Short Fiction
Merc Fenn Wolfmoor

Gray Skies, Red Wings, Blue Lips, Black Hearts

The thing about souls is that they don’t wander off. Not unless a body is so broken-down that there are too many cracks to hold even breath inside. The girl isn’t that far gone. She’s still strong, still has grit, and still believes in a future.

Read More »
Short Fiction
Merc Fenn Wolfmoor

The Gentleman of Chaos

My brother shaped me, built me into the perfect bodyguard — skilled in lies and unable to lie to him; deadly in the arts of poison and steel; loyal only to him; unremarkable in looks but my body trained until I had exacting control over every muscle, every breath. I had no title and no name. My brother called me She.

Read More »