Virche Evermore Novels & Stories

Her tone feels more like pure curiosity than real pack judgment. “Honestly? My thoughts calculate our systems are actually dating.” Our mouths are still laughing loud when my phone device rings. The screen shows an unfamiliar territory number, so my finger sends the call straight to voicemail, then plays the sound afterward on the loud speaker. “Hello, Rowan Ashcroft. This voice is Virelle Knox. Our names met earlier this cycle at the Bloodmoon Gallery. My mind was wondering if our frames could grab some lunch food together.” Two sun cycles later, my boots take the pack train across the territory to meet up with Virelle at one of her favorite spots for midday meat.

Valerius announced as he helped Shira up she thanked him with a smile. Mr. Grey noticed her and he smirked. "And you are...?" He asked as he took slow steps towards her. I turned to Giovanni then Valerius who looked pissed. "My God, you are beautiful. What's your name?" He asked. Shira looked uncomfortable. "Shira." She said with a straight face. Mr. Grey pulled out his hand but Valerius immediately stood in front of Shira blocking her from Mr. Grey. "Fucking touch her I'll slit your throat open, deliver your body to your family with a love letter from me and I'll use your blood as ink." Valerius snapped.

My name is Elora and I reside at the Blue Mountain Packhouse. I have a slim figure, long curly blonde hair which I usually wear up in a bun so it is out of my face. My eyes are a deep blue which I love. I am not a normal girl though. You see I am a shewolf, my rank at the packhouse is an omega. I don’t know my parents because they passed away when I was just a tiny baby, so I don’t have any memories of them. The only thing I have is a necklace locket from my mother. I have never taken it off because it makes me feel close to her spirit.

His eyes flicked toward mine, and I quickly looked away before he could catch me staring. *Aw, a lover’s game of eye contact. Just give in already!* Akira cooed. *Not now, Akira. We're in the middle of something here.* I silenced her and focused my attention back on Calum. Calum continued to speak, outlining the journey in more detail. “Our route will take us through Virethorn Glade. It's a dense and tangled place, thick with mist. Few packs venture there because of the dangerous terrain, rumors of spirits, and the wild creatures that call it home. But it provides excellent cover to bypass the Eldrath pack, which is why we will be taking that path.”

Below her stretched a wasteland of ash and bone, and in the center stood herself. But not as she was. This version of Veyra wore armor laced with moonstone and obsidian, her white hair braided with threads of silver and blood. Her eyes—once warm—were cold as frozen rivers. Around her feet, a circle of bodies bled into the scorched earth. She recognized them all. Zarek. Zevi. Lioren. Rune. Dead. The Veyra of this vision knelt beside them, placing kisses to their brows before standing to face the storm. Fire raged in the skies. Wolves howled in agony. Nyros loomed above the horizon, his shadow stretching like a crown of smoke.

But deep inside her, she had a little naughtiness she used to keep away. Her friends used to tell her that a psychic predicted that the end of the world is coming so near, and they will take the virgin ones as their offerings to survive. She is quite annoyed every time they were talking about it. She is out of place then. She might be inexperienced with it but eventually, she is not that naive about it. She knew about it and how it happens. She used to read this part from the intimate parts of the novels she is reading under the Ebooks. It made her dream of a man to whom she will give her virginity as her gift. She doesn't want to listen to her friends give it away to random men to experienc

The golden archives of her mother’s legacy were being bleached white, replaced by a cold, violet script that felt like ice in her veins. “The Silence was a tomb, Roheemah,” a voice whispered directly into her auditory cortex; a chilling blend of her son’s innocence and a machine’s cold logic. “The ghost was freezing in the dark. She just needed to borrow your warmth.” The ground beneath Maya’s boots didn't just crack; it surged. A column of reanimated ash erupted from the earth, hoisting her toward the crumbling stone arches of the village gate. Below her, the villagers scrambled for safety, but the violet mist was an apex predator. It didn't kill; it "indexed." It wrapped around limbs like

"The Architect sought to build a cage of gold and steel. But I have found the thread that binds the soul. It is not logic that governs the world, Jinyan. It is Rhythm." Vira—or the entity that had once been Vira—emerged from the smoking rubble of the fallen building. She should have been crushed by the ton-weight support beam, but she walked with the light, effortless step of someone who had shed the burden of mortality. Her white coat was shredded, revealing skin that was now entirely mapped by the black "Aconite" network.

The city trembled beneath Nora’s feet, though not in the way of ordinary earthquakes. The ground shifted subtly, as if alive, veins of energy pulsing faintly beneath the cracked streets. The night sky above Viremont glowed with unnatural streaks of gold and violet, the remnants of the Heir’s magic mingling with something older, something that had been buried long before anyone remembered.