continued squeezing for answers.
“Folks of the Wind.” It was Thalia Turner who answered.
The rest nodded in discernment. But Rozelyn Zadzisai was hungry for more answers, curious for what else the folks of her nanny could do.
Yet, she couldn’t pass through any of their mental defenses. It seems they have an amulet of sorts.
‘A Thaumaturge has limitations then…
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The Blood Rose Lady Author's Note
This book is my debut novel [ shrieks in incredulity @_@ ]. I can’t even believe that I have finished it. I originally tended this book to be a stand-alone. But, I become indulged on the own world that I created that I decided to expand it >_< . I know that an urban dark fantasy with a touch of steamy romance is not that popular for online novels. But I still finished it anyway; despite my initial belief that I can’t get pass through 50k words. And here I am, finishing a book with a whopping 70 chapters and more than a hundred thousand words! The sequel and final installment of The Blood Rose saga entitled, “Queen of Vampires and Werewolves”, will be coming this April—or May. Anyway
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Rozelyn’s irresistible smell still lingers in his nose, despite the fact that he is already in Avril’s house—in which the pregnant Anaztasia Arryn is also staying. “You okay, Cy?” asked Avril as he handed him a can of beer. Avril Arke’s backyard is so spacious and calming, as if the lushness of this place resembles a virgin forest. “Not really. I…I have hinted to Roz that my heart yearns for her.” A smile tugged on his best friend's lips. “What did she say then?” “She didn’t. She was going to say something but she held back.” Avril took
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Anger was still prevalent in Rhella’s heart. “How could he exchange me for that bitch?!” Her voice resonated in her little room, inside Maebh’s estate. “I didn’t.” A deep, familiar voice from behind her. Rhella remembered that she forgot to lock her door. “Who are you? What do you want?” Her voice radiates fear even when she tries to hide it. Especially in her current state that she cannot even summon an ember as magic had completely left her body, thanks to Leonardo Richards. ‘What if this is one of Maebh’s minions trying to kill me as I am now powerless?’ she thought.&nb
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“Rozelyn…” He muttered her name as if it was a sacred word, a prayer. “Roz…” “You really think that—never mind!” She jerked her head back to Thalia’s house and saw Rosette and Aruba waving at her, the latter was holding an umbrella. “Hush you two! You’re both already soaked in the rain!” “We’re fine, Aruba,” Rozelyn simply said then walked towards the house, without any umbrella. “Love quarrel, eh?” Aruba teasingly utter. Cyrill just glared at her, then glanced back at Rozelyn. The latter was given a towel
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“It was a pity for a person…” Rozelyn spoke, eyes fixed on the blazing body of Grainne Perkins, “…to die, while knowing that you did everything to live—including the fact that you exchange your freedom for immortality granted by the Blood Rose only to be murdered by a psychotic witch that, heaven knows, how the hell she did that.” Cyrill patted her back, “The Heathens are hiding something, a secret weapon I suppose.” “Grainne was a cancer patient, and had lived for a decade more thanks to the blood rose.” She wiped her face, and then fixed her hair. “Just like Rosette,” said Cyrill. “Yes. Just like Rosette Richards…” “You have done everything you cou
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Cyrill’s heart was still beating fast even though he had already arrived at Vesta’s doorstep. When she called him on the phone, he sensed something was utterly wrong, something eerie; something that is going to happen unexpectedly. And Cyrill supposed it wasn’t a good one. “Vesta?” Cyrill then knocks three times, the perfect number when knocking. Not two or one, but three knocks. According to superstitions, when someone knocks once, it is doubtful if he or she is really a someone—a living person. When one knocks twice, it is said to be inviting a malevolent, unpleasant spirit within the house or building. Despite him being a Pasiphae werewolf, he still upholds and believes in superstitions. After all, there’s nothing wrong
