Noble Beast Brewing Novels & Stories

She moved to the couch and read the newspaper with her. On the cover page is a picture of a boar beast eating peacefully beside a boulder. On the right of it, in a column, read: “The Royal Hunting Event will be held in a few weeks! Pack your equipment and ready your mounts! Each monster will be graded with points and every point counts!” Nene looked at the picture in awe. “Whoah… That’s a big boar beast… What is that?” “It’s Boraria Hard Tusk. Usualluy, that beast can fetch 50 points. I’m surprised they can get the picture so close.”

Nostalgia hit her hard. She tossed a fist-sized gourd of wine toward Uncle Tubbs. "Let's go. Don't disturb Uncle's nap." She and Faye grabbed the pastries and left without looking back. Uncle Tubbs popped the cork on the gourd. Instantly, a rich, potent aroma filled the kitchen. Legend had it that the Drunken Hermit of the North only brewed one type of liquor—*Elysian Nectar*. He only made two ounces every ten years. It went to the highest bidder.

As soon as the waitress went to the manager in the kitchen, I hiked Natalia up under my arm and used my werewolf power to blur out of there. The only thing the patrons would’ve seen was something faster than their eyes could track. They said a magician’s hands were quicker than the eyes, but a werewolf in human form was twice as fast. Outside, the sounds of the Manhattan streets assaulted my ears and I was glad for the darkness. It was easier to blur with her in my arms and avoid any traffic or other cameras. Still, I made it look like she was drunk and hanging onto me in case anyone saw us. I pulled her closer as she tried to struggle against my hold. Her fresh scent of espresso with too mu

“Enjoy your coffee, Mr. Cole.” His eyes narrowed slightly at the formality, but he didn’t stop her. He just watched as she tied her apron back on and disappeared behind the counter, her heart pounding like she’d just escaped a trap she wasn’t sure she wanted to escape at all. Damian Cole sat alone at the corner table of Sweet Haven, drinking the first cup of coffee he hadn’t hated in years. The cinnamon latte was smoother than he expected, the faint spice lingering on his tongue. The blueberry scone was warm, soft, bursting with flavor.

Of course Christopher Henry Jameson—also known as Beast- wasn't the average man. He stood 6'5" and weighed three hundred and two pounds. He didn't like the extra three pounds. He rather liked being in the two hundred weight range even if it was by just one or two pounds. Regardless, there wasn't an ounce of fat on his perfect body. Beast was muscles on top of muscles, yet not hulking like some of the others that worked in the Marine Corps division assigned to The Department of Home Land Security, or better known as DHS. Too big made you slow. He'd seen guys bigger than him hospitalized during the CRUCIBLE training.