S Dorst Novels & Stories

“Let’s see, “ I said as I typed his name. However, the search came up empty. There were no listings of a company or any business under his name. I furrowed my eyebrows wondering if what I experienced that morning really happened. The man was wearing Armani and driving a Rolls Royce. He had to have a company somewhere. When I searched the name Markos alone, the search results showed a bunch of people I had never seen before. I gave up and closed my laptop. The rest of the day went by fast, with Markos sneaking in and out of my mind occasionally. Soon, it was time for my shift at the bar. It was a shitty bar that was walking distance from where I lived. When I got there, I put on my skimpy un

"Konstantin." As if electrocuted, Dostov released his bite with a slight surge and then looked up at Alice. Nick's blood flowed slowly from his fangs into his jaw. I don't know why Alice called him Konstantin, or how she knew Dostov. The only thing I know is that both of them are from Russia. Dostov stood up from his spot and took a step toward Alice, the expression on his face contrasting with his age. Dostov is one of the oldest Volders alive, and when you get as old as Dostov controlling emotions becomes as easy as breathing. Expression is weakness, if your enemy can read the expression on your face he can beat you easily.

Yes, she could. “Who is he?” I already knew who he was but I wanted to know if she was going to tell me. His name was Andrew Douglas, aged thirty-two, once employed as a detective in Nevada. More recently he retired, having cashed out his pension and started looking for Charlotte. He would still have friends and connections. Blue was blue.

The three of us in the alley together would’ve been enough to interest the Guinness Book of World Records. “He tried to murder a prostitute.” No need to mention my personal interest in the matter. But my tone must’ve given something away, because Esther’s gaze became uncomfortably sharp. Doran was already strolling around the car, his hand stretched out toward it, muttering a few words of his own guttural language as he examined it for traces of magic. “Esther, you’d have killed him too.”

She went west, toward Reyn, toward Dorin and the records, toward the conversation that would either end this or not. She did not let herself watch him go. She walked into Reyn's command tent at sunrise and put Dorin's record set on the table and said: "Drest moved last night. He took two hostages and burned a farmhouse to try to stop this reaching you. It's reached you." She laid her palms flat on the table. "Read it." Reyn read it. He was quiet for a long time after. "Councillor Drest," he said finally. Not a question. Just the name, held in the mouth like something that had changed shape.

He pushed me back, away from the door that closed behind his back. Nabastala Putra, the real name of a gigolo who claims to be Aryo. More interesting, actually. However, this man who was taller than me by a few inch seemed to investigate our surroundings with an annoyed look. "Just a moment..., just a moment." My forefinger and thumb formed a small pinch in the air. Perhaps pinching the tanned circles on his chest was much more fun than starting a conversation like this. "Guest, Bro?" Another voice asked from the open door behind Aryo. Ah, I'm used to calling him that.

it was so strange. “Have you woken up?” Jonald asked, letting out a quiet laugh as he walked in. “I guess.. who are you?” Dora asked confused. “My name is Jonald Donquite,” Jonald introduced himself. “Jonald Donquite? Sorry, I don’t seem that to know who you are. Did you saved me from something?” Dora asked as she rubbed at her aching head. She kept feeling like there was something in particular that she could not remember.

Father Angelo had come to solve the matter and together all of the witches along with the warlocks had to perform a magic spell to find out the Lady Dasher. "Dorian, call Weston." Dorian gave a nod to the witch and rushed upstairs. While all of them making a circle to perform the spell, Vlora was dialling her brother...who was out of range. After a few minutes, Dorian rushed down to shout. "Weston is not in his room and he left this letter on his bed." The moment he handed the letter to Vlora and she read it carefully. With a clenching jaw, she abruptly yelled, "That son of a bitch!"