All Chapters of SNOW WHITE And The Supernaturals Of SHADOWVALE : Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

"I AM SORRY, FIONA, I DIDN'T MEAN TO leave you behind.” My heart pounded in my chest, mirroring the tapping of her impatient foot. Her face crumpled like a discarded tissue, skepticism written all over it. “Oh, really? So, what happened that made you leave?” Her words sliced through the air, sharp and icy. Panic surged within me, my brain kicking into overdrive, desperately searching for a plausible fib. “Huh… something came up, and I had to leave,” I stammered. Her eyebrow arched like a questioning caterpillar. “Huh… something like what…?” My inner alarm blared, and I knew I needed another lie – fast! “Huh… I should get you something to drink,” I blurted, scurrying off to the kitchen. Operation: Lie Creation was underway, and I needed a moment to brainstorm. I yanked open the freezer door, revealing a cornucopia of gastronomic delights. Thanks to Vivaldi's mind control, my freezer overflowed with all sorts of scrumptious treats. Icy air tickled my face as I grabbed whatever I

I'M HUNCHED OVER, SUCKING IN AIR as blood dribbles down my chin. Wincing, I yank out the arrows lodged in my chest one by one, the pain making me hiss through my teeth. I rise to my feet with a grunt and lift my shirt, watching in morbid fascination as my wounds close up like some sick magic trick. Winter's breath hitches, her hands clapping over her mouth as if to trap her gasp inside. "How did you—?" she stammers, her voice barely a whisper. "How...?" I chew on the inside of my cheek, at a loss for words. I'll just have to tweak her memory later. For now, I turn my attention to the Hunters or WVH, as Winter calls them. They advance with unhurried steps, dressed to kill—literally. Their sleek, charcoal gray outfits hug their muscular bodies like a second skin, while dark grey armor plates enhance their silhouette, covering all the important bits like chest, back, shoulders, forearms, and shins. Their utility belts, laden with pouches and holsters, hold an array of weapons and tools

AS THE STAKE PLUNGES DOWN, the sound of ripping flesh echoes through the night, making my stomach churn. I freeze, my breath caught in my throat, and for a moment, time seems to stand still. Mr. Aura's eyes widen in surprise, mirroring my own shock. Then, without warning, Mr. Aura crumples to the ground with a heavy thud. Standing behind him, his hand slick with blood, is none other than Casper. His eyes are wide as saucers, fixed on the still-beating heart in his hand. "I killed him," he mutters, his voice trembling with shock. But our moment of victory is short-lived, as Casper lets out a blood-curdling scream. A bullet rips through the air, tearing into his flesh. He grits his teeth, his face contorting in pain as he scoops me up and throws me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Before he can speed off, I use the last ounce of my strength to utter a single word: "Wait." Casper pauses, his body tense and ready to bolt. "Winter," I manage to croak out. "She's in the truck

LEGS CASUALLY CROSSED, I “HMMPH” as the peculiar yet strikingly handsome vampire Angel—with his wavy hair, flowing past his chiseled jawline—tries to weasel his way out of my fury by launching into an uncalled-for life story. His oceanic eyes look into mine as he reveals how he abandoned home after failing his family, how he struggled as a lonely kid, and how everything hit the fan when his vampire instincts decided to take a joyride.Angel broods as he recounts his need for assistance in regaining control and reshaping his life into something remotely resembling a human existence. All the while, I study his sculpted features, trying not to roll my eyes at the sob story before me. His brow furrows in faux-despair as he swears he never meant to get on my last nerve...blah, blah, blah. I am unimpressed, as a glistening tear streams down his cheek, no doubt a calculated attempt to evoke sympathy for his angsty past. As his tale reaches its melodramatic conclusion, I can't help but smirk

A POLICE CAR IS PARKED IN THE driveway of a cozy bungalow. Three officers—Thompson, Rodriguez, and Jenkins—stand in the yard, their eyes scanning the area with a sense of confusion.It appears as though a wild celebration, orchestrated by Mother Nature herself, has taken place in the street. Shards of broken glass litter the pavement, sparkling like scattered diamonds. Streetlights lean precariously, as if they were tired partygoers, while the broken windows of nearby houses gape like stunned onlookers.Rodriguez, his mustache twitching, thoughtfully rubs his chin. "What on earth could have caused this disaster?" he wonders aloud.Officer Thompson, his wire-rimmed glasses resting on the bridge of his nose, raises his hands in resignation. "I'm at a loss! The locals are torn between a bomb blast and an earthquake. Your guess is as good as mine!"Jenkins, hands firmly on her hips, raises a skeptical eyebrow. "An earthquake? In our quiet little town? That’s hard to believe."Rodriguez fr