Novels by alastrese

What kind of fucking full moon happened last night; Joaquin doesn't know. But his head was aching like mad and all he could think of was restart, restart, restart. It seems to be convenient having a siphoner witch around. Once Hiro had touched his heart, the throbbing stopped. Of course, that was before he decided to pull away. Their faces were far too close to each other for his liking.He gains consciousness faster this time, body now on the red velvet chaise lounge. Jun was sitting beside him with a shirt in his hand. He takes it."The siphoner out?" He asks.Jun shakes his head, "With Jinny. It's dinner time.""Told the story yet?" He checks out Jun's wrists and ankles only to find out the bruises haven't healed completely. He frowns."Not yet.""Good." Joaquin removes his clothes to replace it with a new one. "I should be the one to tell how it went, it's my story after all."He gives Jun's bruises one final glance befor

Someone was following him."What time do you get off class again?"Hiro doesn't answer. He's been checking his back frequently because he was sure someone was following them. He saw a shadow, and he felt an energy. It's not just someone, it's someone supernatural. Of what kind, he still doesn't know. But the day’s not going to end without him finding out, that’s for sure."Hey."The man beside him pokes his cheek, startling him. He laughs awkwardly and faces the road, their intertwined fingers swaying as he walks him to his building."Around six, I think. Why?"He looks up at him and smiles when he does the same."I'm going to fetch you, of course."They stop in front, unclasping their hands. Hiro hides his in the pocket of his jeans shyly, chewing on his bottom lip."Okay, I'll see you later,” he says curtly, feeling a little awkward at the thought of them spending another time together.

The legend always starts with a fisherman, a once upon a time in the middle of the ocean in Falconshore, a place where monsters live amongst mortals. Always been so for years and will remain until the end of time. The idea of a peaceful coexistence was impossible as it was clear which kind of demon sits atop the hierarchy. Someone who cannot be killed. An immortal being whose mere mention of a name sends a different shiver down one's spine to those who were unfortunate enough to come across them. Nobody knows what they look like, nobody's lived long enough to tell. It was the usual serene wind that blanketed the night of 1876, the same cold breeze, some may even call it a loveless touch, caressing the tides and pulling ferrymen into sin, down, down, down, until they drown. It has been a longtime warning not to sail after midnight, word on the street is that a siren was born, furious and vengeful because of the death of a previous lover. She sings a tranquil lullaby, with the voice of