Beneath Her Skin Novels & Stories

The songs of wolves who need no mate to make them whole. By dawn, the pup descended. "Push now," the midwife commanded. I bore down, feeling bone separate, feeling flesh tear, feeling the fire that was life forcing its way into cold air. A cry. High, furious, indignant. They lifted him—pale, damp, perfect—and placed him on my chest. I touched his back, feeling the wolf-spirit stir beneath newborn skin, strong and immediate. No delay. No death-sleep. He had my silver eyes. Not Leon's gold. Never Leon's gold.

Underneath her makeup, the skin of her right cheekbone was dark and slightly discolored, but no one would notice, not until they wiped off the layers of foundation she had on. Not that they were ever going to look. Not that anyone cared enough to see her being consumed from the inside. She let out a breath and began taking off the dress.

She's beautiful. She has a jet black hair, streaming down her shoulders, packed over one of her breast. Black gown, having nesty texture at the cleavage adds to her beauty, but since I can't see underneath, I disregard that part. All in all, she's dazzling beautiful. Her skin's sandy, tanned. I take her as someone who will like the summer far better than winter. Speaking of which, summer period is already coming to an end.

To life. The darkness shifted, and a different scene emerged. That time, it was softer, bathed in a silvery glow. A figure appeared, ethereal and radiant. She was breathtakingly beautiful, with skin like the purest milk, long white hair flowing like silk over her shoulders, and eyes that sparkled like crystalline rivers beneath a crescent moon marking her forehead. Her skin shimmered as if dusted in stardust, her white gown cascading around her like clouds on a clear night. She was the embodiment of grace, of strength.

“Housing needed loosening. Try it now.” But she doesn’t climb on the bike. Instead, she squats beside me on the opposite side, her elbow resting casually on the seat. The movement pulls her jacket open just enough to show the line of her chest, bare skin under leather, like always. No shirt, no bra. Just her and the teasing glint of metal between her ribs. She leans closer. “You used to like when I showed up like this. Grease on my thighs, heat on my skin, nothing underneath.”

Her secrets. With a sharp tug, I force her to face me. Her breath hitches, and her chest rises and falls in rapid, uneven gasps. The remnants of her dress, torn and hanging limply, barely conceal her. It’s as if her very skin is daring me to look deeper. To see what she’s hidden. What she’s tried so desperately to bury. Her skin is pale, smooth in some places... but it’s the imperfections that catch my eye.

I expected her knees to buckle as the adrenaline leached from her system. There was no moisture in her eyes. Her irises were a hard, dense violet. Her pupils were narrowed to razor-thin vertical lines of black. The softness in her features—the girl who shared her limited calories, the girl who winced at the sight of a broken wing—had been incinerated. Her skin began to hum. It was a low-frequency vibration I felt in my own marrow. She walked to the edge of the metal decking. She looked down at the army. She looked at Barzil.

Not with Lila unconscious in my arms. Her head rested against my chest, her hair spilling over my suit, the strands damp with sweat. Her face, God her face was too pale, lips parted as though even breathing had become a battle. I pressed two fingers to the side of her neck again, desperate for what I had felt the first time, that faint, fragile beat of life beneath her skin.

And then I see her. A small female form with pale hair is lying on the forest floor. She doesn’t seem bigger than a teenager . Her back is turned so I can’t see her face but the moonlight streams through the forest canopy making it look like she is glowing. Her pale skin iridescent under the moon. She’s glorious, she’s gorgeous, she’s not fucking moving.

Her touch was gentle but sure, blending the product into my face like she was painting on confidence one careful stroke at a time. "You have amazing bone structure," she said, her voice taking on the focused tone she used when she was concentrating. "Like, criminally underrated cheekbones. I don't know why you spend so much time trying to hide them." "I usually hide them under exhaustion and bad lighting." "Well, tonight they're going to make grown men weep actual tears."