The Ragged Edge Of Night Novels & Stories

They tumble through a glass window and fall several feet onto a warped and broken deck. “Lucas!” Strings of magic sizzle around my fingers and I take off, running after them. I skid to a stop at the broken window. The glass is jagged and sharp. Heart in my throat, I freeze for a second, taken over with panic. Then I shake myself, grab a dusty sheet from the table and throw it over the glass. Glass still bites into the palm of my hand, but I make it out more or less unscathed. Every nerve in my body is on edge, and I’m breathing so hard I’m on the verge of hyperventilating.

I had unknowingly closed my eyes. But when I opened them, the two alphas were face to face. He was foaming at the mouth as he banged against the glass, ramming it with his whole body as it shook. Dr. Dawson smirked. He taped the glass with a mocking expression. As the specimen had nothing he could think of doing for more intimidation. He started to pace back and forth, staring Dr. Dawson down, growling at him and baring his teeth.

The night reeked of blood and smoke. Aria Nightshade stood at the edge of the clearing, her breath caught in her throat as flames licked the midnight sky. The air was thick with ash, screams, and the acrid scent of burning wood. Her once-peaceful pack — the Mooncrest — was under siege, torn apart by chaos she couldn’t yet understand.

The neutral glade was a rare patch of peace in the wilds of the Pacific Northwest, a small clearing nestled between the territories of the Silver Claw and Red Fang Packs. It was a place where truces were forged, though rarely kept, its borders marked by ancient oaks whose gnarled branches twisted toward the sky like skeletal hands. The ground was carpeted with soft grass and clover, a stark contrast to the muddy battlegrounds of the river valley, but the air was heavy with the threat of a coming storm. Dark clouds churned overhead, their edges tinged with the bruised purple of dusk, and the wind carried the sharp scent of rain, rustling the leaves with a restless energy. A single boulder, fl

Ben grabbed Rain and leapt backwards as Night swung the knife at her in a wide slashing arc which tore through the edge of the towel, barely missing her face. With a high pitched squeak Night's shoes lost their grip on the wet ceramic tiles and his feet shot out from under him. His legs went up as his torso went down and his head struck the edge of the top step. With a dull, wet crack sound Night's body twitched and a tremor went through his muscles before he went still.

The light slips and the night is more, more than I can hold, more than I want to, more than I can hold together. I wait for it to break. My skin is warmer than I am ready for. The soft fabric of the clothes is supposed to help, supposed to be. The clothes are a soft and easy reminder. They are. They are. The fabric is raw against the edge of the night, against the raw and fragile edge of the night. They are loose like my breath, like my breath and my will, my will and my resolve. My resolve is fragile and soft. I change my clothes and I change my breath. I change. I change.

For now. The car ride home was quiet. Allen had his phone out the whole way, typing, scrolling, pausing on things I couldn’t see. The city lights slid past the window and I watched them and thought about Marcus Hale’s smile and the way he’d said the men who pulled their stakes tonight aren’t the kind of men who absorb losses quietly. And the way he’d been looking at me. Not at Allen. At me. We got home close to midnight. The house was still, Celine had already gone to bed.

~ RIG ~ It was the small hours of the morning, the darkest moments before dawn began to creep up around the mountains. We’d eaten, talked, I’d held her when she got scared, and laughed with her about the funny side of her naked, midnight jaunt. But she was exhausted.

LIRA The wind howled through the dense forest, swirling snow around our boots as we stood at the edge of the darkened valley. Our breath curled into the cold night air, a plume of white vapor fading into the frosty emptiness. The world seemed alive with the biting chill, but beneath it, a heavy unease pressed down on us like a suffocating blanket. The night was silent, save for the harsh whispers of the wind and the occasional crunch of snow beneath our feet. Yet, I could feel something—something lurking just beyond the reach of the moonlight, watching us, waiting.

RAVEN The night air was thick, a heavy stillness hanging over the pack grounds like a secret waiting to be uncovered. I pulled my hood tighter, the fabric rough against my skin, and let my steps guide me toward the rogue quarters. The gravel crunched beneath my boots, each sound unnaturally loud in the silence. I’d made it to the edge of the building when a sharp beam of light sliced through the darkness and hit me square in the face. “Hold it right there.”