“My name was not Damien Silvester.” His lips kissed my ears lightly. “My name, you must not mistake again, is Aurelius Lockheart.” My heart skipped a beat as I realized what he was saying. He was the one that I had slept with, not Damien. How had I not recognized him before? I tried to pull away, but he held me close, his grip firm and insistent. I could feel the heat radiating from his body, and the scent of his cologne filled my senses. It was intoxicating, and I found myself struggling to keep my thoughts clear.
"I was married to the wrong person," she began, her voice shaking. "I trusted the wrong one, and I was manipulated to do unspeakable things. I gave everything, but all I received was betrayal." It was like a tidal wave, crashing over her with a force that left her breathless. Rage. Extreme rage. Anger. She could feel it coursing through her veins, like a fire that threatened to consume her completely. "I want revenge," she said, her voice cold and calculated. "Dark, vengeful revenge. I want to make those who hurt me pay, to show them the same pain they inflicted upon me. And I will not stop until justice is served."
I wasn't born this way I was made. I had a choice, and I chose this path. To stay by the side of the one man who made me feel welcome and gave me a home. The one man I would call my father., That is until I met him But it was a curse to be like me or them. A turned, you don't age, and no children, nothing. Just stuck at the age you were turned. Its not something I would wish on anyone. You get lonely after a while, and finding company is dangerous. There are some who are either insane with blood lust from lack of control or find themselves so high and mighty them created their own way in life. Then in few cases you have the born, not every child survives the transformation. A women in labor about to give birth is bitten, and once her child is born the child is just like the creator. While the mother dies from the experience, the child might live, but is no longer a normal human but a born. Lets go back, way back, so you understand the history, my history and his.
Taylor is on the run from the supernatural council for the killing of Gabriel and Rian McKinnon. She also kidnapped their daughters. Taylor known as one of the best assassins in the supernatural world. Taylor doesn't just have to worry and the council but her mother put a bounty on her head. Kaine Strothers walks into the picture as the new lead on her case. Will Taylor be able to stay away from her mate or let him capture her? Expert: There you are," I dark figure stands in the middle of the hall. The figure walks closer revealing an average size man with a brown leather coat on. " This is going to be fun." Grey light appears on his wrist. What element does he have? The ground shakes making the wall around us fall. Fuck. I need to move closer to him. I run towards him when a huge rock hits me pushing me throw the wall. I get off the floor looking around. "Tell me where the girls are and I'll let you go." He walks through the hole in the wall with a rock floating behind him.
Hola! Esta es mi primera historia. Una historia original mía. Nick es un agente de A.S.N. una agencia de espionaje, Nick es de los mejores que hay. Un día Summer la Jefa de la agencia llama a Nick para una misión importante a lo cual Nick acepta, pero tendría que hacerlo con la condición de tener una compañera que sería su aprendiz en esta misión, Nick se negó al principio pero después de que Summer le diera una gran oferta acepta. Esto es solo el comienzo de una gran amistad y lograr completar la misión con éxito a pesar de sus diferencias, claro si no lo echan a perder.. AVISO Estas historias son originalmente mías. Los personajes son originales. Favor de no repostear No olvides ser estrella y recomendar si te gusto para que pueda llegar a más personas. Comenten si hay errores de ortografía o dudas etc. Los estaré leyendo :) Esta historia contiene -Comedia -Acción -Mal lenguaje ocasional Y sin más que decir. DISFRUTEN actualizaré frecuente ;)
Waking up from a nightmare always had my heart racing, but this time I had been crying. Slowly sitting up in bed I touched two fingers to my cheek, feeling the dampness that was my tears. When I woke up like this I never remembered what it was I had been dreaming. So could I call it a nightmare or just a really bad dream?.... Sitting up slowly and letting my legs hang over the side of the bed, and inhaled deeply. That only made me sniffle. Sighing, I used my pillow to whip my face, then flipped it over. Gross "Hey." His voice was husky from sleep, and I felt a warm large hand midway up my back. I turned looking behind me and faced him, his hand was now on my side and it felt nice being so warm. "Hi, sorry go back to bed." I rubbed my face with my palm. He sat up blinking sleep from his eyes, his eyebrows were pulled tight together, looking a little concerned. "Hey what's wrong?" Giving him a warm smile I scooted closed to him in bed, put my for head to his chest and sighed. "Its nothing, I just woke up and had been crying.... I guess." His whole body was so warm, it felt like he was on fire, but whenever I had asked if he was too warm he always said that was just his normal temperature. He wrapped his arms around me, making me feel safe and warm. "Another nightmare? Or you don't remember again?" He started to stroke my hair. I peeked up at him from under my lashes, and lifted my head slightly. "I can't remember." His heart beat was steady, and there was a rumble in his chest as I heard him chuckle. "Of course." His arms dropped from around me as his palm came up to caress my check. I leaned into his touch, stealing the warmth from it as we watched each other. His face was a couple inches from mine. I watched his lips, then back up at his eyes. He smirked, knowing what i was silently asking, as he brought his face closer to mine, only a hairs breath. His breathing was warm on my face as I closed my eyes in anticipation.
Les consultations médicales peuvent parfois receler bien des subtilités... Qu’est-ce que la médecine générale ? Bien malin celui qui peut la définir, elle qui allie l’acte médical du moment, souvent vite résolu, à un compagnonnage qui se déploie dans le temps pour faire de l’apprivoisement mutuel une découverte de l’autre, une intimité fragile et sacrée qui permet d’ajuster la médecine anonyme, sèche et normée à la particularité de chacun. Toutes ces petites histoires essaient de montrer ce fil ténu entre un malade et son praticien au service d’une médecine adaptée à chacun. Ces différentes histoires, écrites par un médecin généraliste, mettent en lumière le lien unique entre un praticien et chacun de ses malades. EXTRAIT — « Regardez dans sa sacoche vous verrez il a son paquet de cigarettes ! J’ai beau le lui dire, il n’en fait qu’à sa tête ! ». La maladie pour qui le temps ne comptait pas progressait et faisait de cette femme l’image de la désespérance... Comme beaucoup, elle s’obnubilait sur quelque chose de symbolique. Pour elle, le tabac représentait la seule désobéissance de son mari à sa présence totalitaire. C’était donc lui le responsable, le bouc émissaire. Je pouvais à peu près refaire le raisonnement : « Martin j’ai peur que tu meures ce ne peut pas être de ma faute, je t’avais dit de ne plus fumer, tu ne m’as pas obéi arrête et tu ne mourras pas ». Je ne me voyais vraiment pas arracher la sacoche de Martin. Martin maintenant, lorsqu’il arrivait, toujours derrière sa femme, s’asseyait donc et posait ostensiblement sa sacoche devant lui en souriant. Son épouse regardait l’objet du délit avec réprobation et répulsion. Les yeux bleus de Martin soutenaient mon regard. Celui de sa femme était humide. Après le récit de madame, toujours à la première personne du pluriel, puis l’examen et l’ordonnance, dans une suite devenue classique, monsieur prenait sa sacoche après que madame se soit levée. L’entrevue était terminée. Un jour emporté par le feu de l’action et surtout celui de la conversation que nous venions d’avoir tous les trois où il avait été question de la progression de son cancer, ils sortirent du cabinet et, avant de fermer la porte, je vis Martin revenir précipitamment dans le bureau pour saisir la précieuse sacoche qu’il avait failli oublier. C’est à cette occasion que je remarquais enfin l’importance de l’objet et à partir de là il prit dans ma vie une place qui frisait l’obsession. Chaque consultation, le même manège, le même regard et cette sacoche toujours posée comme une interface, un écran protecteur entre Martin et moi… Qui avait-il dedans de si précieux ? Elle avait pris sensiblement au fil des mois le centre de la consultation… Je m’imaginais, lorsque j’étais en verve, des papiers, des secrets, que Martin ne voulait pas montrer et qu’il préférait par devers lui plutôt que de risquer de les voir consultés par sa femme. Un passé ? Un présent insoutenable ? Des titres ? De l’argent ? Des maîtresses aux accouplements torrides ? Des vices cachés ? Je n’en dormais plus dévoré de curiosité. Que pouvait bien cacher Martin qui lui donnait d’oser résistance ? À PROPOS DE L'AUTEUR Né en 1950, Dominique Beau fit ses études scolaires et de médecine à la faculté de Brest. Installé dans cette même ville comme médecin généraliste de 1978 à 2014, il obtient une capacité en gérontologie en 1992 et un diplôme universitaire en soins palliatifs en 2004. Particulièrement sensibilisé à la solitude des personnes âgées, il essaie d’initier une action de mise en place d’oiseaux apprivoisés au domicile des personnes souffrant de solitude.
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