Christopher Scarver Book Novels & Stories

Chapter 7 Midnight Static Adrian POV I remain motionless,listening as the last squeal of my tire disappears into a suffocating silence of the deserted road. The air inside the car suddenly felt thin, tasting faintly of iron and the cold river fog that pressed against the glass. My breath caught,fogging the windshield in a jagged half moon as my trembling fingers inched upward, gripping the rearview mirror and tilting it down just enough to catch the dark, wet stretch of road behind me.

Perhaps that’s what made him so mysterious, maybe he was involved with magic, which was rarely seen among the werewolves. I shook my head at Christopher as he looked at me with excited, expectant eyes. “I’m sorry, I can’t read it,” I told him. Christopher’s smile fell, and he looked a little confused, but he quickly pulled out his notebook and began scribbling again, holding the book under his arm. “This tome holds spells that can cure your infertility,” he wrote. I nodded, and he opened the book again, pointing at the page, as if I could somehow understand the symbols on the page now.

From the corner of my eye, I catch Asher shift off the wall. “Who?” Primrose asks. “Scar. The vampire I went in search of…” “You went in search of him?” Asher’s voice snaps, part disbelief, part anger. “Yes. I did.” Memory detonates in me of how I had one of the wolves discreetly search the Brooklyn database for Scar after he mentioned Brooklyn. “Make sure no one knows of this search.” I instructed. A hacker. He agreed, executed it cleanly. “You sure this information is legit?” I asked when he returned days later with printed papers detailing everything I needed to know.

She closed her eyes and took a deep, shivering breath. "What would you say if I said I might have found some proof about who was behind the attacks?" Sawyer's mouth dropped open. "You did?" Waverly nodded her head and glanced up at him through her eyelashes. "What was it?" "I—" Waverly stopped speaking when she saw his expression—so hopeful and relieved and she was about to crush it. "It's Christopher, Sawyer." Sawyer's face dropped. "What're you talking about?" "I saw a book…in his room."

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Veronica, but Sasha said that you might like a cup of coffee.” Forcing a welcoming smile to her lips, Veronica took the tray from Sasha’s housekeeper. She had been working in the library all morning, painstakingly going through the accounts and costings for the work she had already commissioned for Elsinore Hall. She knew she had to leave everything in perfect order for whoever was going to take her place. But now, even though she hadn’t eaten any breakfast and she knew that she ought to be hungry, the only hunger she had was the neverending, consuming hunger for Sasha’s love. And, as he had made more than plain to her, that was something she could never have.

It was a rhythmic throb he could feel against his spine. He hated it. Every beat of her heart was a reminder of his chains. He was a hunter. A killer. A dread thing that had walked the earth for five centuries, leaving bodies in his wake. Now he was playing nursemaid to a girl who was supposed to obsolete his kind. "A messenger dog," he thought bitterly. He had called Caspian a guard dog for a slaughterhouse. But as he hiked through the dark with Elena on his back, the irony tasted like ash in his mouth. He was describing himself.

I just deliberately killed a man. The crowd starts booing me instead of cheering, which I don’t really give a shit about, but it does confuse me. I look back and see Sheril locked in battle with Caspian. Shutting all my emotions off, I stride toward them, looking for an opening, and when I find it, I slip in and lodge my knife into Caspian’s back. This surprises him and distracts him enough. He reaches back with his hands, trying to grab the knife that’s still stuck in him. Sheril takes advantage of this and immediately drives her spear into his chest.

She grabbed her pepper spray and sprayed them relentlessly, making the thugs cough and flinch. "Where did these come from? Speak, or I'll call the cops!" She grabbed a thug's collar with one hand and pressed the dial button with the other. Terrified at the mention of the police, one of the thugs stammered, "It… It was Caspian. He sold them to us…" "And this potion too. He said it would make women uncontrollably aroused…" Aveline froze, her mind reeling as if struck by a jolt of lightning.

He whined and I rolled my eyes while laughing but the laughter died immediately I turned towards him and saw him standing there shirtless. The air conditioner is turned on but I am covered in sweat, my face is literally dripping and at the same time, I am feeling cold as I stared at Logan's naked chest, particularly his right nipple that has an obvious scar, an unmistakable scar... A scar that I have been looking forward to seeing but definitely not on his chest. "Oh shit." Logan is the gang leader I have been searching for. I suddenly felt overwhelmed, I am staring at his chest and I really want to look away but I can't. "Nicole?" Asher called but I can't find it in me to look away from Log

I passed out naked, bloody, and alone but free; after ten years, I was free. I had just done the unthinkable. I completed the rejection ritual marking myself as a mate rejecter, a pariah in my community. I not only rejected my mate but my old pack. My whole identity to that point – was gone. I was now scarred, no longer marked. Now, I carry the black scar created by the silver blade, and I reject the mate made just for me by the goddess. The cursed life of a "Scarred One" is what I must look forward to now. The sense of loss was foreboding. Was what I lost the only cost for my freedom from my mate bond?