Wings Aprilynne Pike Novels & Stories

I should have run. She laughs, short and hard. “Oh, the look on your face! You all assume the same thing. No wings, but enough like the dragons to make us illusionists. The qualifications for becoming one of those monster’s soldiers, a hunter. That was the first word that popped into your head, wasn’t it?” She takes a step forward and my wings quiver with the urge to jump back. But hunters have ways to keep those with wings grounded. “Well, you’d be half right.” Her grin grows. “What do you mean?” I ask, my voice a pathetic squeak. “Half right?”

By the back door. She went still, instinct tightening in her chest. The girl’s voice—frantic, pleading, “No—please, not tonight, I don’t want to—please, I’ll do better—” Raven’s breath caught. Ozzy’s voice, calm but cruel, “You don’t get to decide that. Client paid. Time to be useful.” A harsh rustle. A cry. A door creaked open. Raven rose from her seat, inching toward the hallway—

My wings glowed in the setting sun. Isabell rose above the trees. A dark cloud carried her towards me. Her hands came at me with clawed fingers. Lighting shot from her hands. I dipped and dived as I tried to avoid it, but failed. The lightning struck me in the shoulder. I went tumbling down. Runes spun about in my mind. It was the way Kira thought, with pictures. Lanie was way more straight-forward, but the two parts of me worked together until it felt like instinct. I lifted my hands to my sides and pressed pink light out of them. My descent slowed until I soared upward as I remade my pink wings. The lighting through my shoulder ached. I laced it with pink light, tying to stich the tissue y

Yikes "You have wings too?" I ask Aylin and she nods before huge black wings appear behind her. Hers are membranous and resemble bat wings. Her wings seem to absorb what small light there is, and nothing shines off of them, like the blackness of them overpowers any kind of light. She flaps her wings once, before she jumps and lets them carry her upwards. She makes it look effortless.

The audience erupted in thunderous applause, and several world-renowned dancers gave us rave reviews. Marissa wheeled me to center stage. Since the incident, this was my first time stepping onto a stage again as a choreography consultant. I bowed my head alongside the other dancers, grateful for the audience's support. This time, the flashing cameras and the eyes of strangers didn't scare me. I felt like I had found a new purpose. … Three years later, I choreographed a dance called "The Fallen Butterfly." I performed it entirely from my wheelchair and became the first dancer of my kind.

The sky was the color of iron. Storm clouds gathered on the horizon, but no rain fell—only wind, hot and sharp as a blade, sweeping through the trees like a warning. The air buzzed with static, and the scent of pine was thick enough to choke on. Something was coming. And every bone in my body knew it. “Again,” I barked, catching Mara’s blade with mine and twisting hard to the left. She grunted, recovering quickly. “You’re gonna break my damn wrist.”

From her back, a dazzling pair of angelic wings unfurled in a blaze of shimmering light, spreading wide like a divine storm. With a powerful beat, she soared down among the attackers like an avenging angel, her wings casting swift shadows over the chaos. Her eyes blazed with righteous fury as she struck, moving with a speed and grace that stunned even me. She took down one vampire with a sweeping strike of her hand, sending him crashing into the trees. Another shifter lunged, but Gwen’s wings whipped around him, knocking him off his feet like a gale. Her voice echoed like thunder as she called out, “Leave them alive, or face my wrath!”

“Then who are you marrying? Everyone knows you are madly in love with me. Do you expect them to believe you would choose someone else?” He tilted his head, mockery sharpening his voice. “Besides me, there is only the sixth son. Cassian, the broken-winged one. His wings were shattered in that griffin crash, and he has hidden in the shadow halls ever since. Some say he will never fly again. Some say other things are broken too. What will you do, Elena? Spend your life with an angel who cannot even lift himself into the sky?” The hall laughed again. Just then, Cassian Seraphiel appeared at the entrance in a wheeled chair, pushed by an attendant. His face was pale, and his dark cloak covered the

Spitfire, on the other hand, looked like royalty. She sat perched on the edge of a lounge chair, wearing a floral collar around her neck, with white and yellow fabric flowers that Amaya insisted made her “look festive, not annoyed.” Spitfire looked deeply annoyed. But regal. Regal and displeased. Which, to be fair, was her default setting. I stood under the awning, half-watching the chaos unfold and half-trying not to cry into my plastic margarita cup. This was my family. Not the flawless sitcom kind. The real kind. Loud. Messy. Overprotective. Mine.

“Just a second.” The witch had both Chloe and Lucas confused as she rushed to her desk, grabbing her phone and tapping away at the screen. Within a few seconds she was back with the pair, holding up the device to show a photograph of a young woman. Blonde hair had been pulled into a ponytail and blue eyes sparkled behind light make up. Pink lips were tugged up in a light relaxed smile suggesting she meant it rather than putting it on for the picture. It was the first time that Chloe had ever seen the photo but it wasn’t the first time she had seen the woman in the photo and her heart leapt into her throat at the sight.