House Of Beating Wings Novels & Stories

I said as I zipped my fly and waved the dogs out of the room to let her finish getting ready. “Let’s go, monsters. I’ll put you out, and then Alan can deal with you.” I sighed as I started to walk downstairs. I was halfway down when someone started pounding on my door. Tinkerbell barked, and Zeus barked. And oh fuck my life, they both startled, barreling down the stairs. Thank fuck for the handrails. I managed to grab it in time and not fall. “Mother fucker!” I cursed as I steadied myself to walk down the rest of the stairs. “Zeus. Tinkerbell. Get back.” I ordered as I reached the door. I frowned as I looked out the peephole and saw my mother.

she warned, her voice rising. He didn't spare her a gaze as he walked around her, disregarding her, his silence a blatant rebuke. That was it. How dare he!? Rozralas anger flared, her back seemed to split open, and black wings burst forth, their powerful muscles flexing as they unfolded, like a dark canopy unfurling. With a fierce cry, Rozralas' wings beat the air, creating a whirlwind that sent utensils flying and pots clattering. She didn't want to destroy the kitchen...yet.

“Get everyone to defensive positions. No one gets through.” Sienna followed him, grabbing a weapon from a nearby cabinet. Enzo stopped her. “You don’t have to do this.” “Yes, I do.” Sienna said firmly. The battle was chaotic, with gunfire echoing through the halls. Sienna held her ground beside Enzo, her resolve unshaken. Federico rushed in. “We’ve got them cornered in the south wing, but they’re not backing down.” “Then we end this right now.” Enzo decided.

Black fire boiling through the clouds, chains thrashing like whips of night, wings slicing the air so hard the world tilts every time they beat. And the hand— Gods, the hand. It’s not a hand anymore. It’s a storm of bone and light, folding and unfolding in ways that make my stomach lurch. Every twitch breaks another piece of the City. Spires collapsing like sandcastles. Streets twisting into knots. And Kael—he’s holding it. Holding it. Chains binding its fingers, shadows dragging against its skin like barbed wire. His wings cut arcs of darkness so sharp they shear the air in two.

Something I hadn’t used in centuries. My wings. They opened behind me, huge and membranous, black with violet veins that pulsed like fire. The wind they created knocked over the remaining furniture, shattered the television, made the walls tremble. The hunter who had spoken took a step back, his eyes wide with fear. I advanced.

Mane had just employed one of those many moves: Exploding Wings. Mane’s mumble was the trigger for the huge fiery wings that grew on his back. The wings were several dozens of meters long and several meters wide. When they appeared on Mane’s back they rose high into the sky, and flapped rapidly. Yet their beating didn’t lift Mane up or take him into the sky. With the beating of those wings, the cry of a Phoenix filled the ears of all who were here, and several large flames descended upon the retreating goblins, burning them all to a crisp. The fire was stronger, completely eliminating the goblins in less than a second.

The bands sang faintly as they held, a high, restrained whine like a hymn being forced through a throat that didn’t believe in God. Above, aerial units took position. Black-winged devils lifted from battlements in synchronised arcs, their ascent disciplined rather than chaotic. They did not circle wildly. They climbed to calculated heights and held there, wings beating in a measured rhythm, forming layered air cover in vertical tiers. Their wingbeats made a steady, oppressive percussion, like a thousand doors closing one after another. Some carried hooked chains coiled at their waists. Others bore curved blades that glowed faintly along their edges, the metal reacting to the proximity of for

The envelope felt heavy in his coat pocket—but not as heavy as the pit in his stomach. The SUV’s headlights blinked on and rolled silently out of the lot, disappearing into the dark. Beckett stood alone in the cracked concrete silence of Shadowland, surrounded by rusted rides and broken dreams, wondering just how long he could keep walking this line before it swallowed him whole. … Farmhouse – Upstairs The upper floor of the farmhouse smelled like sweat, old wood, and gun oil. A single bulb swung from the ceiling, casting long, uneasy shadows across peeling wallpaper and nailed-shut windows.

his voice was rough, and slightly muffled like he had something in his mouth. “Sorry for calling so late, this is June.” I suddenly felt silly calling him so late, but this matter was rather pressing. “Oh, hey June, how is everything going?” Now his voice was clear. “Well if I am being honest, I am in a bit of a pickle. One of my special angels has a real demon after her, and I am afraid there may be a rat in my house.” I paused to take a breath. “The truth is the guy she is running from is very well connected, and probably one of the worst monsters I have seen. He hurt her bad Hawk. I hate to ask but until I can clean house and figure out how he located her, is there any way you would be wi

Her jaw unhinged, teeth elongating, snapping down into needle-sharp fangs that dripped with her own blood. And then, the back of her gown exploded. Two massive, leathery wings erupted from her shoulder blades. They were wet with gore, spanning twenty feet, dripping with shadows that seemed to eat the light. The secret she had kept from her husband, from the Council, from her own son, was finally unleashed. She wasn't just a Wolf Matriarch. She was the last daughter of the Night Court. A Vampire Queen bound in human flesh. Beatrice crouched, her new wings spreading wide, casting a shadow over the terrified wolves.