Novelas y relatos de Whiskey Words And A Shovel Series

I shut the door with my foot, dropped the groceries on the counter, and went straight to the shelf in the corner where I kept the only bottle of elderflower whiskey that had survived the last full moon’s madness. My hands shook as I uncorked it. I didn’t bother with a glass before I took a swig. The first sip burned. The second was fire in my lungs. The third… dulled the edges. My quarters were silent except for the quiet clink of the bottle against my teeth and the occasional creak of wood settling. I didn’t light the candles. Darkness suited me just fine. At least it couldn’t reflect what I looked like right now— disheveled, hurt, pathetic.

Zach looked at his friend and hurried back. His steps showed that he was in a hurry. "A ghost is chasing after you?" he raised his sword-like eyebrows and said jokingly. Callen walked around Zach's side with his big steps. He walked to the wine cabinet and opened the glass door. He did not look at what he was picking and just roughly picked up a bottle of whiskey. He unscrewed it and poured it into his mouth with big mouthfuls. Within a few seconds, almost half of the new bottle of whiskey was finished.

“Very well. Come inside and share a whiskey with me. I prefer red wine, but whiskey is what they drink here, and so I’ve been trying to develop a palate for it.” Ashyd had retired for the night and so there was no one to greet him as he opened the door. He took the cloaks from both his guests and hung them on the rack within his office along with his own, his walking stick and hat. They stood awkwardly in the entrance of his office as he lit the lamps and poured the whiskey. “Sit,” he encouraged them. “I am just a merchant, please be at ease.” He waited until they were both sitting before sliding the whiskey over to them. “There is another reason to drink whiskey,” he told them wryly as he t

I folded my hands, walking to a buffet table of Elven snacks, dropping the plate of the leftover I just consumed. “Come on, Maya! You too, Nameless, let’s play a shot game!” My Elven friends surprisingly called out and though embarrassed, I walked to their table settling on a sit. Nameless was just beside me and the shots were poured. Strange he knew the people I knew too… “One…” The countdown began, as we set to take the strong whiskey. “… two, three.” I gulped everything and so did everyone as quickly as possible. The oaky and dry taste surrounded my mouth, and I let out a puff.

he whispered. Although his cheeks were flushed, when he spoke his speech wasn’t slurred nor was it crooked. He spoke as clearly as a whistle in the summer time. This man was the Swaying Immortal! The Swaying Immortal shook his gourd to confirm its contents and was left with a frown after. The two gourds strapped to his waist were empty; this one was the only one with some alcohol in it. From his investigations, this gourd was almost empty as well. With a soft sigh and took another gulp and said,

GREY “FFFFUUUCCCCKKKKK!!!” I scream at the black lake. The moon above it is partly covered by clouds. My dress shoes slip in the beach sand as the light of the stars shimmer on the water. I’m full of all kinds of anger. I tip back my big bottle of Jack, pouring whiskey down my throat like it’s my fucking job. I empty the bottle and with a loud Alpha growl, I throw it in to the lake. I stumble to my RAM1500 Sport and grab another bottle.

"I need a drink of water." "I need a shot," Rhychard said. "I'm with the Warrior," Pyke shouted as he leaped into the air. "Where's the whiskey?" Rhychard glanced down at the little man, one eyebrow arched. "I thought leprechauns drank ale." Pyke spun on Rhychard, one hand tight into a fist as he waved it at the Warrior. "Don't you be calling me no blooming leprechaun! And I'll drink what I likes."

Together with Pins and Needles and Nails, and Cork them up and set the bottle to the Fire well corkt, which when it had felt a while, the heat of the Fire moved and joggle a little. But he, for sureness, took the fire shovel and held it hard upon the Cork, and as he thought, he felt something one while on this side, another while on that, shove the Fire shovel off, which he still quickly put on again. But at last, at one shoving, the cork bounced out, and the urine, pins, nails, and needles all flew up and gave a report like a pistol, and his wife continued in the same trouble and languishment still.

I could hear the honking of cars, the bustle of people moving, and the chatter of voices rising up from the street below. I took a sip of my whiskey, feeling the smooth liquid burn its way down my throat. It was the only thing that seemed to give me any sense of relief from the anger and bitterness that had been building up inside of me. The taste of the whiskey was comforting, like an old friend who knew all of my secrets.

Present Day: Verance City Sera poured whiskey with steady hands. Four fingers, no ice, a flick of the wrist that sent the amber liquid spinning before it settled, she'd perfected this. She slid the glass across the sticky bartop, and the grumpy regular, a werewolf from the Southside crew, grunted his thanks. "You're a gem, Ser." He said. "Sera," she corrected smiling. "Not Ser. Not Serena. Sera." "Whatever." He knocked back the whiskey in one gulp. "Same time tomorrow?"