Liminal Space Gas Station Novels & Stories

Every one of them armed. If this is a trap, whoever set it is about to learn exactly why MoonHaven fears its Alpha when he loses control. The location is an abandoned gas station far outside our territory. The place looks forgotten. Broken windows, rusting fuel pumps, overgrown weeds. The kind of place people pass without noticing. The kind of place someone might use if they don’t want to be found. The moment the vehicles stop, I am out. My senses explode outward. Searching, hunting. Yet nothing. No Naya, no captors, no obvious signs of a struggle. Just silence.

Not for me, but for what someone like me might be able to do. “Please wait for the stone to settle and for the light of the staff to dim,” Liaison Everly instructs as the stone circle comes to a gentle halt. A moment later, she steps from the stone circle, and one by one we follow her through a set of sliding doors. A mechanical-sounding voice welcomes our party automatically, speaking in several different dialects before settling on Luxandrian. “Welcome to Crimson Station,” the detached but friendly voice announces, “please follow the glowing arrows to your destination.”

As I approached the gateway, I crouched and held my breath while going through the bushes. The Beta was on night duty and I couldn't afford to get caught. It felt like forever with my snail-like pace, but I finally got to my quarters. The inside was dark and still, lit only by a single orb of soft blue flame hovering near the roof. I didn't give it much thought. Happy to be reunited with my soft foam mattress, I collapsed onto the cot, boots still on, armor stained with the residue of a night I so badly wanted to forget. But my mind wouldn't let me.

That’s how hot his hand was. I didn’t even know that level of heat was possible through denim. The car jerked to a stop. I lifted my eyes slowly, bracing myself for what he brought me to. A torture chamber? A slaughterhouse? It was a gas station. That was… unexpected. A tiny spark of hope bloomed in my chest. Maybe I could use the restroom. Maybe I wouldn’t die of bladder rupture after all. “You have two minutes to do your business and get back out here,” he said without looking at me.

"Drop your frequency! Now!" I pulled the Void deep into my center, wrapping it around my heart like a shroud. The cold was absolute. It felt like my very blood was turning to ice, but I held the "Null-State" until the searchlight passed over us. "We’re clear. The Relay Station is three blocks east," Jago whispered. We sprinted through the ruins of an old textile mill, the "Lagos-grit" crunching under our boots. But as we reached the perimeter of the Relay Station, I felt a familiar, electric sting in the back of my skull.

It had to be something big, something unexpected, something loud and alarming. That’s when I saw it. A small gas station on the other side of the road. I ran towards it, fueled by my need to protect Trista. With frantic hands, I pulled out the gas pump and spilled gas all over the concrete. There was no else around, thankfully. It was a self-serve station with no employees around in the middle of the night. I was relieved by this, since I didn’t want any innocent people to get hurt.

His large hands keeping a tight grip on the gas nozzle as he filled the car. “I’m fine, would prefer to keep myself behind the wheel.” He said, not looking in her direction as he continued to stare down the road. She shrugged at him, and turned to continue whatever new topic of conversation her and Keagan were sharing. I sighed and opened the car door, stepping out and glancing around. The cool air flitted through my dark hair, making my long ponytail wave slightly in the breeze. Daybreak was beginning to shimmer over the tall trees, casting everything in an eerie glow that was only amplified by the lack of people around the small gas station. The small neon lights in the storefront blinked

“I’m working on it. There’s a whole list.” He blinked now, but his gaze was still dry before he looked away. “There shouldn’t be.” I glanced at him, frowning. What did that mean . . . The driver hit the turn signal and began easing into the next lane toward the exit. “There’s one a block over.” Ashton watched me as we got off the ramp and turned in to the gas station. The place itself wasn’t heavily populated. It was run down, bars around the clerks and on the windows and doors. Ashton took my arm, holding me in place as the driver went inside.

I couldn't bear the thought of anyone seeing us like this—me, stained with Armando's blood, my hands slick and crimson, a chilling testament to the horror we had escaped. As I approached, the gas station stood decrepit, its facade crumbling, half-gone as if it had been abandoned for years. The entrance was just a shadow of safety. With a surge of adrenaline, I kicked the glass door open, the sound of shattering glass resonating like a gunshot through the stillness, shards scattering across the floor like memories ripped apart.

Anyone could call him an asshole, but he’d better be one than a liar by giving women false hopes. “What got your panties in a brunch?” “Nothing.” “I got a few reasons.” “Just keep your mouth shut, Frost, and focus on the road.” “Sure thing, man. Sure thing.” He smiled evilly. We arrived at Chester gas station. The giant sign of prices was tearing down. It had a car wash, tire shop, and a convenience store. “I don’t think if there’s anything left.” Frost parked the car beside the road a few meters away from the vehicles, and an RV blocking the dingy gas pumps.