Framed In The Dead Of Night Novels & Stories

I wanted to tell him it would be okay. But I couldn't. My hand hovered inches from his face, then dropped to my side. I remembered him kicking Sayler. I remembered the knife. My touch felt like a lie. So I pulled away. Night fell fast in the Deadlands. There was no twilight. The bruised purple sky simply turned black, revealing no stars, no moon. Just absolute, suffocating darkness. We huddled under the dead tree. Sayler fell asleep quickly, exhausted by the day’s terror.

Lorraine Lebedeva Instead of taking a road trip like planned we took a Private flight so that it could be quicker to reach there. Immediately after hearing the news at 23:48 pm we did not waste any time. 4 hours later we find ourselves stalking a specific house in the middle of the night in the dark. They are dead bodies scattered across the yard and gates have been crashed wide open with glass windows shattered and bullet holes on the wall. "Shit." Abree said as she handed the binoculars to Rhett. Rhett analyzed the scene and nodded as he turned to face Raphaël.

‘Dead-beat! Is it what they call the state of unconsciousness when nothing makes sense except for knowing that the body is failing its owner?’ Ashton mused; his eyelids moving slower than any creature he’s known to exist in their time at that precise tick-tock of the giant clock hung above the ‘wall of rifles’ facing the darkened room of the people who’d captured him the night of the Masquerade Ball. He scooped up in a corner latching to the wall, rugged at the middle and the edges; his energy dissipated thinly to the ground which was swiping away from the left to the right in the fluctuating orangish-yellow-blue lights.

The man troubles her with a fake mention of Framton's perfectly alright health. It was already 8:17 in the evening, the December and a holiday for tomorrow made sure the streets were busy with people walking on the streets with their loved ones. "I- I'm coming!" Troubled with the thoughts, Cassandra follows the male without hesitation as she thought Framton was about to have a reason to die at the time mentioned on her palm. She was panicking to the thought that this was a clue...and there will be no time for her to save him. She only had 17 minutes of time to save him. Death would ring at his doorbell at 20:34...

With the blinds wide open, someone with a high-end camera might capture Matthew in his natural habitat. He paced the room, obviously lost in his own sea of thoughts. The woman was trying to introduce herself and even begged him to stop-----but he didn’t because he couldn’t. He couldn’t even recall her face, primarily because it was dark. He remembers her perfect silhouette against the soft light of the moon and her scent, lavender and berries. He was in heat and all logic and rationale was nonexistent last night. “Sir, are you alright?” “Silas, can you get me a copy of the CCTV footage from 10 to 5 AM?”

Sleep. Morning came, and I heard Lucien’s voice as he entered again, “…Everyone’s been accounted for and they’ve all gone home, no death recorded today, just minor injuries recorded, a few hundred. The account’s balanced, and the club is officially closed for the day. We’re free to go, boss.” Zane grunted and I heard him get up. “Jayden,” he called. I didn’t move. He told me to sleep, so I was committing to the bit.

The night was quiet, the kind of silence that always came before something dangerous. Leonard stepped out of his black SUV, the streetlamps casting sharp shadows across the pavement. His men, dressed in dark suits, spread out quickly and quietly, surrounding the towering glass penthouse that belonged to Victoria. Every movement was precise—calculated. They were soldiers, trained to move without drawing attention, and tonight their orders were clear: seal the building and let no one escape.

The two friends walked on in silence for a while, Fiona still shaking her head in disbelief while Vivian’s smug grin never faltered. *** Vivian was deep in sleep, sprawled across her satin sheets, the soft rhythm of her breathing blending with the quiet hum of the night. Her room was dim, only a streak of moonlight sneaking through the parted curtains. The door creaked, slowly, deliberately. A masked man dressed in black stepped inside, his gloved hand gripping a pistol. His boots sank soundlessly into the plush carpet. Behind him, two others slipped in, also cloaked in black, faces hidden behind masks.

He looks at me and nods once. Permission granted. Tonight the pack answers to the storm queen. 4:30 p.m. – Ohio Club basement Al Capone and thirty of the hardest ghosts in the afterlife are cleaning spectral tommy guns and pouring ghost-gin into flasks. Frankie Yale hands me a sawed-off made of pure moonlight. Frankie: “Point and think loud, doll. It’ll sing for you.” Al himself just tips his hat. Al: “Tonight we finish what we started in ’33.

he groaned. He kissed me, slowly, and roughly. My mouth opened like a confession. He shoved my coat off my shoulders. I pulled him closer, nails in his neck. We walked the edge of something we were dying to fall into. A knock hit the door. Frankie’s voice is flat. “We’re up.” Luca rested his forehead against mine and stepped back. “Later.” In the living room, men straightened, and a map hit the table. Rinaldi sent coordinates. Fifteenth Street. A convoy at midnight.