Shadow Sk8 Novels & Stories

**Skylar** When I came out of the bathroom, there were clothes on the bed and Max sitting on the balcony, smoking. So Max was serious about meeting me with his biker gang again. Look, from the clothes, accessories, to the shoes he provided, it really made me look like a real biker. How could it not? Fitted black jeans, black shirt and black denim jacket, as well as shiny brown boots. Oh, don't forget the sunglasses and spiked choker leather collar necklace with a glowing red fox pendant. Max definitely made me look like his pet.

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Drake shouted loudly. "It was just ten minutes, why are you getting so angry?" Karen replied. "In my exes, not one of them would keep me waiting for ten minutes. Why can't you appreciate that? You dare question me?" Drake yelled. "Stop mentioning your exes, okay?" "So what were you doing in those damn ten minutes?" "I was curling my hair; it took longer than I expected." "Bitch, Let me tell you, no matter how much time you spend curling your hair, it's not going to make you look any better."

I plunged my hand into the dark, grasping a handle of frozen starlight and bone. As I hauled it out, the air temperature plummeted. The massive, six-foot curve of the Reaper's Scythe manifested, its bone-white steel humming with the screams of a thousand forgotten ghosts. I didn't run. I flickered, activating my Shadow Evasion Skill. The world turned into a gray smear for a microsecond. I reappeared in front of the girl just as the Bao-Feng's shadow eclipsed her. I swung the scythe in a brutal, gravity-defying arc.

He rasped, the name sending a wave of shock through the room. The Silver Moon Pack was a rival pack from the north, notorious for their ruthless tactics and their desire for blood and power. Their mere mention was enough to make the hairs on Kenziel’s back stand on end. "Silver Moon, huh...?" Kenziel snarled, anger visible in his icy-blue eyes. "If you were sent by your alpha, why did you brutally kill a human too? Was that part of your mission as well?" But the rogue's eyes was replaced with defiance, overshadowing the fear that was in it a moment ago. "Well, that was supposed to be my business, not yours." He spat, gnarling at Kenziel.

The thought made my blood boil and the urge to wipe the alluring look off of her face burned within me. “My, my, what do we have here.” She stepped into the room looking me over as she did. As she stepped further until the room, she was joined by a man that was large enough to give a body builder a run for his money. His head was shaven, bar a goatee style beard. A large hole in one earlobe, stretched over a black heavy hoop. He was clad in a black leather jacket and dirty jeans, heavy boots on his feet. He looked every inch the stereotypical biker.

Then they moved more fully into the room, and she got a clear view of them. One was very nice-looking with long blondish hair caught up at the nape of his neck. The other one was the most striking man she'd ever laid eyes on. His hair was inky black and cropped in a short, careless style. His face was rugged and strong with a long, straight nose over his wide slash of lips. His eyes were an amazing shade of gold, and just now they sparkled with the dark promise of death.

Something to focus on besides the agony in her chest. Well, if they wanted to pretend she didn't exist, she'd show them exactly who Lyra Ashwood was. She'd show them what they'd thrown away. She'd make them see her. She walked toward the front door of the pack house. Her jaw was set. Her amber eyes were blazing. Her spine was straight. It was time to crash this party.

"Why not?" "Isn't it obvious? Lucian's the wildest of The Apex Four. He never shows up for training and misses out on hunting contests, and even the Valemont pack nearly gave up on him. The princess might like to break the rules, but she wouldn't go for a bad boy like him." ... Thorne overheard that, straightened his suit sleeves, and held his head high with pride. Griffin and Rafael did not seem to mind, just chilling and sipping their drinks.

Before the Sky Had Rules Below it, smaller script shifts languages every heartbeat: Welcome, oath-bound. You were expected. A figure drops from the arch (no wings, just air deciding gravity is optional). Tall, bronze skin, white hair braided with tiny bells of petrified lightning. Board shorts, bare feet, and a university hoodie that reads Property of Aerie Skate Team – Champions of the Void 2027. He lands on a beat-up longboard that hovers an inch off the sand and rolls to a stop in front of me. Stranger (grinning like he’s been waiting his whole life for this):