Midnight Connections Novels & Stories

Jesse stares at his little mate for a moment and then huffs out a laugh, shaking his head and taking her hand. “All right, Mids. Do your work.” Everyone else again shuffles around and holds hands or otherwise makes contact with their neighbor so they can all travel together, quietly waiting, expectant. Jesse watches closely as Midnight exhales a long breath, looking around at the Land of Darkness as if she’s saying goodbye to it. Jesse squeezes her hand and she looks up at him.

‎ ‎I tapped it with trembling fingers. ‎ ‎“He didn’t leave by choice.” ‎ ‎I froze. ‎ ‎The message continued: ‎ ‎“If you ever want to see him again, come alone.” ‎ ‎“Midnight.” ‎ ‎“Old pier.” ‎ ‎My heart slammed into my ribs so hard it hurt. ‎ ‎Because there was no signature. ‎No threat. ‎No explanation. ‎ ‎Just one line at the bottom. ‎ ‎A line that made my blood run cold. ‎ ‎“M”

I watch her bedroom door close and listen for the click of the lock. Alone again, I curl into the corner of the couch, lights dimmed, phone in my hand. Minutes blur into hours. Midnight slides toward one a.m. Another buzz. My heart stutters. This time the message comes with an audio file. I tap it before I can think. A low male voice, distorted but clear enough to chill me. “Damien isn’t who you think he is. Ask your mother about June seventh. Midnight.” The file ends with a faint metallic scrape, like a door opening.

Rain slicked the alley outside club Vesper, turning the neon signs into rivers of pink and blue. Aria Cole pulled her hood tighter and checked the time on her phone, 11:58 p.m. Two minutes to midnight The tip had been maddenly vague:Valente's people meet on Thursdays. Black entrance. Midnight. Vague, but enough to drag her across the city on a night when any sane person would be asleep. She shifted her weight, the camera strap biting into her shoulder. Months of chasing this story had taught her patience. It had also taught her how quickly patience could turn to obsession

But above all, I must make a promise to myself: to discover who wanted to reduce me to a key, and why. I am finally released for a moment, taken to another room where I am left alone to reflect, to stew, to rummage through memories. The door slams behind me, and I find myself facing a narrow window that lets in a sliver of moonlight. I press my head against the glass, close my eyes, and recite the names of those I love like a mantra: Alexandre. Lucas. Mom. The syllables anchor me. In the distance, I hear a male voice return to the phone, a phrase thrown out hastily. I catch this little word, almost inaudible, that ignites a spark: “meeting… midnight… bridge…” Then everything goes silent. A l

I shook my head, too confused to speak. “Because the last time a lunar eclipse appeared here, something extraordinary happened. A bond formed between two wolves, marked by the moon herself. We call it "Midnight's Mark". It has not appeared in one hundred and twenty-three years. Most think it’s legend, but I saw it when I was young.” My mouth felt dry. “What kind of bond?” “The truest kind, a mate bond chosen by the Moon Goddess herself, marked on the skin at the eclipse’s peak. Those who bear it are destined for each other, their souls matched perfectly. Such bonds appear only when the pack needs them most.”

Maya’s POV Midnight is rude. It removes logic. It removes fear. It removes clothing in your imagination before you can stop it. And unfortunately, my imagination has a favorite victim. My next door neighbor is tall, unfairly attractive, and has the kind of voice that could convince a nun to sin without even raising his tine My name is Maya Collins. I am nineteen. I am supposed to be focused on saving my family business, finishing university, and behaving like a responsible adult.

I want to be precise about this, midnight, which was the specific and particular time of a man who had been in the kitchen for two hours with a woman who told him about roses and honest light and a mother named Sophia, who had then sat alone at the kitchen counter on her side for twenty-three minutes after she went to bed, who had then gone to his study and had opened his laptop and had looked at it without seeing it for another twelve minutes before he picked up his phone. Midnight. Nate answered on the third ring. Not the second ring, which was his standard, the third, which meant he had been asleep or close enough to it that the first ring had been absorbed into something and the second h

The Last Midnight in Sector One The digital clock on the bedside table glowed in a soft, muted amber: 03:42 AM. In the master suite of the Sector One residence, the air was cool and smelled faintly of cedar and rain. Outside, the great global metropolis of the First Core slept beneath a sprawling canopy of brilliant stars, its automated perimeter lights glowing like quiet jewels in the dark.

I didn’t get into college, so I took a job driving a city bus. Once I finished training, I started working the night shift with Uncle Tim. He had always been the kind of guy who followed every rule. But that night, he wouldn’t let me pick up a single passenger. He even made me keep the bus dark the entire route. Uncle Tim died shortly after that incident. A few days later, someone told me something that made my blood run cold. Uncle Tim had actually been dead for quite some time. So who the hell had been riding with me that night?