Nothing But Blackened Teeth Summary Novels & Stories

Zevran said. She raised her hands, the flames forming a circle between them. “By my measure, you will burn no more in hunger, but in memory.” The black fire contracted into a single pulse—then exploded outward as pure white. The shockwave swept through the chamber, up the stairs, through the citadel, and across the plains. When it faded, silence reigned. The Black Moon in the sky flickered once, then began to bleed gold. Zevran sank to his knees, pulling Kaelira into his arms. Her skin still glowed faintly, her breathing ragged but steady.

Her own teeth are sharp; her own hands, brutal. The second time the rogues breach the fence, Elena overtakes them before they reach the dens. Damon is at her side, laughing, covered in so much blood it runs pink along his cheekbones. The rogues snarl and gnash until they realize whose territory this is, and then something like fear stutters through their eyes. No one had ever told them what kind of monsters Black Claw could raise.

I find a table in the very back corner, tucked behind a big stone pillar. It’s perfect. It’s dark. It’s invisible. I sit down and open my book—a worn copy of Theoretical Astrophysics. I hide the cover behind a paper bag. If people knew the creepy janitor was reading about black holes, they’d only find a new way to mock me. I take a bite of my apple, my eyes scanning the room. Across the hall, the Knights' table is a scream of noise and gold. They sit in the middle, lit up by the tall gothic windows. Alan Voss is at the head of the table, looking like a king carved out of ice and ink.

The band was formed from tiny diamonds arranged like intertwining flower branches, and at the center sat a smooth, luminous pearl that glowed softly in the sunlight. “Zoe,” he said quietly, “I know you’ve been hurt before, but I want to give you a future that feels safe. Will you marry me?” His voice was low and gentle, his eyes filled with sincerity and hope. I froze for a moment. Then, my vision blurred as tears welled up and spilled over. Nodding through my tears, I whispered, “I will.”

I'm preparing to scare it off, and just as I grab a discarded branch, and raise it back, ready to beat it, the thing turns, and I freeze. It's Nova, but it's also not Nova; half of her hair has fallen out, a big purple splotch from the top of her scalp, to the left side of her jaw. And her eyes, the once dark brown of the irises have gone completely black, blending in the pupil. It's her mouth though that sends a cold chill down my spine; her teeth have been pusheud out from her mouth, the ends curved downward and sharpened. She looks more animal than girl.

- River lies on his couch, pondering the ceiling while E Business plays on the television set—showing an ad for some random moisturizer. He checks his phone, then lays it back on his chest, not even a grimace on his face for he was too weary. A second later, the advertisement finishes and begins playing live coverage of Sebastian Black, speaking to the press outside of the Black & Co. building.

With someone else's eyes, Nocté saw a bone blade: the handle was decorated with small fangs of kinsmen. The victim was practically lying at the tail of Nocté. The newt stroked her torn fins and didn't even cry out when the blade entered his chest and drew a line to the inguinal shell. With a dab, the insides fell out on the slabs. The song got even louder. A man's hand groped through the organs, as if through autumn leaves, threw away the heart and tore the bloody pearl out. In the semi-darkness it acquired a delicate pink hue. Nocté reached out to the dying newt and closed his eyes.

“This book is not a confession. It is a record. Of power, of violence, of velvet and blood. And of the people who lived inside it some survived. Some did not.” She stared at the word “record.” Too cold. Too safe. She added a line beneath it. “If I vanish, this is the map.” That stayed. The fireplace snapped behind her. She kept typing. “The man they called Blackthorn was not the villain. But he was not a hero either. He built the stage. He built the machine. Then he fell in love with a ghost who broke it.” Her mouth tasted like copper. She hadn’t eaten since yesterday. She didn’t care.

I shoved more food into my mouth cause if I couldn’t even manage to eat properly then I had no business surviving the kind of war I had just realized I’d been dragged into. Because that was what this was. A war and it was not the loud gunfire kind or the bloody street massacre kind. It was the quiet and smiling kind, the kind where people kissed your hand while deciding how best to dispose of you. I chewed carefully, swallowing each bite like it mattered. Like food itself was strategy and strength could be built one mouthful at a time because everything inside the Blackthorne empire was wrong. Horribly wrong. The politics, the loyalties, the power shifts, the fake performances, the hidden kn

The Mouth existed as a pure expression of hunger, and hunger did not respect geography. It was a perfect circle of absolute nothing, ringed with teeth made from the fossilized screams of seventeen dead universes. Each tooth was a civilization's final moment, compressed into enamel. The sound it produced was not a roar but a silence so aggressive it felt like being punched in the soul.