Splinter 2012 Novels & Stories

Before I could reply, Griff’s office door slammed open and he stepped out with fire in his eyes and a paper clutched in his hand. “Everyone inside. Now.” The room filled fast. Boots thudded against the floor, leather creaked as cuts brushed together, and the air thickened with tension. I stood near the back as Griff spread the paper across the table. It was a photograph. Trigger, one of ours was face down in the dirt with a bullet to the head. My stomach knotted. Trigger had a wife and a baby. I’d seen him hold her once, smiling like the world wasn’t always cruel. Who would have done this to him?

I was praying to myself that Liam was wrong or a lie, I wasn't ready to have my heart broken again, not after all the nice things I had experienced with Alexander these days and when I felt that I was regaining my trust in him again. When I thought that this time everything could work out and be fine, be happy together at last, that was what I wanted and expected, I didn't want to be disappointed again, I didn't want to feel as broken as when I found out that he only approached me for an absurd revenge of his sister, this time I didn't believe I was able to get up from something like that.

I walked up and asked one of the policemen. The policeman looked rather grim as he said, "Your sister was the victim of a murder attempt. Although we've subdued the suspect, both of them are in critical condition. We're not sure if they can be saved." I immediately guessed what had happened when I heard what the policeman said. "Was it a woman called Callista who attacked them?" If my guess was correct, that was probably what Callista had meant when she said she would make things up to me. However, I hadn't expected her to be so crazy. She had gotten both Jeffrey and Elise sent to the ICU.

"W - Wait, Fox! If you kill me, you'll only makes it worse! It only takes one more for everything to end!" Vayu tried to not let his confusion show, but he accidentally tilted his head slightly when hearing that. So it seemed. If half of the Scions were gone, the Seal of Twelve would be weakened enough to let the Grand Serpent in. As cataclysmically dangerous as that might be, Vayu was even more objecting to the idea of letting the rebel Scions got away with everything. "Alright, then. What if we lock you and Edwin's treacherous asses up to 12 years and more until all the fallen Scions are replaced. Then we get to make a festive public execution for both of you. How about that?"

he chortled. "Ow! It is a matter of life and death!" I uttered as I swiped the video call button. Once Adam accepted, I saw a messy-looking witch with some eye gunk popping out of his eyes. I scoffed at his squinting look and secretly took a picture. This is a perfect blackmail image, I could use it in the future.

It reeked of impending madness; the opening yawning before him like an omen. William stared in as the group walked by it on their way to the next room over. Inside this one was a solid silver slab with chains hanging from the edges where the arms and legs of the victim; him, in this case; would lie. Under the slab was a metal funnel to drain the bloodshed. His bloodshed. Above the slab was a huge grate of metal spikes. The spikes were approximately a foot in length, which guaranteed they pierced all the way through the body from the front to the back.

I instantly moved to the side when my blind ass landed on my last suit case but my scowl was wiped away and replaced with a grin. My last suitcase to unpack: my favourite suitcase. I pushed myself up and off the bed, making my way towards the giant dresser, my suitcase with me. I pulled the two top drawers open that I had saved for my babies. In one, I placed all of my knives, my knife collection, butterfly knives, blades, daggers, pocket knives, machetes, switchblades, you get the idea. In the other drawer, are my firearms, the ones on the smaller side that is.

My heart bled; I wished the ground could open and help me cover my shame. I did it, but with only two guys: Chris and Steve. It was either Chris or Steve. One of them was behind this. But which one?

"Begin." ​The handkerchief left his fingers. It drifted toward the cobblestones in agonizing slow motion. But it never touched the ground. ​A blur of shadow, darker than the night and faster than any wolf I had ever seen, materialized from the darkness behind the High Council member. There was no warning, only the wet, horrific sound of steel through skin.

The twins' drawings on the refrigerator door — Jordi's exuberant and spacious, Noa's precise and detailed, both of them excellent for four and both of them entirely themselves. The bowls on the shelf. Twenty-five of them now, in order, each one a year of the practice. The photograph above the Gràcia kitchen window that she put there in the second year of the second life — the Bunkers, the view, the angle that Lily found in D.C. and sent without being asked. The city outside doing what it does in November when it is being honest about the season. She is here. She chose to be here. Every single day.