Thunderstorms Book Novels & Stories

I would make a half-shift for strength if I had to. “Evan,” I whispered to his ear. “Can you hear me…?” He was quiet. Then, in a barely audible tone, he mumbled. “Th-thunderstorms… r-rain and d-d-darkness together is bad omen.” And there goes something cracking open inside of me.

She closed her eyes as though she were ashamed of her own admission. “You do not ever have to worry that I will think that you are foolish because of what you feel, Miss Stanford. Trust me, I have never thought of that and I will never think like that. And you never have to be afraid to tell me what it is you are feeling or thinking.” He took a deep breath as he was about to reveal a little piece of truth that he had been holding earlier. “About your fear of thunderstorms and lightning, you did not have those before. But it was raining really hard when you had the accident and that is bound to shake up anyone and make them feel at least a little frightened. I suppose watching or hearing the

He wrapped his arms around me, locking me in his embrace. “Are you afraid of the thunder? Why?” “I never was,” I admitted. Sucking in a deep breath, I whispered, “The rain had a calming effect on me and the thunder seemed to bring the same ease but after being beaten black and blue, made to toil day and night even in the storm and locked in a room with a dying slave, it was the first time thunder had truly scared me because with each labored breath the slave took, the sky rumbled.” I shuddered, pausing as I recalled the night.

He marched straight into our bedroom, hooked his foot behind him, and slammed the door shut with his leg, the heavy click of the lock echoing in the quiet room. He walked over to the massive bed and laid me down, his movements surprisingly gentle compared to the raw hunger in his eyes. He hovered over me again, his gaze locking onto mine. Right at that moment, a massive, deafening crack of thunder shook the entire pack house. A second later, the skies completely opened up, and a heavy, torrential rain began to batter against the glass windows, cutting us off from the rest of the world. The sound of the storm did something crazy to my biology. It was like a switch flipped, and that blinding,

he said "following…Shango out of here before he leaves us behind is the main priority, then we figure out what to do next.’’ With one last look of distaste at the carnage, he led his siblings out of the chamber. They followed Shango’s path of destruction like bread crumbs, ignoring a few stragglers and some jail breaking 1st and 2nd generation creatures who ignored them in turn as they all strolled purposefully towards freedom. The shock they felt as they finally crawled their way out overshadowed the awe at seeing the sun for the first time. The thunder god was destroying everything in sight. He hung midair, his wings of flame gone but he was suspended instead on a funnel of storms as he hu

5 Gabriel. Thunderstorms have a way of making the world smaller, like the walls are closing in and you have nowhere to run. Tonight, the rain doesn’t just fall; it hammers, coming down in sheets that swallow the streetlights and turn the old stained glass into a watercolor blur. I’ve always liked storms, at least from a distance, but tonight there’s something restless in the air, an energy that feels suspiciously like temptation.

There was an unspoken understanding among a promise that we would face any obstacles united and fearless. But then, one fateful evening, everything changed. It was a stormy night; the thunderous roars of the tempest echoed through the hills, and the heavy rain pounded against our windows. Wendy had always been frightened by thunderstorms, susceptible to the bewitching dance of lightning and unable to quell her fear.

Rain slashed sideways across the summit compound as the storm hit in full. Thunder rolled in overlapping waves, loud enough to shake the windows in their frames. The halls buzzed with more than weather—the kind of static that comes when people sense a change in the air but don’t yet know its shape. Conversations dipped to whispers. Doors shut faster. Everyone moved like they were trying not to be seen.

We're standing close enough that I have to tilt my head back slightly to look at him. The rain pounds against the windows. Thunder rolls, closer this time. "I should—" He clears his throat. "I should check the weather radar. See how long this is supposed to last." "Right. Yeah." But neither of us moves. Outside, lightning flashes bright enough to illuminate the entire room for a split second. The thunder follows immediately, rattling the windows again. I'm not scared of storms. Haven't been since I was a kid. But something about being trapped here, in his house, in this room with papers scattered across his desk and rain cutting us off from the rest of the world—

Chapter 12: The Heir and the Lie Xander The storm outside lashed against the Sinclair estate, a howling tempest that mirrored the chaos unraveling within me. The rain lashed against the windows, its pounding rhythm competing with the thundering beat of my heart. It felt as if the heavens themselves were trying to tear the world apart, but the storm outside was nothing compared to the fire burning inside my chest. I could feel it—something was wrong.