Tracer X Widowmaker Novels & Stories

Trace was an odd creature. At thirty-two, he still lived with his widowed mother rent free. Lacking full time employment, he helped Rhychard out when he needed some spending cash. His only ambition was the next level of whatever video game currently obsessed him. He was a bum for the most part and dressed like one, as well. Still, outside of Buttercup, he was the only human Rhychard could talk to about his live fantasy adventure.

But I was quicker, slipping another silver band around his wrist, embedding it into his skin. The two wolves leaped at me as Rolph yelled, "No!" "Lacus!" I held up my hands and brought them back down abruptly, imagining Xander. I had no idea where he was, and he'd better not be doing anything he wasn't supposed to. Otherwise, he was going to get a surprise. Wind rushed past as I zoomed through the transparent tunnel, through the dark matter and stars. I stopped a moment later in the hallway of the Compound on the first floor. Xander was running the other way.

"Maddox failed to prevent it. Those are different failures. You should have your focus directed correctly if you intend to do something with it." Jaxon looked at Tristan Locke, the man who had provided Knox with the route, the timing, and the security codes that had made the massacre possible while wearing the uniform that was supposed to prevent exactly that, and reached for the anger that lived permanently behind his sternum with the ease of a man reaching for something he had never once put down. He let it show. Enough to be visible. Enough to look precisely like what it was, genuine rather than performed, which made it considerably more convincing than performance would have been, becaus

Tracey patted Spike’s shoulder and apologized in an intentional sobbing voice, “Spike, I want to apologize. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.” Finally, Spike rolled over and looked at her. He should let bygones be bygones as Tracey was his mother’s good friend. Tracey’s eyes lit up. “Do you forgive me?” Spike sat up and looked at Tracey like an adult. He pointed at his bare wrist. His smartwatch was missing.

Tracker sends me the coordinates for the phone so I can start hacking into whatever is nearby to watch Christer when another alert pings on. “I’ve got it,” Tracker says as Hijack continues to play with Arden. I’m surprised he’s wasting his time until I realize that he’s using this as an opportunity to teach Sphinx. I bite back the growl. Sphinx should learn everything she can and honestly, she’s absorbing everything we’re giving her like a sponge. A moment later, our screen splits again, and Tracker mutes my audio feed as I continue searching for a camera that I can use. I find it on Christer’s computer, just as the audio comes in from Piper’s phone.

It was a pathetic and undeniable craven existence but it was how they were winning the war. Dave let out a sigh. "No. He used a HG blade." I nodded. A brilliant man named Henry Gomez spent his life developing a UV spiked, but essentially silver based liquid that could be applied to any metallic object, leaving a coat of active poison that would kill both shade and host upon entering the their shared body. Something in perfectly balanced formula temporarily imprisoned the shade and as long as the wounds you inflicted on the human were mortal, the shade shared the same fate. The HG liquid had become as precious to us as light bulbs. It was hard to come by at the best of times, especially out h

“How the hell did they find him? He was with Asa, your most trusted guard.” Noah was already tapping into surveillance footage, attempting to trace digital breadcrumbs. “The feed was bounced through a hundred proxies. Military-grade rerouting. Whoever did this is better than anything I’ve seen.” Grace’s voice was steel. “It’s The Widow.” Noah’s fingers froze over the keyboard. “Then we’re not up against an assassin anymore.” Damien muttered, “We’re up against a ghost.” Grace turned sharply. “Then it’s time we hunted one.” Oslo, 48 Hours Earlier

The war room buzzed with the low hum of shifting gear, rustling maps, and sharpened tension. Spider stood near the table, lacing her boots with the calm precision of someone who’d been on too many missions to count. Luka and Ryder were arguing over who got the longer-range rifle, while Viktor pulled up a satellite grid of the Carpathian facility—remote, cold, and brutal in terrain. And then came the unmistakable click of heels. All eyes turned. The Widowmaker limped into the room, one arm still wrapped in gauze, a thin scar visible on her cheek. Her coat trailed behind her like war-torn silk. She moved like pain was a mere suggestion.

Heavy tears come rolling down my cheeks more from the pain than from the sound of raw anguish in his voice as he continues, "Tracy was weak, Destiny. She was weak after childbirth and you took advantage of that to kill her. Be brave enough to admit it!" Those words make something in my chest break. Tracy? Weak? Isn't she the same woman that asked for a party to be thrown the minute she gave birth because she was so strong? "Tracy is a trained warrior wolf, Tristan. I wouldn't be able to defeat her in combat, not even on her worst day." The words scrape out of my hoarse throat as my body trembles from pain but it's true. He knows it's true. Tristan's voice only cracks with more emotion as he

The rage that filled me was cold, sharp, and absolute. "Give me the bike," I said, my voice vibrating with a new, deadly purpose. "Give me the fastest thing in the shop. I'm not just going to beat Victor Kane. I'm going to bury him." Dax nodded, a grim understanding passing between us. "The Devil's Backbone has a hairpin turn at the halfway mark called the 'Widowmaker.' There's a hidden bypass an old logging trail. It's narrow, barely wide enough for a bike, but it cuts three miles off the ascent. If you take it, you'll come out behind him just before the drop."