Thorns Novels & Stories

He shoved the beast aside. The sound of it—the crack of flesh against resin, the shock of air rushing out of the crowd—it ripped a sob out of me before I could bite it back. My chest heaved. Relief sharp as pain. But then Selene. Her voice like silk, her smile perfect. She raised her hand, and the air bloomed red. Thorns. Long, barbed, bleeding as though they were alive. They lanced into the sand around Jude, weaving up, a cage, a crown of razors.

The twisted image of the skeletal corpse with its hollow sockets and its damned gold ring was already stuck Rosy's mind. She shoved him away, harder than she thought she could, her strength coming from the sudden anger she felt. “What is that?” she demanded, her voice sharp and breathless. She pointed one trembling finger at the carcass behind him. Sergio didn’t flinch. “You weren’t supposed to see this.” “But I did.” She pointed toward the skeleton again, voice rising. “Tell me who that is.” He sighed and crouched by the body, brushing dirt from the fabric clinging to the ribcage.

Thorne gave a sign for us to be silent and then he pressed his ear against it, listening. "Guards," he mouthed. "At least three." He held up three fingers. Counted down. And then, his legs smashed against the door brutally, kicking it open. We poured through, attacking before the guards could sound an alarm. It was over in seconds, because Thorne moved with a speed, harder than any form of wolf, his Lycan speed, sharp enough for me to even see when he kills and rips apart. Three corrupted wolves dead before they fully processed what was happening.

“We tag his toys, map them, and let him grow bored.” Thorn shook his head once. He’d seen something. He pointed past the blind, a curl of wire half-hidden in duff. Not ours. A snare big enough for a wolf’s leg. Another glint farther out—more wire. A line of traps drawing a curve like handwriting that didn’t know how to end a sentence.

The scent of roses clung to the air, thick and sweet, but there was nothing gentle in the garden where Serenya had been cast. The blossoms were not flowers at all—at least not natural ones. Their crimson petals shone faintly under moonlight, shimmering with a sheen like wet blood. Their thorns were long, curved like hooks, and when she reached too close to push aside a vine, it snapped forward, drawing a line of red across her wrist.

The scout yelped, bones crunching under Thorne's jaws. Jax whirled, claws extended. 'Thorne! You bastard, she's ours!' But Thorne was a storm, tearing through them with savage precision. He grabbed the second scout by the throat, hurling him into a trunk with a sickening crack. The air reeked of blood and fury, the forest alive with snarls and thuds. I pressed myself smaller, heart hammering, torn between fleeing and staring at this scarred giant who moved like vengeance itself.

The ground flared, and I heaved a sigh of relief. Thornshade had answered. The thorns along the trees pulsed with pale light, rising higher, sharper, as if awakened by intrusion. The beasts hissed, circling wider now, frustrated. Draven sheaths back its sword, “What great defenses you people have.” He said sarcastically. I rolled my eyes. “Your alpha had better get better defenses before half of Thornshade is wiped before these—“ he said, pointing to the thorns, “will activate… most would be dead.”

“We can’t fight an entire pack war unprepared!” And through it all,Kael didn’t move. He just stared at the ground for a second. Then slowly…Something changed in his expression, I saw the way he looked at thorne. “ Thorne, lift up your sleeves.” Then thorne sighed and did it, a dark mark spreading under his skin. Veins turning faintly black… Like something inside him was already eating him alive. A chill ran through me.“Thorne!” I called. He exhaled.“Poison,” he said simply.n“It’s a very toxic one,” he added. “Slow. But effective.”

His crimson eyes glowed with a sick, triumphant light, entirely unbothered by the silver sword I had just driven completely through his heart. ​He squeezed. My airway crushed shut instantly. My vision dotted with black stars, the edges of the room blurring, but I absolutely refused to let go of the hilt of my sword. I twisted it harder, digging the silver deeper into his corrupted flesh, determined to sever his spine. ​CRACK. ​A blur of pristine white steel shot past my peripheral vision. General Vesh’s heavy, armored boot slammed into the side of Thorne's knee. The joint shattered backward with a sickening, wet snap.

The oak in the south garden continuing its approach toward October, the bronze moving deeper through the canopy. Eleven days. The letter waiting. The year almost ready to name itself fully. She fell asleep before ten. For the last Tuesday in September, that was a sign of something.