Shelter 2014 Novels & Stories

A sad goodbye. "She's staying?" Kai's voice cracked. "To cover tracks. Shield others from him." Damon's tone softened once. "Your uncle's relocated. Friends too. No traces left." They settled into leather seats. Engines roared. The jet lifted off, city shrinking to a glowing smear below. Kai pressed his face to the window. Home—gone forever. "Where to?" "Somewhere he can't reach." Damon stared ahead, jaw tight. "Tell me straight. No more secrets."

I just can't help but wonder if Victoria was not mistaken when she said the shelter provides literally every one of these shifters' basic needs. "What about food?" I ask and they chuckle "Well, if you count one small loaf of bread given every morning as food then I guess the shelter provides food," Carla says with a sarcastic undertone I look at her and she sighs, dropping the pack in her hand. "Forgive me, Luna, I didn't mean to take that tone with you and I certainly didn't mean to sound ungrateful. Most of us can provide for ourselves anyway and we're more than grateful to have a roof over our heads during our waiting periods. Who wouldn't be? We're shifters, not like we can easily rent a

His knee brushed mine under the table and he shifted immediately, putting distance between us. Nate launched back into gala planning, including Julian whether he wanted to be included or not. I watched Julian listen, really listen, to the proposals for survivor programs. His face revealed nothing, but his fingers tapped once against his coffee cup when I suggested partnering with existing shelters instead of building new ones. "That's practical," he said. His first words in ten minutes. "Shelters need funding more than competition." It wasn't praise. But coming from Julian, it felt close. Nate checked his watch and swore. "I have a meeting. Lena, Thursday? We'll tour potential venues?"

she says in a soothing whisper. "Don't go," I mumur sleepily as I close my eyes and feel as she lays on the other side of Amelia. Raven The look in her eyes before she left, it tore me apart not being able to go home with her. I'm always there for her during a thunderstorm. I remember when we first brought her home with us from the hospital, she had her own room while my parents were building a soundproof basement. The first month was spent waking up to her either screaming from nightmares or thunderstorms.

I avoided her eyes and pulled on my jacket. “I’m leaving early.” “Don’t forget we have dinner at Aunt Tara’s tomorrow.” My brain barely registered it. “Sure.” ⸻ The air outside felt like static—humid, restless, electric. On my walk to school, I tried typing “SHELTER” into my phone. Not just the word, but phrases like “Shelter facility,” “Shelter bus depot,” “Shelter town building.” A few results popped up, mostly useless. Old shelters for animals. Some abandoned buildings marked in the archives of the local historical society. One entry stood out:

The survivors’ shelter wasn’t far from the military base—a short walk through a narrow, barricaded road lined with barbed wire and overturned vehicles. The shelter itself was a repurposed office building, its glass windows replaced with sheets of metal and its entrances fortified with makeshift barriers. The military base, just a few hundred meters away, was visible from the shelter’s rooftop.

And he ordered that I go to the shelter with the others. I hesitated, but I knew that it was for the best. And I also knew that we were down a lot of warriors right now. They were hours away and wouldn't get back here in time. So we started getting people to the shelter in the packhouse and I was guiding some to the shelter under the gym at the high school and another one that Jackson put in a couple of years ago under the meeting hall. I was just hoping that there was enough room for all the people that we had here. When I got down to the shelter under the packhouse I locked the door with the keypad and I turned on the vents to make sure that we didn't all suffocate. There were hundreds of

Take yesterday for example. Ever since the incident as a child, I have only shifted during my traumatic experience like about five times. First comes confusion, protectiveness, then sadness, denial, and grief, then rage. Anytime some one is around and I shift, I always end up attacking him. I even attacked Rodrick once—well Scar did. The other people were guards on patrol. Since then I never leave my house after 4:30; hence, never leaving my pack. Rodrick has always understood so he never forced me to leave the pack. Sometimes I wonder whether I'm a shitty Beta. Sigh.

With a tender and gentle demeanor, Gerald showered Virginia with unwavering affection and support. He created a safe and nurturing space where she could find solace and feel secure. He didn't bring up the previous issue or demand an explanation, knowing that it would only reopen wounds and hinder their path towards healing. ‌

How are we supposed to live like this? "This past month, my hair has been falling out in clumps. Because of the overtime and all the performance pressure, I often have insomnia and don't sleep a wink. "Then I still have to work overtime the next day. I can't go on living like this. Sometimes I even think about jumping off a building and ending it all." "Same here. I used to earn close to ten thousand dollars a month, but after the deductions, I'm left with four thousand dollars. I don't have much left after paying rent."