Mrs Vines Dark Winds Novels & Stories

And Laura can only be so forgiving. I trudge home with aching legs. The only good thing about today is that the weather has been kind. My first two weeks of being in Waindale consisted of rain and clouds and more rain, but today the clouds are white and the sun shines through them. I glance up at the sky for the few seconds I can. When my eyes come back down, the forest beside me looks dark, and the creature in it stares.

she muttered, her teeth sinking into her lower lip hard enough to leave marks. Then it came... a sudden, unnatural gust of wind. It assaulted at her exposed neck with surgical precision. She shuddered. Goosebumps erupted across her skin almost instantly. Her teeth began to chatter, a sound she despised for how vulnerable it made her feel. Where had that wind originated from? The windows were locked. The door was sealed as well. She turned her head towards the source of wind slowly, and saw something that nearly made her choke in rage. Adrian lay a little further away from her utterly composed. A lacquered folding hand fan moved in languid arcs before his face, the motion effortless and infur

Alexander Vane retreated to his estate in the hills, but he did not go there to mourn. The convoy of black SUVs wound through the iron gates and up the long driveway, past the manicured lawns and the modern glass facades. He walked into his study alone, dismissed his staff, and stood at the window looking out at the river valley below. The sun was setting. The sky was streaked with red. He poured himself a glass of whiskey and drank it slowly, savoring the burn.

All watching. I drop the knife. Put my hands in his hair. Matted. Bloody. “I know,” I whisper. “I know it hurts.” His crying slows. The vines retract. Slowly. They leave flowers. Black petals. Gold centers. One for each wolf they took. Six Duskbane. Gone. “Better,” Cove mumbles. He looks up. Gold eyes clear for a second. Kid eyes. “Thank you.” Then they go hard again. He shoves me back. Moves fast. Too fast.

The night wind blew heavy, the trees swaying as if trying to hold on to their roots their last lifeline to the earth. Each gust roared like an angry spirit, and yet, they stood firm, gripping the soil as thunder cracked across the sky. "Wrecking Ball" played faintly in the background its echo carried by the wind through the thick forest as Riven's car sliced the darkness like a shadow on a mission. The music blended with the storm, a strange melody of heartbreak and violence.

Kaelen never looked back. I stood in the doorway, watching them walk to the elevator. In the garage, Kaelen opened the passenger door for Seraphina. As she got in, she deliberately rolled down the window. She took out that damned memory crystal. "Want to see it again?" she yelled at me. The crystal activated, and the humiliating images were projected onto the car window again—me, thirteen years ago, bound in silver chains, covered in blood, sobbing in despair... And this time, Kaelen sat in the driver's seat and watched it all without stopping her.

In the Dark Forest… The Rise of Shadows The wind howled. It wasn't natural wind—it was laced with ash, screams, and the bitter scent of burnt skin and old blood. The dark forest, once thick with ancient magic and whispered secrets, now pulsed like a living wound. Clouds churned above it, thunder cracking like the roar of something ancient and long-forgotten. Florence stood at the heart of her coven's circle, black gown soaked from the downpour that began minutes ago but never touched her skin. Her silver eyes gleamed, unblinking, as lightning danced across the sky and cracked down upon the horizon where once a peaceful human village stood.

Whitsundays — Two Weeks Later The storm arrived without mercy. Thunder pressed low; rain sheeted across the cliff. Davidson Manor—Victorian, black against a bruised sky—flashed to life with every white bolt. A military-green M35 ground up the drive, tyres spitting gravel. Under the portico, the driver’s door swung wide and Charlie unfolded from the cab. Forty-five. Denim overalls, sweat-stained tee, Yankee cap pulled low. A Davidoff smouldered at the corner of his mouth.

The storm that had battered the jagged cliffs of the Blackwood coast followed the Vultures back to the city, washing the soot-stained streets in a relentless, freezing downpour. Inside the penthouse of Vane Tower, the floor-to-ceiling glass windows hummed with the vibration of the thunder, offering a blurred, watery panoramic view of the kingdom they had claimed. The interior was quiet, lit only by the low, amber glow of the recessed lights and the crackle of the fireplace.

“Then we’ll make sure we get to.” Outside, the wind picked up. A howl echoed through the pines—far off, but real. And the scent of ash rolled in with the dark.