Vixenscratch

Short stories and serials by Alexandra Herakai

Posts Tagged ‘violence’

The Gift of Rosiel: Wings of Ash and Acid Tongue

<<< Go back to In the Devil’s Home

Roxeen must have fallen asleep at some point, because he woke up feeling stiff and miserable on the cold floor, to say nothing of the pain in his injured hand. He could remember the events of the previous night all too clearly, and he could remember Raol and Cress leaving at some point during the night. Some time after that he had apparently gathered enough energy to pull his pants back on right and curl up in a corner.

His spine felt kinked enough to rival lamb’s fur, probably a combination of the position he’d slept in and the cold, drafty room he was in. But at least he seemed to be alone, which was endlessly better than having Raol there with him. The Gods only knew how long he would have that kind of peace.

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The Gift of Rosiel: In the Devil’s Home

<<< Go back to All’s Not Well in Avelyon

When Roxeen became aware again, he felt more than anything like a passenger in his own body. He was sitting, though he’d slumped over to the side, and the chair he was on was vibrating roughly in time with the rumble of an engine. He couldn’t see his surroundings; his eyes were closed and his eyelids didn’t seem to want to obey regardless of how much he tried to open them. Something smelled like lemon, in that vaguely synthetic way that air fresheners and dish soap had in common.

And nobody spoke a word.

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Hound in the Coverts: Hound in Wait

Marina panted her way up the stairs to her floor, burdened both by the kits in their harness and the heavy bag of school books and class notes. She’d not been in particularly good shape to start out, and the extra weight didn’t make getting up the stairs any easier. Especially not since she had avoided the stairs during the later stages of her pregnancy.

If reaching her landing was a relief, turning her key in the lock to her room was nothing short of undiluted nirvana. Finally, she’d have some time to — relatively speaking — relax. Sure, the kits were fussy and would need to be fed, but that at least could be accomplished half-lying on her bed.

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As Things Turn on Their Heads

They were all gathered in the small steakhouse booth, squeezed in to make sure they’d all fit. There were half-wyvern and wyverns Linnéa and Tai!en, both there for their regenerative capabilities, faerie-draconian werefox and minor mage Liiz’vocal Quall, the surprisingly friendly nightmare nicknamed “Rust” by her colleagues, beastkin Taver with a sleepy barn owl soulbrother perched on his shoulder, stardust fox mind-mage Jeevi Sodalite, and the senior team member, human mage Pailine Tanner, a silver circle on the skin of her neck glinting in the dim lighting when she turned her head just so.

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