Antimatter Blues: A Mickey7 Novel Novels & Stories

POV: Micah Mooncrest "Rhea, stop moving for one second and tell me the truth. Does your heart still beat for this pack, or did the vampires bleed that out of you too?" Micah stood by the iron-latticed window of the recovery wing, his face gaunt and pale from his weeks in the stasis casket. His eyes, once full of a brother’s simple warmth, were now sharp with a Beta’s suspicion. He watched his sister pace the small stone room, her movements fluid and strange, no longer the stumbling girl he had tried to protect.

The air around them was thick enough to cut with a knife, and suddenly Michael wished he could disappear. Disappear into thin air because nothing about this situation felt right. Everything just felt wrong. Like he'd been thrown into a nightmare that would never end. But the longer this went on, the deeper he sunk and the stronger the pull became. It was a strange territory he had just wandered into. An unknown land and he had obviously trespassed. Shouldn't he be leaving before he got into any more trouble? But, for some reason, he couldn't get his legs to move from that spot and his eyes stayed captivated in those seas of blues. He has blue eyes, he's looked into Matthew's blue eyes all hi

The micro-SD card was an illegal sun, burning a hole through Sabe's palm. Rico's arrival had changed all this. He was no longer a passive captive waiting for his fate; he was a fighter in a cell, and the boundary of the enemy had just been marked. Section Seven. The title was an ice in his blood, reminding him walls were not just concrete, but living, breathing entities that could warp reality as they pleased. He was waiting for Anton's lawyers for a trial. By then he'd be buried under a mountain of pristine evidence, and Anton would be… whatever Marcus and his ghostly benefactors intended.

He lit the cigarette, then blew smoke out into the open air. Failure wasn’t an option, not with HEXAGON. Not with him watching. I had seen what they did to those who disappointed them—broken souls who were tortured in ways that made you forget who you were. The kind of suffering that didn’t kill you but made you wish it would. A lot could happen if I killed Mike, I could lose everything, but one thing is certain, I can never lose Blue. And he is all that stands between me and her.

Only blinding, oppressive white. Plop. Plop. Plop. Luka, Jeremiah, and Jack tumble out of the tear, landing hard on the ice. The blue light snaps shut behind them, leaving only the howling wind. “Snow,” Micah mutters, wiping his nose with the back of his leather glove. “We are entirely unprotected up here.” “Why are the lycans here?” a sharp voice barks from the left. My head snaps round. The snow drift five yards away is moving. A figure rises from the white mound, completely cloaked in thick, bleached canvas. A long silver spear points directly at my chest.

“What does it do?” “It kills god-wolves,” Micah said flatly. “Instantly.” The silence that followed was heavier than the air. “He plans to use it,” Micah went on, “on every clan, every line—wolf and human—connected to the Peak. Clean the slate. Burn the roots. Only St. Clair blood left to carry the flame.” Vivianne stared at him, something like awe and horror tangled in her eyes. “And you’re just telling me this now?”

“We should probably use this short time that Blame’s still distracting—” “That speaks a problem to itself as well.” “What are you talking about?” “Look at Blame.” He pointed at the center-field where Blame and Dark were facing each other. Their lips were moving, but Michelle could barely hear a thing. What’s intriguing, though, was the sudden outbursts of bluish energy from her back, forming into intangible feathers flocking together until it became a large pair of wings. “What’s that?” exclaimed Michelle, her eyes wide.

“How is it easy? I don't see it.” “You are blind.” “Maybe I am, but the question still stands, how?” “He didn't leave us for gold or riches; he left us for firm breasts.” “Are you sure?” “Yes.” “You saw that Postar girl?” “I have.” “She is something.” “True.” “We must have a reserve plan,” Hamil appeared from the group. “True,” said Nezamaikov, “any options, gents?” “We must prepare for the worse,” a gunner said.

So it bided its time, and it waited, knowing that a chance would come to be rid of its persecutors. Then something happened that neither the Gate, the Archons, nor the Bréostwylmas ever expected—Matthew McCavendish opened a portal in a Quiet Place, one of the most powerful spaces on the earthly plane. Matthew had been to the Gate before, the Gate recognised him, and his energy was like a lightning rod to a thunderbolt. It gave the Gate impetus and direction, and it allowed it to tear up its roots and move from a higher plane to an earthly one.

His chest heaved, and his breath came in erratic gasps, matching the uneven palpitations of his heart. The amulet glowed furiously, its amber, green, and blue hues rising and swelling in the confines as it fought alongside him. A strange hum emanated inside, an eerie song beyond translation. Nathaniel sensed they weren't alone. The air in the cabin was closer, and the shadows seemed more menacing. The candle, burning low on the desk, seemed unable to combat them, quivering as it melted into the wax. 'Sing holly, go whistle, sing ivy!'