Sandman Novels & Stories

Dust settled like snow. Above us, Varyn House hummed softly—pleased, or plotting. And Samantha Whitaker—unemployed, unfed, unfiltered—fell asleep in a vampire’s arms, wrapped in velvet, regret, and the faint, impossible rhythm of a heart relearning how to beat.

The mark of the Sanctum’s border. From the crest of a hill, the horizon unfurled before them — and there, piercing the cloud-streaked sky, rose the spires of the Sanctum. Golden. Blinding. Beautiful in the way venom glitters before it kills. Soren stopped beside a stream and knelt. The water ran clear and cold, reflecting a sky split between dawn and storm. He cupped it, splashed his face, and looked down. The reflection staring back wasn’t entirely his own.

I was still holding my arm in front of Aerian while staring these two down. While it did make sense how Anselm was able to teleport to where we are I still did not like the idea of someone being able to bypass my guards. My dark Luna was not showing any anxiety of fear through our bond so that made me calm down slightly. I will admit there was no questioning that Anselm and Aerian were siblings. Hell, Anselm was a carbon copy of Fredrik. Then again, I knew that her father had looked just like Fredrik as well. I was still accessing these two when I heard Aerian say the second guy's name.

Just two people standing at the edge of what they had become. “If I don’t come back,” Samuel said again. Adrian finished it this time. “Burn it all. A pause. Then Samuel nodded. And turned toward the light. As he walked away, the bond between them tightened one final time; Not warm, Not comforting but cold, Clean, Final And then He stepped into the system And disappeared.

He spread it over me without asking permission, his movements efficient but not unkind. My hand shot out before I could think better of it, catching his wrist as he started to pull away, my fingers wrapping around the corded muscle and tendon I remembered too well. He froze, looking down at where we connected, then slowly raised his eyes to mine. "Sandra—" "Don't go yet." The words tumbled out desperate and pathetic. "I hate the dark, I can't sleep in complete darkness, it's too quiet down here and I keep thinking about—" I let the sentence die because I didn't know how to finish it, didn't know if I was thinking about Damon's rejection or my father's death or the way Marcus had made me forg

Swollen clouds block out the sun, pregnant with the yetzer hara Samael gently presses me against the bricks, his eyes glowing flame blue in the black, oceans away from their usual Mariana Trench indigo darkness. My nostrils flare at the smell of must and trash left out to rot. Moss has found a haven by my ankles on the wall.

He continued thrusting into her until she felt his cock jerking inside her as he filled her with his seed. Deep in the forest, just outside the borders of the Graystorm Pack, Sandrine staggered unsteadily through the trees before falling to the ground and lying there on a patch of grassy moss. Her clothes were filthy and disheveled, and her hair resembled a birds nest, with twigs and bits of leaves haphazardly sticking out from the matted clumps. Her smooth skin was covered in dirt and scratches that were oozing blood, but she hardly seemed to notice. But perhaps the most unusual thing about her appearance was her eyes, where her eyes had once been a deep ocean blue, they were now a lifeless

They were drawn to the stars and where they knew was their real home somehow. Kristen Lambert always knew she was different though no one else could see her the same way. She loved being outside and looking at the sky from the time she was a small child. She could watch the clouds for hours. Though unlike everyone else, she didn’t see the shapes in them. They were just there. She would wait till the darkness to see the small shining dots that were there, and then she would be calm again.

Just as Aiden had ventured into a strange and dangerous land for his own gains, there was another who was doing the same. This person was a smallish old man who was slightly bent over a thin black cane. On his left hand were several ornaments; for each finger was adorned with a silver ring. He had short black hair with streaks of gray running through it. This man was one that was regarded as the most shrewd of the enemies that the Beastmen had to face. He wasn’t the strongest enemy there was, but if one asked any of the Beast Elders who they’d rather not face, they would mention this man’s name. This man was Elder Sand.

It seemed so strange, but I had recently seen werewolves in my backyard and a mind-erasing army guy. "Why yes, I did. They call me The Sandman. Isn't that clever? It's way more humane than other forms of fighting, don't you think?" He yawned loudly. "How do you know someone is, uh, idimmu? I mean, how does their aura look?" I asked, afraid he was going to end our conversation at any moment and leave me alone in this dungeon. "Well, their aura changes when they use their gift. Usually, people have one strong color tinged with other colors depending on their mood. When idimmu use their gifts, they become multicolored, usually just two or three dominant colors, a