Human Cross Sans Novels & Stories

“Yes. And you should keep quiet.” “Alright, alright.” He said, lifting his hands in surrender. I looked back at his wound and focused again. Cross tensed and sucked in air painfully, the moment my power flowed through him. Slowly, the torn skin began to knit itself back together. After a few seconds, the bleeding stopped. Then, the wound closed entirely, leaving behind only a faint scar. When I pulled my hand away, I noticed Cross staring—first at his side, then at me, then back again. His eyes were wide with disbelief.

The ones in the lead were Undead Joey and Dallas. Undead Joey was in a long, black robe. He wore an eyepatch like a pirate and carried a small medical box made out of ebony behind his back. The box was his innate weapon. Next to him was a ferocious thug-like man with half of his shoulder exposed. It was Dallas, the Supernatural Cannon. He had two huge machetes behind his back, and he was wearing a hat made out of a mountain goat. Dallas was known as the Supernatural Cannon because of his unique ability. To describe it coarsely, it was farting. It was a move that was well-hated by everyone, and it was below everyone's dignity to point out his despicable technique.

"You humans are strange. When you're alive, you hate each other, torture each other and hurt each other. Yet when the other person is gone, you're affectionate, apologize and say it's true love." I ignored his sarcastic remarks and watched him stroke my face in the photo before solemnly taking out the mug and placing it on the table. Then, he pulled out the surveillance footage.

I kept my eyes on the ring of me wished I hadn't. Of course, my inner Six's number one fan would have a different story to tell. He was dressed in shorts and sneakers fixing the ropes or something of a sort, but I was preoccupied with watching his back muscles flex with every move he made. Yes, he was shirtless in all his glory, and by God, I don't think normal human beings look like this. There was a dragon tattooed down his whole back.

I hope I got that right. - Yes, you did. Will smiled and then drank. - May we continue? Will nodded his head to Peter. - I will go undercover, no questions asked. I'm an illegal trader passing through New York. - That's it. Give me daily reports on what you find out. No hurry. The important thing is to get to Canino. Daryl's codename made Morgana's shoulders twitch. 'Damn it!'

I took too much wolfsbane to get my mate out of my head and now I’m paying the price. I’m healing at the rate of a human, which is not really at all, I’ve lost too much blood, and I feel dizzy by the time I make it back to my truck. The girl is nowhere to be found at least, but I get more than one stare from a drunk couple in the parking lot. I’m now shirtless, choosing to use the fabric to wrap around my arm to help staunch the wound, and bathed in blood. I ignore their asking if I’m alright, and talk of calling an ambulance, and tear out of the parking lot in a blaze of smoke and burnt rubber.

He was wearing a black hoodie that covered half of his face, a jeans trouser, sunglasses that were completely unnecessary for someone inside a supermarket. "Rana? Rana!" That familiar voice beamed happiness and he embraced me tightly, resulting in a startled squeak from me. I was scared at the guessed bad guy. "Who the hell are you?" I managed to shove him off, drew my eyebrows into a pissed frown, "that voice, it's familiar." I muttered with, nodding my head in approval but really perplexed at the fact that my brain wasn't waking up to recall it. "It's me," he looked around for a while then took off his glasses and raised his hoodie a little bit to show the glorious face of my one and only,

She crossed her arms over her chest and stood glaring at him. She wanted to play it this way, did she? Fine. He dumped the clothes on the pallet and glared back. Removing his sage green Henly, he bared his broad, well-muscled chest and arms. He let her take in his clan's distinctive wolf tattoo covering his left shoulder. Runes of protection adorned his impressive torso, climbing up from the flat plains of his stomach to the slabs of hardened muscle covering his ribs. As he dropped the shirt to the ground, he saw the hint of her pink tongue come out to moisten her lips.

"Clean up this filthy mess and hunt down the shameless trespasser on my territory!" Spencer shouted orders still shrouded in darkness and slowly walked away from his men. After Spencer entered his small office, he immediately wiped his hands with a handkerchief because of the blood splattered on it. Then he took a wine and a glass and poured it and sat in his swivel chair and leaned back. "D*mn this f*ck*ng life!"

They should be on the cover of a magazine, not on a construction site. Walker looks like he belongs here. He's taller than everyone, with broad shoulders and more muscles than even Ryan and Alex, but with a rough, rugged look that fits this setting. He has dark brown hair with strands lightened by the Sun to a caramel color. It's long and flows past his shoulders in waves, and loose beach curls when it's down, though it's usually up when he's on the work site. He has a full dark beard that's kept neatly trimmed above his lips, and grows longer as it reaches his chin. His dark tan, muscular chest has a spread of hair that fades just before it reaches the collar.