Shadow Novels Novels & Stories

Liam is quick to pull me flush against the wall of the cinema building, shielding me from the hysteria with his body. “It’s a Shadow attack!” Someone shouts, their words causing my body to freeze and blood to run cold. Peering over Liam’s shoulder, I spot two shadows, their tall frames standing at nearly seven feet towering over a she-wolf whose body sported deep, bleeding gashes. The Shadow with long flowing black hair and crimson eyes sneers, licking the blood of the she-wolf from his claws with a forked tongue. “Who would have thought Ottawa would be easy to enter once all the snow began to melt?” His companion chuckles out, his voice distorted with a gurgling.

I thought his deeply protective, nurturing nature meant he was falling for me, too. Why on earth did you let your foolish assumptions get the best of you, Raegan? Why did you mistake basic human decency and care for romantic love? You are so incredibly stupid. I tilted my head back and stared up at the dark, heavy clouds. The deep, reddish tint of the atmosphere signaled that a torrential downpour was bound to unleash at any given second. There wasn't a single star in sight, the moon was completely hidden from view, and the only remaining presence was the shivering, howling wind. It felt like a sick, twisted joke that the desolate sky right now perfectly mirrored the chaotic storm brewing in

The black ice turned to a thick, oily steam that smelled of old grave dirt and forgotten regrets. Inside the palace, the world was a labyrinth of shadows and silence. In the center of the Great Hall, Soren stood as a lone sentinel of the dark. His graphite skin was covered in a fine layer of frost, and his silver hair was matted with the ash of the shadow-fire he had been burning for days. The Shadow Pack circled him, their red eyes the only points of light in the gloom. They were not fighting the frost with heat; they were using their own "Dark Fire" to mimic the void, creating a localized vacuum that the Frost-Wraiths could not penetrate.

The fact that I didn't even consider asking him why he had been shot in the middle of the night gave me the creeps and made me worry that perhaps I had gone crazy. I locked the doors and secured the windows as soon as I returned home. I groaned, grabbed a bottle of wine, took a seat on the couch, took a sip, and turned the TV on. I kept watching whatever was on, but I couldn't help but be constantly thinking about Nicholas, which caused me to feel fearful once more. I drank my wine till I was sleeping out of concern that he could return and murder me.

"Yeah. Sin just got home, he's in the library. I believe I saw him there last." "Okay thanks." I smiled gratefully as he nodded in return and walked away. I took the corner, and found myself in front of the large library room. Thank God Nikolai had shown me around the place at first. Now it wasn't that hard to find around. I stared into the room where I noted Sinister seated at a luxurious oaky-coloured leathered armchair. He seemed to be deep in thought. With his elbow resting on the arm of the chair, his face was propped up against his knuckles defining how chiseled his features were. This man is handsome. The slight subtle seemed to emphasize a roguish yet elegant portrayal of him. A blen

What made the night was the moon and the darkness, and while we werewolves had a connection with the moon, Shadows were connected with the darkness and while they had all the special senses of a werewolf, they had no wolf and couldn’t not shift. Hence, most of them preferred to live among the humans. Their stealth made them lethal and it was common knowledge that some even worked as hired assassins in the human world. They were one with the night and ironically they possessed no shadow. So, you can understand why I was absolutely terrified by the fact that I had just kicked one of those deadly beings in the freaking face! Genny said the only reason I had spotted his movement was because the

The study was dimly lit, with the late afternoon sun glowing through heavy drapes, casting shadows on the floor. A moderate mahogany desk sat against the far covered with papers, books, and an assortment of trinkets. Shelves filled with thick volumes of law books lined the walls, and a couple of leather armchairs wrere arranged at a corner. Vanessa’s eyes glanced around, taking in the room’s details. Was this it? she thought, her brow furrowing in confusion. Was this what Maxwell had been guarding so fiercely? The room seemed quite .lordinary, even mundane…a typical study, nothing more.

Karina was covered in sweats, her teeth gritting as she poured all her force into slowing down the momentum of Hail’s final attack. Without another word, the other Nobles summoned their shadow. The blackness of its feature stretched until they connected. It was only then that it stretched into a dome that covered all of them. At the same time, Sloane called upon her shadow who stretched in the basis of her shadow. Before the dome closed upon her, she’d seen Sloane winked at her and she felt a warm sensation stabbing her stomach.

he choked out, hoping she didn’t notice how uncomfortable he was. “Not only that, but look at that horse over there. He could be King’s twin,” she said with wonder. “You don’t say. Why yes, I think you’re right. Son-of-a-gun,” Brandon said as convincingly as he could. “Well, that makes sense. If I read the book correctly, Shadow Land began as a kind of mirror of our reality,” she mused. “Your reality isn’t the civil war,” he stated flatly. “Reality of the earth plane and humans in general is what I meant,” she replied.

She didn't have a name; she only had a purpose: Protect the child. While the "real" Robbin wept, the Shadow took the gun and killed the men who had murdered her family. While Robbin was a scared girl on the streets, the Shadow learned how to find food and navigate the alleys. While Robbin trembled under Jeff’s gaze, the Shadow learned how to sharpen a spoon into a weapon. It was the Shadow who had outsmarted Jeff, and it was the Shadow who had watched Shelley die on the night of the heist, recording the tragedy as data without feeling a single spark of heat.