Alastor Ships Novels & Stories

“You can accept it. I can’t.’ Bash wildly growled and shifted on all fours. He broke out of the constrain Blaze had over him. The beast within him was released. Blaze lost against Bash’s wild side. Enraged, Bash rammed his paws into the ground and ran straight towards Alpha Cole. “I, Alpha Cole Westbrook, banish you, Lilith Venerelli from the Blood Moon pack.” Alpha Cole declared. Bash staggered before stopping all together. He whined and furiously scratched at the ground. He defeatedly shifted back. It was too late. Alpha Cole had already announced her banishment. Lilith stumbled as she felt a jolt in her chest. Her ties within the pack were cut off.

We skipped the slow, heavy dreadnoughts because Kaelen only had about thirty-six hours left before his heart turned to ice. Those bulky ships wouldn’t have been able to navigate the mountain winds quickly enough. Instead, Alaric and Marcus had geared up four small, nimble arcane cutters—basically just engines bolted onto reinforced steel frames, designed for speed. They were risky and a bit unstable, but nothing else in the sky could touch their speed. ​Kaelen insisted on walking up the boarding ramp of the lead cutter. He was fully geared in his dark Alpha armor, his massive broadsword strapped to his back. To any soldier watching from the courtyard, he looked ready for war.

His voice sharp: “Movement in Algiers. Don Victor’s fleet just surfaced. Twenty-three ships. Flagged under shell corporations. They're heading toward Naples.” A grin touched my lips. So he wants to finish what Cassian started? “Good,” I said. “Let him.” Matteo blinked. “You want them to make land?” “I want them to try.” I looked at Aria, who already knew what I was planning. “You’re going to use the bait?” she asked softly. I nodded. “Time to light the Cerberus Protocol.” Her smile was blade-sharp. “Then let them come,” she whispered. “We’ll give them a welcome party so loud, the underworld will beg for silence.”

Panni replied, her golden gaze shifting to the sky. Above them, the Vane fleet descended. Massive iron-clad dirigibles, held aloft by heated gas and humming with internal brass rotors, blocked out the moon. The lead ship, the Aurelius, lowered its docking claws. A platform descended, carrying Alistair Vane. He was bleeding from the clockshop explosion, his silk suit ruined, but his eyes were filled with a terrifying, religious fervor.

Not from the predator. It was a hum. A single, resonant, harmonious note. A ship dropped out of a jump directly between us and the void-predator. It was the vessel we had seen once before, the one woven from a basket of light. Elara's ship. But it was not alone. Flanking it were a dozen other vessels—Kael's Stalwart Friend, now scarred and battle-hardened, and others we recognized from the freed worlds. Ships of crystal, of living wood, of solidified sound. The First Chapter.

The “fire” that killed Alicia’s grandfather wasn’t in any official file. It took Zara 36 hours to find it. “Private maritime registry,” she said over video call at 3 a.m. Geneva time. Her face was pale from lack of sleep and blue light. “Kessler Shipping and Dickson Shipping dissolved their partnership in December 1994. Two weeks later, the _Maris Stella_ went down off the coast of Norway. Your grandfather was on board.” Alicia sat up in bed. Alex was already awake, watching her face.

The lead Alden war ship drew up parallel, close enough that the captains could shout across the gap between the ships. “We are Estrean merchants,” the Concordian vampire captain called out with a good approximation of the Estrean accent. “On our way to collect fabrics and other merchandise from Concordia.” “We see the flag. Concordia is a dangerous place at this time. It is advisable for you to reconsider your destination,” the Alden captain called back.

“Lady Ever—” “No names.” Becky lifted a hand without slowing. “Not mine. Not yours. Not tonight.” The man bowed his head. “As you wish.” “Is the ship ready?” “Aye.” He jerked his chin toward the vessel moored at the far end of the dock. It was a weather-beaten cargo ship, hull patched, sails rolled, the Eastwind insignia freshly painted over with a darker, unfamiliar crest. “False flag, false registry, false manifests. No one’ll track where she’s goin’.”

Added one more line, because the evidence demanded it even if I wasn't ready for what it meant: Which means they knew I was coming. Before Alastor did.

Alastor replied dismissively. “What’s it for?” Ashton pressed. “That’s none of your business,” Alastor shot back, his demeanor shifting to one of irritation. He has to be an alpha since he confidently spoke to Ashton that way, and Ashton appeared to be wary around him. After a moment, Ashton asked out of the blue, “Are you responsible for the note?” “What note?” Alastor asked, puzzled. Either he doesn't know, or he is such a good actor. But we certainly can't tell that yet.