Whis Vados Novels & Stories

The asshole, first time I take him serious, I have to strip "No" He pouts "That's boring" "No one was asking you" Ber says, the spoon already in his hand "There are reasons why no one listens to Coco, Brat" I don't say anything to him, cause he's obviously right, Chocolate is a high maintenance risk, if that's a thing before I drink it. Hot liquid burns in my throat, causing me to cough, hard. Caramel's rubbing my back as I look at Coco. There are tears in my eyes as he says "Ah well, Vanilla isn't good with wine"

Only Bourbon, Whisky or Vodka. Sighing, Isadora didn’t really like any type of alcohol, as it made good people and wolves do stupid and hurtful things. Her brother Chase had gotten addicted to wolfsbane-infused brandy, and whenever he had been binging, she was always on the receiving end of his fists when he would return home. Feeling that it would be rude to decline, she nods and whispers. ‘Maybe a little glass of Whisky.’

The penthouse has transformed again. The amber warmth of the threesome is a distant memory, replaced by the cool, aggressive blue of the "War Room." I’m sitting at the secondary console, staring at a network map that looks like a tangled spiderweb of red and green lines. "This is Voss Capital's external firewall," Alex explains, pointing to a thick red barrier on the screen. He’s dressed now—jeans and a fresh t-shirt—but the energy coming off him is still raw, vibrating with the aftershocks of our angry fuck on the desk. "It’s military grade. If we try to brute-force it, he’ll know instantly."

Vados approaches the pair that politely wait. Vados is a Gorgualy and human mix. His skin is that of human flesh that looks like it has been tempered with the elements of the forest. With each step, he takes some of his skin flakes off of his face like bark from a tree and falls to the ground. Those eyes of his are a pale blue that looks like they have been corrupted with a sickness. That forestry body of his wears a black coat, and black capris with a belt that has a strap for his pistole. The chest is exposed and out in the open as he does not have a shirt on. There are many scars on his stomach and chest but they all look like carvings as if children carved along his body as they would on

No one would dare to provoke Thomas anymore. They knew very clearly that they were the animals, and they could never hope to fight against this terrifying lion! Thomas exhaled and looked at Craig. “Mr. Eastwood, do you have more?” Everyone was speechless. ‘Does he have more?’ Hah. That was Everclear Grain Vodka, something with 75% alcohol content. It was one of the strongest spirits in the world, and he was not satisfied even after drinking two bottles? Did he think he was drinking Heineken?

Collections of wine, all categories from foreign brandy and whisky to champagnes and red wines. Wayne grabbed a bottle of Johnnie Walker's Black Label and poured himself a hearty glass. He put in a few cubes of ice from the fridge and took a long swig at it. The whisky rushed down his throat, dousing every ounce of desire left. Nothing like a good glass of alcohol to relax you and summon sleep. He heard Rojan descend the steps and come to join him at the bar, he climbed atop one of the bar stools. Wayne gingerly poured another glass for him.

“You’ve grown broader since you survived the Whitmore slaughter, Chika.” “Thank you, Maestro,” I say, bowing my head in respect. Vance walks over to an iron workbench and pours three glasses of dark, distilled wolf-whiskey. He pushes two glasses toward us. “Drink. It cuts through the chill of the war-zone.” I take a glass and swallow the burning liquid in one gulp, the alcohol firing through my throat while Peyton sips his cautiously, sniffing the rim first. Vance chuckles at Peyton’s paranoia. “Jamaican Blue Mountain moonshine, aged in charred silver barrels. The water temperature during distillation was kept at absolute zero to extract the raw magic.”

Claire, Kathryn, Violet, Gold, and Crystal first appeared spaced out before their enemies, then an army of tormented and haunted whispers appeared behind them, and Rose materialized before her party. The Baron, a slim man with deadly yellow eyes, saw her, and shivered. He tried to vanish, but the air rejected his request, for Violet held him still. The sea raged against his party and began to pick them off, and fire fell amongst their midst, burning the men to cinders, but leaving the whispers to bask in the warmth of the flame. A blizzard came from Claire, and the ground shook. Whispers rushed past Rose, running to the army of the Baron, and engaging them in a productive battle that saw to

The scent of cinnamon, butter, and basil danced through the crisp autumn air of Bellwood Falls. After nearly four years in Tuscany, Amara and Luca had returned not permanently, but for something big. The town square was strung with lanterns. Booths lined the cobbled streets. Kids chased each other with paper chef hats. And in the middle of it all, a hand-painted sign hung between two oak trees: “The Whisked Away Festival, Love, Food, Family.”

She glanced down at the bottle once more, just with disappointment as she noted she had only finished half. She came to another halt in her tracks as she held her breath, hoping to dilute the godly awful taste as she gulped as much as she could- resisting a splutter that rose in her throat at the taste. She had diluted the earlier and worse tasting beverage with the likeliness of coca-cola, the glass weighing less and less in her hands as she squeezed her eyes shut and-