Grover Washington Black Frost Novels & Stories

Martin will open the door for you in a moment. As soon as she finished speaking, Martin immediately chimed in, "That's right, Sierra, we were just joking. I'll find a way to open the door right away. Maybe the door's too old, and the lock's circuit froze over. Don't worry. I'll go get the tools!" While listening to their coordinated act, I felt the last bit of warmth in my heart vanish completely. The circuit froze over? This Gorban-imported constant-temperature freezer door could operate normally in environments as cold as -58°F.

Devon POV: I stared emotionlessly at the boy who gave me a sleepless night. I was more surprised, hearing this bastard of a man saying he was trading his son to pay his debt. Although, this was what I wanted to achieve, but seeing that he really did it in the blink of an eye got me so pissed that I was willing to snap his neck. I glared at him and turned my focus to his son, whose eyes stared wide-eyed at his crap of a father. I felt a string of pity for him as I watched him. He looked so fragile that he could break if touched.

CARLOS FOWLER'S HOUSE “Damnit!” Carlos Fowler growled. In a matter of seconds, he shoved off his suit coat and tore off his neck tie. His teeth grinded in his mouth as he stormed to the wine cabinet and grabbed a bottle of Penfolds Grange. Mr Garrison, his secretary sprawled on his knees, sweat had broken out on his face as he rubbed his damp palms on his pants. “I'm sorry sir… I didn't know Chairman Jay would be there…it will never happen again sir.”

’ A bulky chestnut colored wolf with gold markings linked his trio. **Kugri** ‘What do they want out here, with us? Don't they have enough in their bowls dealing with the Rogues?’ A smaller gray wolf growled. **Moon** ‘Their intentions are good as far as for them being in our presence. That makes them worthy of talking to.’ A pale, almost invisible wolf asked quietly. **Shyfter**

I hit the iron bar and try to scream, but it seems like my voice melts along with my heart. I see two gloved hands clutch on the bar. I turn my head and see the Black Tiger standing beside me, staring with his cold eyes. I look away as I don’t look pretty when I cry, my eyes must be red and swollen. He doesn’t say a single word; he just keeps staring at me until my sobs disappear.

The frozen waterfall, a massive curtain of blue-white ice that had served as our door, suddenly shattered. It didn't break from a physical blow. It simply disintegrated into dust, as if the very atoms of the ice had been told to stop holding together. Through the opening, the violet light of the moon poured in, and with it came the Grave-Wolves. They were horrific to behold. Their fur was matted with dried blood and black ichor, their eyes glowing with a sickly, stagnant purple flame. They moved with a jerky, stop-motion fluidity that was nauseating to watch.

He stopped in front of me and gently tilted my chin up with calloused fingers—the same fingers that had once traced constellations on my bare skin, wiped away my tears, and held me through every storm. “I do know you,” he said, voice thick with grief. “That’s what makes this so ugly. That’s why I want to rip my own chest open.” He pulled a small glass vial from his pocket. Frost immediately formed on the glass, crawling across it like something alive. Waves of icy cold radiated from it, turning my breath into visible steam. “This is Mercy Frost,” he explained quietly. “From the northern springs. One drink and you’ll forget the accusations. You’ll forget the blood on your hands. You’ll forget