All Chapters of Chosen Mates, Stolen Fates: Chapter 141 - Chapter 150

Kira My stomach lurches uncomfortably. It has nothing to do with Jack’s driving. “Are you going to tell me what this is all about?” He asks, not taking his eyes off the road. “Turn left here,” I say. He nods, as if trying to determine where we’re going. “Do you normally just call people in the middle of the night and ask for rides?” I can tell he’s fishing for information. “Right turn here,” I say, debating how much to reveal. Jack turns, waiting for me to answer. I don’t. He tries again. “I take it this isn’t some type of courtesy run for the Luna Select for a bit of late night reading?” He pulls to a stop without me having to ask in front of the Archives. I stare at him, easing my stomach away from its nausea. “How did you–” He just shrugs. “I had a hunch.” “You had a hunch that I wanted to come here?” “Saw the way you looked at him.” I blink. “What are you talking about?” “Just get out of the car,” he says, leaning over me to open my door. He pulls back and looks down

Kira This kiss is fleeting. A tease and a touch that lasts only a fraction of a second, as if his lips hadn’t even been there at all. Was it even a kiss? At first, I fear it’s regret. That he didn’t mean to. That it was all just the heat of our bodies and the haze of the late night hour and this was all just some type of misunderstanding. There was no kiss, was there? It was just a slip of our faces too close in the dark– But in that same fraction of a second, I wonder why it matters. Or if there ever was a kiss? Did I want it to be a kiss? Do I care if he regrets it? I don’t, I realize. I don’t want him to regret it. I only want him to do it again. But one second goes by. Then two. Then three. And nothing happens. We are each frozen in the dark, unmoving and unsure of what to do. He stills beneath me, the faint whisper of his breath on my shoulder the only evidence he’s near. I close my eyes, searching for the willpower it’s going to take to try to accept that it’s not what he wa

Perrin The day before The flight is turbulent. My stomach is already uneasy, clenching tighter with every passing mile that I depart from Lo. I didn’t want to leave and would turn around in a heartbeat if I could figure out how to hijack this damn plane. Mistra and Deidre are sitting as far as they can from each other, which isn’t altogether unexpected. But my father and Mark are speaking incessantly in hushed tones, so low that I can’t make out a word despite my heightened sense of hearing. Since the Sacred Call, it’s bizarre to leave me so intentionally in the dark. But Mark is tapping away at his phone, in conversation with someone as my father advises how to communicate. Their mutterings buzz in my ear like some annoying fly. My phone vibrates, distracting me. LO: When did you change your name to LOML in my phone? PERRIN: While I was waiting for Jennivah to leave and let me say goodbye for the third time. LO: What does it even stand for? LO: No, wait. Let me guess… Lo: Lei

Kira“Hello, Kira. I’m Sirius. And I can assure you, the pleasure is all mine.”His words are almost formal, tinged with an accent that I can’t quite place. But there’s a quiet intensity about him that’s instantly clear. He is authoritative and commanding, as if expecting his words to be believed and taken seriously. “Well, Sirius,” I say lightly, gesturing at his wheelchair. “What brings you in?”“Are you a healer?” he asks, his light eyebrows rising in surprise.I bark out a laugh. “If I were, I wouldn’t be in here.” I gesture at my own chair, but still completely captivated by his eyes. They suit him, as if the golden yellow of his hair and eyebrows are just a natural extension of the rest of him. I blink instinctively, aware that mine don’t match the inherent genetics that seem to make his meld together naturally. He’s incredibly pale, however, as if he never goes outdoors.“I suppose that’s true,” he replies, eyes dropping only for a fraction to take in my leg brace. They widen

Deidre I sigh, deflating into a chair in the grand hotel suite. I eye the grandeur of it; the gaudy nineteenth century decor, oversized paneling, and the new moldings painted gold as if trying to convince us that it’s been here for hundreds of years. “That wasn’t too bad.” I take a sip from the large glass of bourbon in my hand, the only real old stuff in this room. “And this stuff isn’t cheap. Apparently Nael isn’t trying to make a total ass out of himself.” “Bad? No,” Jason says, ignoring the comment about the alcohol. “You almost broke his hand,” Mark observes. “I did,” Jason smiles smugly. “Well, not entirely. I felt his ring-finger crack.” “Men,” Mistra mutters. I smile in silent agreement so only she can see. “Shall we call Janas?” Mark asks. “Yes,” Jason groans, settling into a chair beside me. “Let’s see how much progress he’s made. And Mark; don’t bother unpacking your bags. You’re going back tomorrow, remember?” Jesamine “How are you feeling?” “The same I was two h