Novel & Cerita Canon Fodder

You know the Fosters. Everyone does. From the beautiful Victorian on the bend. A stone’s throw from the canal. Damon was a policeman, back in the day. Discharged on pension. Went on to become a cardiologist—best one within a reasonable drive. I hear they pay him a fortune.

The exhaustion from the day's troubles was too much for his hypoglycemic system. Jason fiddled away with the envelope which slipped off his quivering hands. Losing his balance, Jason dropped to the marble floor with a loud thud, and everything blacked out. *** Song: Anna of the north (Lovers) 💔💔 You told me I would never see you walk away. Said you'd never break my heart Never leave me in the dark I guess there are just some promises we shouldn't make Shoulda knew from the start I'm in the dark Show a little loving

The tool demands for a choice to be made, for the cowardice to be relinquished by a certain power I just don’t possess. Fear boils to a scorching heat, and I yank at the charger before my data can reconnect itself. I drop the phone as if it were soaked in wolfsbane, slamming the small drawer shut with a disgruntled groan. My feet scramble to get away from the device, backing me up and away from the wobbling nightstand.

Cannon snorts, hands buried inside his coat. “I hope so,” Wendigo gave a half-shrug, "maybe alone, I can't, but together, I'm very sure I can,” he glances at the Black gun by his side. “Useless mortals” The smirk on Cannon's face was so chilly, it was as though he was mocking the stupid guys who thought they could defeat him. “Not all mortals are as useless as you think,” Wendigo brags, he just doesn't understand who Cannon is and what he is capable of cause if he did, he won't have been blabbing nonsense.

Did I ask another question and risk being nosy or did I keep asking them for the sake of conversation and my own curiosity? There were only two questions I had left and I wasn't sure I wanted to know the answers to them. "How often do you have to..." my voice trailed off. What do you even call drinking someone else's blood? Feeding? Drinking? Murder? "Four times a day," he said, understanding my question. "Your dad said you were fasting," I noticed. "What does that mean?" Cain drew in a deep breath. "I don't particularly enjoy killing people for their blood, Ella."

Bastard", Snow seethed as the alpha command lost hold as soon as Adrienne put the empty cup down.* *Adrienne couldn't agree more. "What was in the drink, Alpha?"* *Alpha Marcus smirked at her. "Didn't taste anything, did you?"* *"No, I..." She paused mid-sentence and clutched at her throat. There was a burning sensation all the way from her throat, down to her belly.*

LYDIA MARTIN I need to sleep, I need to sleep. I kept repeating the words again and again. Maybe if I chanted it long enough, it would come true. My eyes couldn’t shut shut. Instead, they were shining brightly. I kept blinking while staring into the darkness. "I'll be 18 tomorrow, and my father is throwing a party to celebrate, and I'll finally meet my Mate." I'm curious about who he will be; have I met him before? Will he be from the White Wolf pack too?

I walked towards him as he is seated majestically on his golden throne with his wizard Harrod standing next to him. Harrod makes all kinds of medicines and black magic for father. "Father, you sent for me." I say with a small bow. "Yes." He replies. "What is it father?." I asked politely. He faced Harrod and gestures at him to speak up. Harrod turned to me and bowed. " My prince, i'm afraid there's no cure for the king's deformed hand in this kingdom." He says. I glanced at father's left deformed arm and sighed. He always uses a golden glove to hide it.

Dannie took a long drag from the joint, counting to three before she released it. Her confrontation with Cass had her afraid of being a hair’s width from triggering another shift. Dannie tried taking a hot shower, reading and even dancing, but she couldn’t get her mind off of the nightmare and the black magic book. So she went for Plan B — Mary Jane. Drugs like pot usually didn’t work on the wolves due to their super-high metabolism, but as hers was maybe only a little above human normal ranges, so things like pot worked on her just fine.

Black shelves loomed like shadows of sin—cold steel, dark leather, polished glass. The tools sat in perfect order: crops, flóggers, díldos, plúgs, pàddles, clàmps, a violet wand cradled in velvet, gàgs in various shapes, ànal hooks, ropes, hoods, and restraints. It wasn’t decoration. It was declaration. Every piece had drawn cries. Every piece had made someone submit.