Darker Than Black November 11 Novels & Stories

She had once been the feared Queen of Witches, until the werewolves destroyed everything she had built and left her to die. When she opened her eyes again, she was no longer a queen but a powerless werewolf. Stripped of her magic, her position, and the life she had once known, she was forced to survive among the very people responsible for her downfall. Then there was the man who had led the massacre. He claimed she was his mate and wanted her as his Luna. She would gladly accept it.

“Glad your priorities are in order.” Evander looks around the kitchen. “Good, you’re all here.” He’s dressed in all black, with a silky cloak draped over his shoulders. It’s the traditional garb for gatherings. My friends have on their black dresses already, but I still need to change. “I don’t have much time, so let’s make this quick.” “What does the Grand Coven know about the demon attacks?” Kristy asks.

I thought it was one of the maids, but when I saw an apparition of a man with a black shirt and shorts; black ruffled hair; his hands behind his back formally, I immediately recognized Dark Vergara. What is he doing there late at night? It is already past twelve pm, right? He turned his back on my window and faced the pool. Its sky blue color was radiating because of the numerous mixed violet and dark blue lights in the right places underneath the water. The still water's lights reflected the posture of Dark. His head was hanging, so he must be looking at the moon above him. I squinted my eyes but decided to just disregard what he was doing. I have to talk to Hector right now.

The streetlamps in the parking lot fizzle and go black. Total, absolute darkness swallows the pier. "What the—" Nikos screams. "Now!" Drakon’s voice roars from the darkness behind me. I drop to the ground. It’s part of the plan. Drop and roll. Gunfire erupts. It’s blinding in the pitch black. Muzzle flashes strobe like lightning, illuminating snapshots of chaos. I see Drakon charging. I see Reapers spinning in circles, firing blindly. I see Nikos scrambling backward, tripping over his own feet.

It had been years of being the strong and young budding alpha female, and in one night, it seemed all of that had been taken away. The wolves of the Craw pack were black and strong, their eyes a variety of colors that changed based on their mood. The wolves of other packs had similar characteristics and sometimes you could only tell the difference based on scent and markings. “Other packs” however, did not include the Decent pack, the pack of the white wolves. They were the outcasts and had gone into hiding for many years now because as Isha had always been told, they were a mistake to the werewolf lineage.

It reminded me why I was doing this. The air at The Onyx on a Friday night was always thick with a mix of expensive perfume, stale smoke, and loud music. Tonight, it felt heavier, almost suffocating. I went through the motions of getting ready, pulling on the familiar black wig, painting my face into Eve's confident mask. This time, however, the usual shimmer of my dancing outfit felt less like a costume and more like a uniform for something I didn't fully understand. I worked my usual early shift, dancing, smiling, collecting tips. Each laugh felt hollow. Each moment on stage, under the flashing lights, was a countdown. Finally, Mr. Thorne's voice came over my earpiece.

Her hair falls in waves down to her waist, fading from auburn to nearly pale blue at the ends. I reluctantly walked out into the hallway. My dragon was flooding my mind with images of her and I felt my eyes changing colors. Stop it! I growl and he cackles in triumph. “You are going to have to tell her at some point,” he reminds me. I sigh in defeat. I know. I wait downstairs along with six guards and Mykael, each of them carrying a backpack and dressed in full gear. November joins us about five minutes later and I shamelessly look over at her. She has black combat boots on and she is wearing a pair of fitting black pants along with a tank top.

We were losing ground rapidly. Feeling the urgency of the situation, I focused on summoning the Dark, as Rukky had taught me. The ongoing battle roared around us; wolves clashed, teeth gnashed, and destruction unfolded in every direction. The night sky, typically serene, now loomed in an inky blackness, a manifestation of the darkness that engulfed it. It wasn't a mere absence of light; it was a tangible entity, weaving through the air and shrouding the moon from our view. In the midst of the turmoil, I persisted in my efforts to summon the Dark while remaining conscious. The air crackled with the intensity of the ongoing struggle, and the outcome hung in the balance as the forces of light a

The oak tree stands in the center of the garden with its leaves turned brown and gold and copper, rattling in the wind like a warning. Winter is coming. Not metaphorically. Literally. The cold is coming. The dark is coming. The days are getting shorter and the nights are getting longer and the world is getting ready to sleep. I am not ready to sleep. I am not ready for the dark. But the dark is coming anyway. That is the thing about November. It does not ask for permission. --- Damon notices. He notices everything now. Not in the way he used to. Not in the way that meant he was looking for threats. In the way that means he is paying attention. In the way that means he sees me.

"That is what the novel is about. The dark is the experience. The return is life. The dark changes you, but you do not stay in the dark. You come back, and you live, and the change is in the living." They sat with this. The coffee was finished. The morning light was growing—January light, still low, still cold, but growing. The eighth year had begun. The dark was behind them, not in the sense that there would be no more dark—there would be plenty of dark in January and February—but in the sense that they knew what the dark was for. The dark was for the coming back. The dark was for the light's return.