Crack Novels & Stories

It’s faint, barely audible, but it vibrates through my bones like a tuning fork struck against grief. Ten stones. Nine intact. One cracked. The crack has widened. Not by much, but enough for me to notice. The hum intensifies as I approach, the sound climbing into something almost musical, almost pleading. I stop a few feet away. Kael halts beside me. “You feel that,” I say. “Yes,” he replies grimly. The cracked stone pulses once. A whisper of air slips from the fracture, brushing my cheek like a breath drawn too late. “This is where it starts,” I murmur.

CRACK! Lucas hurled his phone to the floor, and it slammed down, cracking the screen with a deafening sound. As if that wasn’t enough to satisfy his anger, he walked toward Kate’s bedside and flung the lamp onto the floor, crashing it. The same fate happened to the vase and anything else he could get his hands on in the room.

He then asked what we’d like to drink, and while I just got coffee, Cracker asked for hot water and honey. “I didn’t meet you last night,” Cracker said, holding out her hand. “I’m Cracker.” “Cook,” he replied, shaking it firmly, and then winked at me. “Nice to see Steel found himself a good woman.” “All women are good,” Cracker snorted, stirring the honey into her water, before taking a sip. “Some are just good at being bitches.”

The moment his fingers compressed the cracked jade, the stone violently shuddered against my skin. A sharp, metallic crack echoed through the quiet woods as a massive hairline fracture split the runes right down the middle. A small triangular chip of the green jade broke away entirely, falling into the black mud between our boots. The frequency didn't just leak this time, it exploded.

They paid double when we kissed and swapped their cum between our mouths. Back home, the addiction consumed us completely. We loved it. The soreness between our legs after a long night, the sticky feeling of dried cum on our skin, the way our pussies throbbed with memories of being stretched and used. “We’re addicted, baby,” Mom moaned one night as she ground her clit against mine after a particularly brutal session with four clients. “And I fucking love it. Your dad’s death left me empty. You filled me with this… this fire.”

Beta Marcus POV The heavy rain beating against the iron roof of the Crimson Moon Pack armory did little to drown out the sound of splintering wood and muffled groans that kept on resonating around the dimly lighted room. I watched as the former Beta, Casio sat tied to an iron chair. He kept squirming trying to untangle himself from the chain holding him down. His face was a bloody map of bruises, but his dark eyes remained gleaming with silent defiance. I loved that it always gives me a thrill when my prey think they have the upper hand.

She was still unconscious. There was a bandage on her head. She also had bruises on her arms because of the shattered pieces from the window glass of the car. Radha, the woman Clarice was with, suffered the same injury. The only difference was that she accidentally hit her head on the stirring wheel. Thinking about it made me feel heavy inside.

It made me cough as I stood there, watching his car shrink into a speck and then disappear. The silence that followed was immense, broken only by the whisper of a faint breeze through the dry grass on the sides of the empty roads. “You fucking prick!” I screamed at the empty highway as hot tears began streaking through the dust on my face. Frustrated, I started walking. Because what else could I do? My sandals were not made for this and every pebble bit into its sole. The strap on the left one broke after ten minutes, and I kicked it off in a rage, sending it flying into the ditch.

My legs are shaky, but my mind is crystal clear. Crack eighty. Crack eighty-one. I pull my torn skirt together. They are running out of ways to hurt me. And that means they are running out of power.

CRACK The sound resonated through the quiet courtyard as my bones shattered upon impact, and a sharp, agonizing tear of pure torment immediately tore past my lips. I lay crumpled on the cold earth, weeping hysterically from the sheer, blinding volume of pain radiating through my spine. I couldn't move. My muscles refused to obey a single command. While my concussed mind yet pondered on how to act, how to crawl, or how to slip away into the safety of the shadows, a brutal kick descended directly into the side of my head. The sheer force of the boot almost knocked me out completely, sending a kaleidoscope of white-hot spots dancing across my vision. And then, a