Arming Coat Novels & Stories

Doing her best to banish the subject from her mind, she sat on one of the moulded plastic chairs, took off her trainers, and pulled on her high-heeled boots. When she put them on this morning she'd hoped that their soft autumn-gold would cheer her up, but they didn't. Nor did her moss-green tights, nor her heather-checked mohair skirt, and certainly not this new moss-green sweater she'd had to buy to hide Robert's bite. As for her Cossack coat, she could hardly bear to touch it. The mere feel of its rough wool against her fingers brought back a host of unwanted memories. For two pins she'd have worn her old raincoat in spite of the sunshine . . .

His possessive nature turns me on. He helps me get the coat on me, making sure it covers the marks. It hangs so loose on me. I look like a skeleton in a coat. It's too big. The sleeves gather around my wrist and make a few circles. His coat smells like him, giving me the warmth and comfort I didn't even know I needed. Oh God! Help me! I'm quickly falling for him and I see no way back. That's why I'm so scared. What if he doesn't reciprocate my feelings?

In her gaze, he saw something—something fleeting, indescribable. “You came all this way just to bring me clothes?” “Yes. I mean, not just that. I was coming out to paint anyway. But your coat’s too thin.” She took off the scarf, tiptoed to drape it around his neck instead, smiling. “You’re dressed lighter than I am. You keep the coat. I’m pretty tough in the cold. Otherwise, your fingers might freeze and you won’t be able to hold your brush.” “It’s not mine,” Aron said, frowning. “I can’t wear it. Just take it.”

The Commander liked it that way. From her vantage point on the low ridge, the farmhouse looked almost innocent: weathered wood, a crooked chimney, its windows glowing with the faint orange of a lantern. Quiet, rustic, human. Her gloved hand lifted the small scope to her eye. Behind that glassy pane, a shadow moved—the taller one. Broad shoulders, slow, careful pacing. The man in the gray coat. Her lips curved, just slightly. Adrian.

I move into the living room and head straight for the weapon couch. He’s already ready as I clip two daggers to my thighs and strap a gun to my holster. I pull on my black coat that falls below my knees and fastens with a silver clasp at the center. It hides all my weapons. And according to Dove, it makes me look hot. The coat is also fireproof and bulletproof thanks to demonic enchantments. “That coat suits you,” Caleb comments, running a hand through his wet hair. He grabs a sword and slides it into the sheath on his back.

Instead, I looked at my coat that Giselle had stomped on and said, "My coat costs 18 thousand dollars. Who's going to compensate me for it?" Giselle pursed her lips. "18 thousand dollars? You're out of your mind. I bought my coat directly from the manufacturing factory, and it only cost me 5,800 dollars. That fake coat of yours is inferior to mine in every way—from the material to the craftsmanship. I bet you only paid 200 dollars for it!" I ignored her and glanced at my phone. It was almost time for them to show up. Just then, someone knocked on the door and demanded, "Who called the police?"

They would know. She stood up. She walked to the wardrobe and pulled out his heaviest, most structured coat—a military-style frock coat with stiff lining. "You will go," she said fiercely. She pulled him up. She wrestled his arms into the coat. She buttoned it all the way to the chin, the stiff fabric acting like a brace for his torso. She grabbed the rouge pot from the vanity. She smeared a little on his cheeks to hide the pallor. "Lean on me," she commanded. "Heavily. Pretend you are drunk. I will carry you."

’ ‘But I’m the one who’s not prepared! ‘I’ll wait for you today even if it takes me until midnight.’ Camille stifled a groan and stalked back to her desk. She bent down and searched the drawers before finally finding what she was looking for. It was a coat she had kept for the rainy days. She liked it because it covered her from head to toe. It was long, like a trench coat, and it was a dark color so she could blend in with the crowd. It even had a hood, which was perfect for protection.

She looked like she didn’t want to be here, and that she was doing us all a service by allowing us to be in her presence. “Good evening Miss. May I take your coat?” She didn’t answer me, but began taking her coat off. It was this cream fur monstrosity that I am sure probably only had a heartbeat yesterday. “My, my, this is exquisite!” I said enthusiastically as she handed me her coat. “I’ll make sure I put this one with the family coats and keep a close eye on it,” in case it suddenly runs off on it’s own! This earned me a half look of acknowledgement. Well I tried!

"I can't believe you're actually selling this garbage." She shrugged off the coat and let it fall to the floor. The assistant's face went white. That coat cost over $10,000. If it got damaged, she'd lose her job for sure - and her measly salary couldn't begin to cover the cost.