Invisible Twists Novels & Stories

His mental facilities must be deteriorating faster than his physical appearance if he thought I would do any of those things. “Sure you do,” I said indulgently. “Let’s see what this magical ‘something’ is first.” “Did I say ‘something’?” Ivan’s eyes glowed with malice. “I meant ‘someone.’ Bring them in.” He barked the last statement in Russian. There was a scuffle outside the door, and my blood ran cold when a massive man in camo pants and dog tags entered, dragging two bound and gagged girls behind him. Ava and Bridget.

This place is older than any kingdom still standing—a forgotten piece of the world I dragged back into use. Dust settles on the crooked shelves along the walls. Old books, glass bottles, bones. A single cracked chair sits in the corner. No luxury. No softness. Just purpose. Good. I press my palms together and slowly part them, twisting the space between my hands until a swirling vortex appears, a spiral of black and purple shadows. Cold air pours into the room, curling around my boots and carrying with it the faint scent of ash and burned metal. A hand reaches through first—pale, slender fingers against the dark swirl. Then an arm. Then the rest of her.

Now, with the entity’s last strike jammed into it, I saw something else. A pattern. One I could…rewrite. Not from outside. From within. Gritting my teeth, I imagined the mark not as the end point of the needle but as its mouth. Not as the place where power went to rest, but as the place where it went to *die.* I wrapped the invading force tighter, forcing it to spiral. Each twist scraped, burned, tore. But each twist also *unwove* something. Threads of curse‑script began to snap, not outward, but inward, their energy collapsing instead of exploding. The structure that had once choked me—the jagged black sigils that had marked me as a vessel—started to buckle under its own compressed weight.

I can even smell the sweet stench that had been in the morgue. Something clicks inside me like a streak of gears that jerked the last piece to make the clock strike 12. That is true. I had sworn to avenge Davina. "And now you can do that". The giant's face is devoid of the usual tinge of humor. I look down at my fingers. A spontaneous urge makes me reach out my arms. A twister, far more powerful than I had experienced during a galdr song, spreads on my palms. I push my hands forward, and the invisible air pressure causes the twigs of the tall pine trees to flutter to the side, as if a figure is passing between them.

I saw him lunge forward, saw the intruder dodge at the last second with unnatural agility. And that's when everything went wrong. Something made me stumble—not a physical obstacle, but a smell. A scent so sharp and bitter and fundamentally wrong that it felt like someone had punched me in the gut. My stomach turned violently, and my head swam with sudden dizziness. The world tilted sideways, and I had to throw my hands out to catch myself against a fence post. *What...* I started to think. *Wolfsbane,* Riven hissed, his mental voice tight with alarm and pain. *It's wolfsbane. Don't breathe it in...*

[The Vault of Echoes] The vibration didn't stop. It wasn't just a sound; it was a physical invasion, a low-frequency hum that seemed to vibrate the very marrow of Ivy’s bones. In the master suite, the black silk of the discarded robe lay on the floor like a shed skin, a reminder of the carnal war they had just waged. Dante’s hand was still clamped around Ivy’s wrist, his fingers pressing into the silver shimmer that was now migrating toward her elbow. His obsidian eyes weren't looking at her; they were fixed on the door, tracing the invisible geometry of the house’s descent into chaos.

Twists. Something unseen pressing outward from her in a wave that ripples through the space around us, reaching beyond the walls, beyond the clearing, beyond the sanctuary itself. Shielding. Masking. Redirecting. I feel it. Even without seeing it fully. The way the world outside shifts. The way the presence of the hunters— Flickers. Confuses. Misaligns. But— It costs her. I see it immediately. The way her body tenses. The way her breath catches.

Sanvika changed angles and took him in through her lips. They stumbled back into the restaurant… Entangled hands and legs…. Just frantically kissing. Vivaan grabbed her lifted her up and pressed her to the wall. Sanvika closed her legs around him. She kissed him with passion. Vivaan kissed down to her neck and down to her cleavage. Sanvika’s fingers entangled in his hair as her head fell back in pleasure. She bit onto her lips.

He looked at me and winked. “Why would you do that? Dig about him. Getting him out of my life. I mean, why would you?” “What do you think? Why would a man go to that extent, Lyra?” He asked me. I was confused with everything revealed and having a hard time assimilating everything. Things shouldn’t be this complicated between us. I and Nathan were just strangers, then why was the past so full of twisted. It tangled us with one another so badly that I was finding it hard to set myself free from him.

“Let it be what it is.” In that space, tangled together, teasing, laughing softly, pressing close, brushing fingertips along skin, Imani felt it—the delicate balance of desire, jealousy, love, and intimacy, mingling, stretching through them. She had never felt more alive. The night moved slowly, deliberately, each movement a small, thrilling pulse of connection, building a rhythm that was playful and intense, tender and daring.