Puck Novels & Stories

, I chuckled nervously. Please open up and swallow me now, I begged the earth. "Do you know why you're here, Miss Carmichael?" Mr. Drebeille finally spoke. I shook my head rapidly in response, "Did I tell you, you have such lovely skin today Mr. Drebeille" "New soap?" "Yes", the burly man indulged me as he leaned back into his chair, the old stud creaking in the process. "It's called the soap of retaining my job".

"I always imagined what a Unicorn would look like, but nothing prepared me for how beautiful you all are. I am in awe. And thank you, King Puck, once this is all over, I would be honoured for you to meet them, along with all the other Supernatural Leaders." "It would be an honour to meet the blessed pups." He smiled. "I have gifts for them, but it will probably be best to wait until this is all over." "There was no need for that King Puck," I said. "But thank you, I am sure they will be delighted." "Please call me Puck." He smiled. "Then you must call me Kari." I returned the smile. "It is good to

I watched the entire game in a state of clinical dissociation. My body was in the fourth row. My mind was in a bar bathroom three days ago with my legs wrapped around the waist of the man currently skating circles around every player on the ice. Rhys Maddox. That was his name. The announcer said it every time he touched the puck, which was constantly, because the puck seemed magnetically drawn to his stick like it had a crush on him too. He was unreal.

My eyes focused on the game that was going on in front of me. The movement on the ice was smooth and very fast. It was hard to focus on the puck because one minute, you'd think it was on this player's stick, the next, it's on another player's. The second started to count down and the screams continued. Somehow, the goalie of the team was able to kick out the puck before it entered the net. “Yes.” I mumbled to myself. They were leading the rival team by two goals already. They still had thirty seconds left. Liam played into my view and my eyes focused on him as he played with the puck and in a few

I shifted my weight, preparing to crouch down so I could explain why real pucks didn't belong in a school gym. "Well, big guy, real pucks are made of hard rubber," I started, lowering myself until my eyes were level with his. "They're way too heavy for in here. You could accidentally hurt—" I stopped. My voice locked up completely, the sound dying right in my chest. The boy didn't look away. He stared straight into my face, his small chest rising and falling as he waited for my answer. And as I looked down into his features—the strong line of his jaw, the shape of his nose, and most of all, the striking pale blue of his eyes—the

“I’ll handle it.” The same answer. The same controlled voice. I looked at him for a long moment. “You always say that.” He didn’t respond. The silence between us stretched. I could still see the game in him—the discipline, the control, the instinct to shut down anything he couldn’t immediately solve. He’d stopped pucks tonight that would have gone past anyone else. But this wasn’t a puck. It wasn’t a bad headline he could bury before morning. It was me. And for the first time, I wasn’t sure he understood that.

I looked at him for exactly as long as I could stand. He was tall, well-built, and entirely unremarkable, which was the worst part, because I had always assumed there would be something to see. He had the face of every boy who has been told his whole life that things will work out. He flipped a puck against the boards, caught it on the blade without looking, and said something to the kid beside him that made the kid laugh. DRAKE, said the back of his jersey, in cream letters over a nine.

“So which one is your boyfriend?” “That one,” Blair pointed at a player with the number 20 on his jersey. “His name is Mark.” Before I could say anything, Mark sent the puck flying into the net. His teammates yelled, and Blair shot to her feet, clapping wildly and practically bouncing on her toes. “Woohoo! That’s my boyfriend!” The other players’ attention snapped toward us. Some looked startled, while others stared in mild confusion at the white-haired girl bouncing excitedly in the bleachers.

Pandora Being named after the one woman who unleashed the darkness and evil beings into our world just simply opening a box has never been easy, especially when I need to meet new people. They hesitate to talk to me and even look at me or towards me. I've heard rumors that I'm a witch's hybrid with a wolf, that I was cursed when I was born, and even that I was cursed because I tried to seduce the mate of a powerful witch, but none of this is true, and it also makes no sense, I never crossed the boundaries of the lands of the pack. But even if these unfounded rumors amuse me, after all, we realize how far people's imagination scans, I have my responsibilities, such as: doing my homework, afte

As soon as Micah flattens the two death gods threatening us, I spin around to find Tomas, Puck, and Jai. Both Elite wolves are guarding Puck, who’s seated on the ground. Magic shimmers around him—so different from that of the witches. He draws his power directly from a god, and that’s part of what draws the two of us together. Puck is trying to open a portal. Jai and Tomas are holding the line. Micah and I rush to help, but Tomas shouts, “Fire! We need to set up a fire along the perimeters. Light this fucker up!”