The Ragged Edge Of Night Novels & Stories

“Broken night?” Janice questioned. She had been led in as usual, and sat, still cuffed, across the table from Byron. “Hmm?” Byron looked at her, appearing confused. “That's what my mom used to call it when nightmares or something kept waking you up— a broken night.” “Oh,” now he began to understand. “Yeah, it looks like you had one.” “You could say that for sure.” “That's okay, I did too. I was dreaming about Lacey all night, Lacey and that damn snake.”

“You do not need to apologise to me.” “Are you sure?” he counters, crossing his arms. I stare at the ground, trying to find the words. If we are going to talk, he should know everything that I think and feel. “Magnus—” But he is not interested in hearing them. There’s a sense of urgency as he moves to the long slab built into the wall, and picks up what appears to be a piece of chess. A pawn. “There was a rogue attack last night at the southern border of Ironridge. A group of seven rogue werewolves slaughtered a few dozen villagers.”

Somewhat calmly, I took Mori's hand and squeezed it, in a quiet comfort that was only meant to give him some peace. I didn't imagine that would be enough to shed a few tears. Quietly we arrived at his apartment, he adjusted the sofa bed and I told him I still didn't want to sleep. The apartment was no longer filled with boxes, but was arranged like a typical single man's room. I smiled when I saw the video games, the giant TV and decided to go with the flow: we decided to do a marathon of the scary game saga. We had fun, until we were tired, the passing of the bills at such a horrendous night that we had, without imagining that the morning would be worse.

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.

Her final curse lingers: *"You will *fade* without the storm-" The venom whispers back. *"But we will *live*."* --- **The Edge of Dawn** The city crumbles. We emerge onto a plain of silver grass, the sky streaked with the first true light I've seen in lifetimes. Eden sinks to his knees, laughing weakly. "Is it over?" The venom hums, softer now. *"No. But the game has changed."* A shadow flickers at the horizon-a wolf with stars in its fur, watching. Waiting.