Eris Vanserra Novels & Stories

"She's a descendant of Hecate but so are hundreds and thousands others. So why do her and Postestas' mate and that Mirus boy and the girl from 1700s all have powers and the rest don't?" "Wait...I think I've spotted something," I said flicking through the pages. "Milly's birthday is April 17th, Donatia's was April 16th, Mirus's was April 18th, Elizabeth's is April 14th. There's a connection. There has to be." "All three of those are in the Aries constellation," Max said. "Does that mean anything to you?" "Aries...aries...aries," I said trying to remember what I had read about that constellation.

Eisenhower point at her to explain the Bernoulli's Principle. Natasha was placing her books on her desk and moving to her seat when somebody else beat her to it. "What do you want, Bianca?" she started, with a hint of annoyance. The girl named Bianca was seated in Natasha's place with her long exposed legs crossed over each other from outside the seat. Bianca Synclair-or as she was popular known; 'Queen B' . She was tall with dark brown hair and green eyes that always seemed to be in a fight with the heavy mascara she wore everyday but she was really pretty though and a bit of a self-righteous arrogant attitude, which of course was an understatement.

I am Xerra, a superbeing from a remote galaxy far away from the Milky Way called Ciriculus. I live in this fourth-dimensional world called Aryan wherein everything is possible. Well… almost everything… I scanned the familiar domain I was in. I was surrounded by the green and blue giant trees that seemed to reach the still dark sky. I had always loved the relaxing smell of the leaves in the Aiglean Forest and the gentle touch of fresh mountain dews before the sun rises.

Aria spun. Riri — no, Eris — stood there, barely clothed, her long black with a violet or wine - red shimmer, even cascading shadowy curls with a dark - lavender gloss hair draped across her shoulders like chains. Deep purple eyes stared into Aria like she wanted to consume her from the inside out. And yet she looked wounded. Not just jealous. Devastated. Aria blinked, confused. "Riri…?" "You let her touch you," Eris whispered, stepping forward, bare feet silent on the wet dream - floor. "You let her taste you. My love… how could you?"

Aria spun. Riri — no, Eris — stood there, barely clothed, her long black with a violet or wine - red shimmer, even cascading shadowy curls with a dark - lavender gloss hair draped across her shoulders like chains. Deep purple eyes stared into Aria like she wanted to consume her from the inside out. And yet she looked wounded. Not just jealous. Devastated. Aria blinked, confused. “Riri…?” “You let her touch you,” Eris whispered, stepping forward, bare feet silent on the wet dream - floor. “You let her taste you. My love… how could you?”

“I’m sorry your human spirit is too stupid to take a hint.” “HEY!” I huff in Lavender’s mind. She huffs at the woman, who snaps her fingers with a thunderous boom and turns into a wisp of smoke, disappearing out of sight. “Our sister. Eris, goddess of chaos and strife. We wanted to give her a chance.” Clotho turns back to Lavender. “Now, pay attention before you fall back asleep, dear. You won't be here when you wake up.”

Yet here, in this room, a different chorus flickered to life. --- Back in La Paz, Raven tracked the faint pulses through his device. He frowned, adjusting the dials. “Caracas. Quito. The signals are faint, but alive. The chorus is spreading.” Sophia stood beside him on the terrace, the night cool against her skin. Lanterns still dotted the mountain passes, carrying messengers outward. She exhaled slowly. “And Eris?” “Agitated,” Raven replied. “They’ve increased broadcasts—louder, harsher. They flood the channels with false echoes, distortions of our words. They claim Horizon is a fabrication of chaos, that it weakens the order.”

“Seren woke the Thread. And with it, she woke things that shouldn’t be awake. I’m one of them.” --- Before I could answer, another figure stepped out from the trees. A woman wearing layered robes patterned with runes, her silver-white hair braided tight. She walked like someone who owned every truth she carried. “Riven,” she said, glaring at him, “stop provoking the Alpha.” Riven spread his hands. “He provokes easily.” “Most do,” she muttered. I faced her. “And you are?” “Eira,” she replied, bowing slightly. “Scholar of runes, historian of the Thread, and—unfortunately—his keeper.”

Petite, sharp-browed, curly bob, wearing a blue blazer over jeans that made her look simple and classy at the same time. “Hi,” she said, sticking out a hand. “Tara Mendes. Admin manager. I sit over in logistics but get roped into helping with the executive circus more than I’d like to admit.” I shook her hand, grateful for the kindness. “Anita Marshals” I replied. “Second day. First deep regret.” She laughed. “Yeah, it’s a lot. Liam Grey is a genius, but he’s well. Let’s just say you’ll need a second brain, a spine of steel, and enough self-control not to throw a laptop at the wall.”

Kenton says, reaching out with his other hand and grasping ahold of my own, then curls me into his body as he tries to shield me from the eyes of the other now naked men and women before us. We come to stop before a man who looks to be in his forties. He looks like an older version of the man standing next to me. He has a big smile on his face as he takes the two of us in, taking note of his son's hand in mine, his other tucking me into his side. "Amaris, I would like you to meet my dad, Alpha Kerryington Clearwater.” 'Alpha?' The word, what I've read about Alpha wolves in books, causes a lead weight to develop in the pit of my stomach.