Wind Manipulation Novels & Stories

, i dont know why but i put my arms out and spin and blow with my mouth, i cant explain but i feel as though im calling the wind, i have no idea where my strength was coming frombut i have neverfelt so strong, I twirl my arms and the wind came, the more i twirled the stronger the winds got, nobody could see a thing, i could only just see Jonas, he was running but the wind kept pulling him back, most people had ducked as low to the floor as they could including Shannon whovwas still behind me, "You can drop the wind now" Jamie said through the mind link, so i dropped my arms slowly until they came to a stop and the wind died down until it was non existent.

His grip was too tight, and I could feel the pain in my wrist due to his strength. I couldn't break free, so I shouted helplessly, "Let go of me!" Simon seemed not to hear me, and he only kept pulling me toward him. "Janice, give me another chance to make it up to you, alright?" Before he could finish, someone punched him in the face. "She told you to let go! Don't you understand?!" The punch came fast and hard, catching Simon off guard. He let go of my wrist and stumbled back, knocking over the chair behind him.

The ring felt slightly loose against my skin. “I’ll take it to get resized first thing tomorrow,” he promised quickly. “There’s no need,” I said, looking down at our hands. “Fingers always thin out during the winter. It’ll fit perfectly by the time summer comes around.” He stared down at my hand, then looked back up at the massive curtain of green light dancing across the Arctic sky, a sudden, radiant smile breaking across his face. “You used to say that the northern lights you spent a lifetime chasing were never meant for you, and there was no need to chase them anymore.”

Pin-drop silence. Everyone was just too surprised. No one expected Xander to change that quickly. Perhaps, humans were always fickle-minded. Josie dug her nails into her palms. She almost lost her composure. At that moment, she only had one thought in her mind. Luckily, she trusted her intuition and distracted him back then. Luckily, they were already divorced. Surely Xander would not have a change of heart so easily. It was most likely just guilt and pity. Men often could not differentiate between love and pity.

Ivy narrowed her eyes slightly and went back to the work that lay in front of her. Her life had already moved far ahead, much like a feather being carried in the wind.

Dean and Jake had exhausted every method they could think of, from power play to material temptation, humble pleas, obsessive pursuit, and even self-destructive displays meant to win pity. Every single attempt shattered against the fortress Morgan had built with coldness and indifference, leaving behind nothing but wreckage and a deeper sense of despair.

It probably wouldn’t be the last either. Walking over to the window, I pressed my palms on the glass plane and lifted. The whole window groaned but moved a couple inches up. Sliding my fingers in, I lifted the window the rest of the way. Dee had backed up onto the grass and I gave him a thumbs up. He did as well and went back to his car.

But this time, I didn't. "That's right. That little vixen is seducing my husband. Can't I teach her a lesson?" I shot back harshly. I felt him gradually squeezing my throat at my deliberate words. Ray's tone was threatening as he said, "I'm warning you, leave her alone." I laughed at this. Tears stung the corner of my eyes as I cackled on. I could feel my lungs running out of oxygen, and my eyes started to roll backward. Ray released his grip just as I was about to lose consciousness. I collapsed close to the edge of the bed, coughing for a long time. He had left a hideous handprint on my neck.

I watch, breathless, thinking it will disappear — but instead, the condensed currents split, sliding smoothly along both sides of his throat, brushing the skin with the gentlest, most deliberate, and menacing caress, before they meet again behind his neck. There, in a heartbeat, the wind snaps back into form, reforming into a razor-fine blade. And then — faster than the eye can track — it whips across the room. CLANG. The windblade slices straight through a steel art sculpture standing by the far wall — a polished metal spiral about thirty centimeters wide — and cuts it clean in half. The halves clatter apart with a ringing sound, the edges gleaming sharp and fresh. The blade itself dissipat