Henry Winter Novels & Stories

“Henry isn’t who he was anymore. We dated briefly in the past, but he ignores me completely now. I thought he was like this to everyone, but after seeing this today… Hehe…” The two women were visibly getting more jealous by the second. As women, they envied Georgie, and they were also jealous of her. Henry drove his limited-edition sports car very slowly on the snow-covered road. There was a thick layer of snow on the road, and sanitation workers were using various types of machinery to clear the snow. The entire city seemed busy. Outside, the northerly winds bellowed. It was frigid. However, it was the complete opposite inside the car…

she stated. They continued watching the sky for a moment, and all of a sudden Ashley clapped. They both shut their eyes. Ashley wished Mrs Denver would get better. Whereas Mrs Denver wished Ashley would find happiness. *** Henry walked out of the kitchen with a soda in his hands, he had just got out from his gym session. It was weekend and he was spending his time at home. He had on a grey sweatshirt and black shorts. Sweat trickled down his large frame despite the ventilation in the room. He gulped down the soda. He walked inside his room hoping to get a refreshing shower.

Andy did not argue at that and promptly drove to the hospital. When they arrived, Henry jumped out of the car and ran straight to the pond behind the hospital building. It was just past six and the sun was barely up. It was also deep into winter, and there were not many people around the pond. As Andy parked the car, he saw Henry standing near where he threw the necklace and then diving in without hesitation!

Dalton After I put Layla to bed, I return immediately to the shed. I look down at the dead man with a mix of pity and rage. He’s not much older than me. He was handsome, with blond hair and eyes that used to be blue. But now, they’ve started to decay into his skull. The skin is flayed from his fingers, revealing bone, but the rest of him is in surprisingly good shape considering how long he’s been here. I remember him. Henry, that was his name. Henry Swanson, from Mississippi, an architect apprentice who never made it back after traveling here to visit his girlfriend.

She might have no idea about who the man she met on the ball but her life may be already be in danger when she danced with him. That man, Hendry Winters. He’ll get anything that he ever wanted by hook or by crook. That’s just how he does things. He wants to be the most powerful man in this world. He’ll stop at nothing until all of the power belongs to his, just like his daughter.

When I heard the names, Veronica Mitchell and Jason Hale, my stomach dropped even though I had known this was coming. I arrived at the crèche fifteen minutes later to controlled chaos. Police tape cordoned off the entrance. Officers interviewed crying staff members. And in the middle of it all stood Four Winter, the billionaire whose name kept appearing in my investigation like a shadow I could not quite pin down. Winter looked like barely restrained violence. His jaw was clenched so tight I could see the tendons in his neck standing out like steel cables. His hands were fists at his sides. But his eyes were what caught my attention, cold and calculating even through the rage. This was a man

"No. I'm not helping. I don't get involved in the business between the Blood Curtains and the Aurora Shadows. Leave." Henry just turned seventy this year. On the East Coast, he was an eccentric old witch doctor with a mysterious bloodline and background. But when it came to treating chronic werewolf diseases, no one on the entire continent could compare to his methods. Back when I first found out that Gillian suffered from incurable migraines stemming from pack wars in her youth, I wanted to win her favor and get the Aurora Shadows pack to truly accept me. I went to great lengths to finally track him down in the old district.

He stopped. "They were very nice flowers," I said. "They weren't the same." "No," I agreed. "They weren't." He looked at his hands, the car slowed for a light, outside a woman was walking a dog the size of a small sofa and appeared completely unbothered by this. The light changed, we moved. "I won't miss another one," he said. "I know," I said, because I did. Because that was the kind of man he was becoming again, the one who showed up, who stayed past eight, who sat in the second row and leaned forward without meaning to. That man was not going to miss another spring show.

My limbs felt heavy, my thoughts syrupy and slow. Dragging myself upright, I shuffled to the door and opened it to find Henry standing there like a burst of chaotic sunshine. He wore a small black beanie, an oversized retro jumper in faded mustard and teal, black jeans cuffed at the ankles, and a pair of well-worn high-top sneakers. In one hand he held a giant duffel bag, in the other, a mercifully steaming cup of coffee. “How are you this energetic?” I muttered, taking the cup without hesitation and walking back to my bed.

"He doesn't know how to come in yet, but he's — he's circling." "Yeah." "That's something." "Yeah." Nelson looked out the window at the grey December sky. "It's something." He cleared the plates. She washed them — without being asked, just stood up and went to the sink like it was already, like they'd already learned the small choreography of sharing a kitchen. He stood beside her and dried. Outside, the snow had stopped falling. The street was white and quiet. The community centre murals were half-hidden under frost — those painted hands reaching for stars, temporarily obscured, still reaching.