Chapter 30 Fourth Wing Novels & Stories

CHAPTER 59: THE ECLIPSE OF AETHELGARD The salt-heavy air of the Lagos harbor didn't taste like freedom. It tasted like industrial decay and the metallic tang of a dying god. I stood knee-deep in the black sludge of the shoreline, my silver-mercury wings dragging behind me like the tattered banners of a defeated army. Every muscle in my body was screaming, a symphony of "Null-Ache" that made the simple act of breathing feel like inhaling glass.

He could not help but wonder how easy it would have been had his wolf been not suppressed by the dark witch. Suddenly, from above, a swarm of Wraithwings descended, their ghostly forms merging into a tempest of shrieks that reverberated through the air like a banshee's wail. Flameheart pivoted, raising his blade to meet their assault, slicing through the air as they swooped down, their claws poised to tear him apart.

We jump on him, pinning him down with all our weight in his wings. “I’m not dying! Not today!” He struggles against us but it’s useless. He is seething with rage as he speaks. “I begged for death but you are three hundred years too late!” He roars but it doesn’t seem like his words are directed at us. “They will know suffering!” The main bone connecting his wings to his back cracks. “Your children…” his eyes are glazed over, their gold is turning red. “They will know suffering!” He tugs with so much force that one wing detaches from his body.

I wasn’t letting him get away with this. The little prick, I mean that based on what my sister has said, is lucky to be alive. Because when Xenia kicked him back and grabbed him, I seriously considered snapping his neck. Walking in to see him pinning her to her bed like that made every drop of angry warrior Spartan blood, my grandpa Ares so proudly boasts about, boil.

There was only a long thud of air as the something suddenly unfolded into fairly large leathery wings. Vic shook his head in panic, turned several times, trying to see the innovation. The wings did not want to gather back - they stuck out straightened on the sides. He forced himself to calm down and freeze in place, too stupid to spin naked on the lakeshore. This is not a tail, a tail would probably interfere more. After a very short flight over the forest, the wings were no longer such a surprise. You just need to learn how to manage them. He moved his shoulder blades again and tried to feel them, imagining that it should feel like body parts - just like arms or legs. After several unsucces

But my stubbornness refused to part with it. Inside, my mother's inscription glimmered: "To my Vega may your star sign bright." The book itself unfolded tales of constellations and the stories they held within their stars. Among them, Veg and Altair lovers are torn apart yet resolute in their celestial bond. A love my mother had hoped would find its echoes in my name: Vega Alexia Wolfgang.

But rumours were told that she created a hideout containing a legion of powerful immortals. The fourth vampire types are also known as the winged vampires. They are the offspring of a bat-kin and vampire. With their blood mixed, they had superhuman strength, speed, senses, stamina, accelerated healing factor, metamorphosis or atomize, lesser-immortality and they had wings on their back. They could travel both day and night and didn’t have any weaknesses. Sherry is, no doubt the fourth type. From what I can tell, her other bloodline might possibly be under Elizabeth’s bloodline— because, for a vampire, she’s beautiful.

Nevaeh nods tearfully, her shoulders shaking with her sobs. Tired of waiting, Lukan shoves my head down. Excruciating pain explodes across my back. My vision blurs, and nausea gathers in my stomach as my wings are being cut from my body. I try to stifle my screams, but the pain is unbearable. The metallic taste of blood saturates my taste buds. It's excruciating. Falling forward, I try to straighten my arms, but they buckle. Choking on my blood, I give Nevaeh a reassuring look, but my vision blurs, and my body quakes. The sound of something falling near my shoulder startles me from my pain. It’s one of my wings. Vision wavering, I crawl to Nevaeh and touch her foot. My ears thrum, and my bod

I said dropping a feather to glide downwards. A murmured growl acknowledged the hit, he apparently already knew. That growl gave me goose bumps. I watched in relief as he walked over by the door to grab the discarded pie bag and spilt coffee cup. Coffee had leaked out and made little tree root designs along the floor. I felt bad about that but he started it. Standing up he looked at me where I was perched. "Well, you are definitely not an Angel, not with those dirty wings, but, you're not simple, I'll give you that." The dig on my wings stung, they weren't the pretty ethereal white of an Angels but resembled melted cookies and cream ice cream.

Her wings fell back into her body, screaming. Covering my mouth, a sob wrecked through me. I had forgotten she would feel the pain, too. Too worried about watching Mortus breathe his last breaths. The warrior, his eyes solemn with pity, gently gathered her in his arms, picked her up. Her head leaned into his chest, gripping his uniform. “Leave me,” she cried again. Wings sprung forth from his body, shaking his head. His wings hummed in the pattern of a hummingbird and took flight to the palace.