Torn Novels & Stories

" After taking a deep breath, Lena gives me a piece of ripped parchment. I unfold it with shaky fingers. Four straightforward words gaze back at me: There is not much time left. I'm having trouble breathing. Because my name is underneath those words. It's also inscribed in blood.

Elian’s voice thundered through the room and his frustration was evident on his face. My eyes kept moving between the both of them who were about tearing down the room. "And you are worse. You think this is a kind of joke?” Thane shot back and his mouth twisted as irritation flashed across his face. I took a slow step backward, my chest tightening as their argument escalated. Their voices were becoming louder after each word and it kept on overlapping each other. As if that was not worse. It was also pushing against my ears. "At least I’m not trying to control her into choosing who…" Thane tried to say but Elian wasn't taking it easy with him.

I need to buy more locks. I slid down the walls and wrapped my arms around my knees and let the tears flow. Fabian is out. He's out. I don't know how long I cried but I slept off in that position. When I woke up the next morning, my head felt like it was splitting into two. My body was stiff from curling up for a long time. The room spinned as I stood. I entered the bathroom to prepare for school. When the water touched my hands, I winced, I had forgotten that I had cuts from picking up the broken glasses last night. The wound stung with every movement.

I press until I hiss. I work lower. My shift—the thing they pretend is clothing—is barely hanging on me now. Torn nearly to the waist, stiff with blood. I peel it back and find more bruises than skin. Purple, yellow, black. Finger-shaped, boot-shaped. One bloom right over my hip looks infected. It smells like rot.

Pain flared—not like Dante’s curse, but like being reborn. Eyes blurred. I clenched his hand. I pulled the blades—once… twice… then heart-shot. The brand shattered in flashes of moon-iron shards. I collapsed into Alpha Tristan’s arms…feeling nothing at first. I woke under dawn sun, brand gone. My voice…..weak. My bond with Alpha Tristan…...fading. They looked at me with hopeful eyes. I whispered; “I’m here.” Twins cheered. Alpha Tristan exhaled. “Together.”

Lifting my skirt up I let out a piercing scream. The door barged open almost immediately, tearing down the locks. “You fucking bastard!” Trey roared and without hesitating punched him hard. How did he get here?

He turned at the sound of their approach, and for half a second Ronan saw it, the rawness under the anger, the grief that had never found a place to land, the boy who had been carved into a weapon. Then Toren’s expression twisted and he lunged. Ronan caught him. Not easily, because Toren fought like an animal cornered, scrabbling, twisting, trying to bite and kick and break free, but Ronan was bigger, stronger, and he had learned restraint in battles where killing was the easy answer. Abel moved in, brutal in his efficiency, pinning Toren’s arms, forcing him down. “Stop,” Ronan snapped. “You’re done.” Toren spat at the ground. “I should have stayed and died.”

My teeth sank deep through the fabric of her torn outfit drawing blood so deep that I winced. “Agrhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh”

Tino asked, clearly confused. Matteo chuckled and gently ruffled his hair. “There were some things that needed to be sorted out first.” “Are they sorted out now?” Renzo asked seriously. Matteo glanced at me for a brief moment before looking back at them. “Well… not completely. But I promise you something.” He pulled them closer. “Nothing will ever tear us apart again.” Tiziana smiled brightly and wrapped her tiny arms around his neck. Watching the scene unfold made a painful knot form in my chest.

I watched Torin. The brine had moved with the small currents in the bath when the door had opened, and the surface had settled again, and what I had in front of me was a man in pieces under a layer of yellow water. The left arm was gone at the shoulder. The right arm was whole below the elbow, but the elbow itself was a flat working joint with hide grown back over the moving parts — Madra's work, slow patient layers laid down across.