Avenger Wings Novels & Stories

The executive hangar was a massive, sterile cavern of polished steel and white neon, a stark contrast to the blood-slicked concrete of the Moonhaven Coast. In the center of the bay sat Rhys’s private aircraft—a sleek, multi-million silver shard VTOL. Its carbon-fiber hull was pitch black, stamped with the silver frost-wolf emblem of the Stormfang Syndicate. The twin jet engines rotated slowly on their housings, emitting a low, bass-heavy hum that rattled right through Agnes’s boots.

Then, I took out an A3 paper from the briefcase and spread it across the table. It was a curved flight path, overlapping on the city map. "This is the flight path of the Cessna with the registration number B-10YZ between 2:00 pm and 4:00 pm on the same day. This aircraft…" I stared at him. "…is owned by Zach Airways." A flicker of tension crossed Zachary's face. Under the light, his face turned as pale as a sheet as he swallowed hard. Mike fixed his eyes on the two documents for a long time before he gradually raised his head. "Mr. Zachary, this weather report…"

Not enough distance, no backup, heart split wide open and bleeding divine light like a damn beacon. And that’s when I smelled the fucking wolves. Not our wolves. Council wolves. Government issue, silver laced, weapon strapped, holier than thou enforcer dickheads. I hit the treeline just as I saw them close in, eight of them, all in sleek black gear, guns drawn, silver cuffs glinting like a threat. And there he was. Auren. Standing tall despite the storm in his chest, his wings out because, let’s be honest, ain’t no hiding those divine fuckers when your soul is flayed open.

"Mommy, my wings are crooked!" I'm not even through the safe house door when Ava's crisis hits full volume. She's standing in the living room wearing green sequined wings that list dramatically to the left, Mr. Floppington tucked under one arm like he's about to stage an intervention. Elena kneels in front of her, safety pins between her teeth, hair falling out of its clip. She's in jeans and a sweater that's riding up her back, exposing skin I have no business noticing when her daughter is having a wardrobe emergency.

Somehow, they'd gotten their hands on my flight info and cut me off the minute I walked off the plane. Mom looked at me like she couldn't believe her eyes, as if she needed proof I was actually standing there. Then, all at once, she broke down and threw her arms around me, her face wet with tears. "Wanda, my child, it's so good to have you back. Where have you been all these years? Dad and I never gave up looking for you." Her act left me speechless, and my heart stayed cold. I shoved her back, uninterested in playing my part in their dramatic reunion act.

His wings spread wide, feathers shimmering like liquid gold, ready to defend the innocent and uphold the balance of the realms. Flame curled around Wrath's frame, a living, breathing entity that danced and flickered with his every movement. The inferno cast eerie shadows, highlighting the sharp angles of his face and the fierce determination in his molten eyes. His power was raw, untamed, a force of nature that refused to be contained or controlled.

“Mobilize the Iron Guard. Full aerial deployment. Silas—activate the eastern drone net. Mara—shield projections at the compound gates. I want reinforcements in the air within five minutes.” It was billionaire precision meeting primal war. Orders snapped like silk cords, efficient, expensive, absolute. Private jets—disguised as luxury Gulfstreams—would be redirected as airborne carriers. Wolfe armored SUVs, black with chrome insignias, roared to life in the garage below. Wolves in tailored combat uniforms moved like shadows, efficient as any special forces unit.

"Get the kids to the sub-levels! Camille, don't you dare look back!" Elodie’s voice tore through the screech of jet engines. Above, the sky wasn't purple anymore; it was choked with the oily black smoke of burning high-octane fuel. A "Wolf-Killer" drone, sleek and predatory with Aegis Corp markings, banked hard over the west wing. Its underbelly glowed a hellish red before a silver-shrapnel missile corkscrewed into the ramparts.

“Well, I've never fought one so I can't really tell. But from the books it's an artery on their neck, different from the rest, they hide it well and it's their weak point.” “So if we find and strike them there they'll die.” Aella said, “or we burn them” “Correct.” He nodded. “Not bad, I'll have Aragon work on that. But why do they have wings? The ones I saw didn't.” “Maybe the witch did something to them.” he shrugged. “Makes sense.” “So that settles that. Next is attack and defense. My Gamma will remain in the pack alongside his mate and his team to defend and protect the children and old ones in case it becomes a necessity.” The words rolled off my tongue smoothly.

Calvin certainly warranted it. How dare this bitch come into my domain and declare war! She would be another exception. I have never consumed a Vessel, but I wanted, and needed, to consume her. I released a high-pitched whistle, calling my children to me. Seven of them showed up. Four of them were in their first form with their wings out. Our wings were just like serrated blades – dangerous, lethal, and the perfect weapons. The remaining three of them were in their second form, essentially making them tanks. They were far more durable in this form but did not have the same agility as the first form.