Night Wing Names Novels & Stories

“Are they hurting each other?” “Not yet,” the nurse said. “But it’s escalating.” I let out a shaky breath. Two men. Two husbands. My mind tried to grasp onto something solid, something factual. I knew my own life. I knew who she loved. Didn’t she? “Who are they?” I asked. The nurse hesitated again. “One of them said his name is Jason.” The sound of it made my heart slam against my ribs. There were stretches of memory that felt smudged, like ink dragged across paper.

It had only sharpened its edges. NIGTBANE He would never make the mistake of calling me “king” to my face. Not now. Not with so much heavy and brittle around us. He’d call himself “alpha” before me if the old laws still mattered. But in the silence that lived between thunder and the soft rust of men settling, there was only a name I felt: Nightbane. I liked that when the wolves lay down and the fires dimmed.

It is tough to act and expect someone to appear to be the person with whom they wish to spend the rest of their lives till their final breath. My given name is Yhra, not Lesley.

They liked the idea of filling in the shoes of ancient beings. "I'll take Gryphon," said Sunflower. "I've always liked the whole lion and eagle vibe." "Should we name Grizz' squadron for him?" asked a squad leader. "We could name it cockatrice. Loud, obnoxious, has a death stare…" "Anyone gonna claim Thunderbird?" said another squad leader. "If not, my squadron's taking it." The three squadrons quickly decided on Roc, Gryphon, and Thunderbird. If Grizz' and his lackey's squadrons joined them, they were free to choose their own.

But his rambling was cut short when I leaned in, and in one quick motion, gave his cheek a small peck. “Goodnight, Pepper Chicken.” He chuckled softly at that. “Goodnight, Milkshake.” As I drove home that night, one thing was clear - I’d probably never be called by my actual name by Jeff and Gina. But as much I’d miss being called by my name and not some food or drink, I had to admit that something about having nicknames like Hawk and Dove, actually felt strangely comforting. It almost felt like I belonged in their pretty crazy, yet loving family.

The courtyard was vast and desolate, with not a soul in sight. Something was very wrong. This was no common hospital, but a high-end, luxurious one. The third ward, where I was, was for the more mentally fragile patients. For their protection, the lights would be kept on all night with security guards patrolling without fail. The lounge was on the fourth floor. Through the glass window, I could see the entire layout of the courtyard. The entire place was smothered in darkness, with not a single patrolling guard in sight. This was too eerie.

The replies from E were steady and careful and read like letters from someone who had agreed to carry a weight and intended to honor that agreement without complaint. I turned to the last letter. It was different from the others. Shorter. The paper was newer. It was not signed with an initial. It was signed with a name. E. Nightfang. I sat with that for a moment. Nightfang. I knew the name the way every wolf in any pack knew it, the way you knew storm warnings and old laws and things that mattered without being told why. The Northern Fang pack. One of the oldest territories in the country. An Alpha line that went back further than most packs cared to count.

* I turned onto my side, hissing as my bandaged arm protested the shift. “You’re not safe,” I whispered into the dark. “Not from them. Not from the witch. Not from him.” It was a cheerful thought. My brain, apparently deciding that wasn’t enough to chew on, added Nightfang to the mess. The word had slithered into the meeting like a snake: unfamiliar tracks, stronger scent, a maybe that everyone in the room had felt more strongly than they’d admit. Nightfang. The same name in the folktales that mentioned blood witches and cursed Alphas.

Warren had personally trained. Rosalie squeezed the hem of her blouse as she fought to keep herself calm. However, her stiletto heels left her somewhat unbalanced, and a slight shift of her body had her falling. She knew that her true identity would come to light now. On the other hand, Michael seemed oddly calm, though he kept his hands behind his back, seemingly searching for something. Jake and his group of bodyguards immediately greeted Grandpa, "Mr. Gardner Senior." At the same time, Lincoln took off his suit jacket and wrapped it around me snugly before pulling me to his chest.

“These people invented whiskey, these Celtic bastards . . . Water of life they call it. How ironic is that, huh? I bet my ass to odd high that if ya drank enough it’d kill yer ass dead in an hour.” Malitus looked to August, who sat by the door with Rufus. “Are they gone?” “A few stragglers out running about, sir, but the big one with black hair is gone. That’s something.” “What did they call him?” “Adelaido,” Rufus said. “Sir.” After a fatigued sigh, Malitus said. “I don’t think I feel keen on protocol at the moment, boy. August, can such things have names?”