Curt Nod Novels & Stories

He was just closing the door of his daughter Nora's bedroom. I don't know what I would have done in a similar situation if our positions were reversed, plus I was a little off balance about being caught roaming the halls of the house this late at night. Curtis was in his own home and I guess he was more in the moment. Very calmly he brought his finger to his lips in the universal sign for "not a sound." I saw him consider the situation for a moment, he clearly knew everything he needed to know, then gave a friendly gesture that I follow him.

I choke out around the embarrassing lump in my throat. "Okay, Granddad, don't scare her. I'm going to get her home. Colt, see you at 8," Curt says as he steers us away from his family. ******** "Night see you tomorrow," Curt says as he kisses my forehead. I smile and nod. "Hey, after I get my car back, it is my turn to drive us around for a while," I say as he walks towards the stairs. "Deal, Doll," Curt says. ******** CURT POV

George offered a reassuring smile. “We will. Call us if anything comes up—anytime.” With final hugs exchanged and the house secured, they stepped out into the cool morning air. Their black Honda CRV gleamed under the emerging sunlight, its sturdy frame a reliable companion for the journey ahead. George loaded the last of their bags into the trunk, then slid behind the wheel.

Nerd said. "That is Yang Dae-Su." he pointed to the young man who'd flexed; "That is Taeyang Cass, he refuses to go by his real name, so we are forced to call him Cass," he pointed to the boy in the black suit and full of arrogance. "That is Antonio Lucas Jeremiah Lebel. His Korean name is Lebel Jun-Seo but he insists we call him Jeremy." The nerd pointed to the blond drummer who gave a bright smile. "That is Rhee Min-Jun," the boy in complete white gave a soft nod. "The one presently knocked out would be Kyung Jiho, and I am Duskin Nighting."

He set the bowl back down and leaned slightly closer, his voice dropping to a quieter tone. “The less questions you ask, little wolf… the better your chances of getting out of the prison Rolan put you in.” I stared at him, confused, startled, and suddenly more awake than I’d been all morning. “What… what is that supposed to mean?” Before I could fully process his words, he straightened, wiped his hand on his cloak, and finally introduced himself with a small, sharp smile. “I’m Curtis,” he said. “Rolan’s beta.” My heart skipped painfully.

Node shove the man’s hand from his shoulder and left him standing. The angered man furrowed his brows. “You little piece of--” He yelled as he jumped towards Node with a punch. Node stopped without looking back with his his head still lowered. “Am with the bounty collector.” Node countered. The man froze, he slightly shivered, took a step back. Without saying a word he left. Node scoffed and walked to the opposite direction then he heard noise from a distance, people chattering and singing, raised his head to look spontaneously his pupils dilated.

Staring at his wrist, Rhode studied the time on his watch and said, “Two hours from now.” At twelve on the dot, Noah was standing in front of the Carnell’s mansion gate, dressed in dusky black jeans and a dull blue shirt, his hair neatly brushed back, “Name,” The security at the gate asked, eyeing Noah suspiciously. “Jack Curtis,” Noah said, holding a fake ID that Rhodes had made for him. “I am here for an interview for the servant position.” Looking through his identification, the security guard nodded and said, “Come this way.”

Yet, there was still no answer. "Damn it!" He hurled his phone onto the couch. Zac entered the room and, seeing this scene, a barely perceptible hint of calculation flashed in his eyes. He approached Colin and said, "Don't worry. Mr. Caldwell might be handling other business." "Other business?" Colin scoffed. "Cygnus Tech is finished, and he can't even offer an explanation!" Zac handed him a cup of coffee. "A temporary setback doesn't mean anything. Mr. Caldwell has always been a strategic thinker. He might be planning something new."

Margot blinked her doe-like eyes as she gazed at the man before her. Her voice became increasingly faint. "Can't I call you 'Curt'? Your name is Curtis Crosby, right?" She didn't know why she had to call him "Curt", but it seemed very befitting for him. Curtis found himself unable to speak. As he gazed at the individual before him, the sound of her calling him "Curt" lingered in the air, a comforting familiarity that hinted at positive prospects.

Not with the way grief twisted him into something unrecognizable. The front porch creaked as I stepped out. A slow wind rolled through the trees, whispering down the mountain like it was mourning with me. The Den wasn’t far. The walk gave me time to breathe, to brace myself. The forest was quiet today—almost too quiet. Even the birds kept their distance, like they knew the valley was in mourning. As I neared the clearing, I saw them. Curt stood by the edge of the fire pit, arms folded, head bowed. His hair was longer now, braided back like the Sentinels wore it, and his frame had thickened—muscle carved from years of training. He looked older. Sadder.