Novels by MyThIcAl LoRd

Luther’s POV"You've earned this." I say as I admired himself in the large mirror in my room. It's a thing of joy really.Nothing is stopping Madeline from coming to me now. Now she knows she's not safe with that rogue piece of shit that calls himself an alpha. Now she'll know that true safety lies with me."Victory tastes better than blood." I laugh, turning from my reflection and walking out of my room.Victory actually tastes better than blood. And tonight?I'll be drunk on both.I step outside and I'm greeted with smiles and bows. It's even more celebratory outside.A large fire is lit at the center of the camp, casting large shadows over my pack members as they cheer, howl and drink themselves to stupor. The air smells of roasted meat, sweat, and arousal.I sit on the raised stone throne carved outside at the head of the gathering.I place one leg over the armrest as one of the servers serve me a goblet of thick crimson liquor in a golden cup as I watch them have fun.The sight a

Madeline’s POVI slowly open my eyes as the world comes back in pieces.First, sound. Not voices—just the low crackle of something burning and the distant hiss of rain.Then, feeling.My body is sore. Bruised. Like I’ve been thrown into the heart of a wildfire and dragged out by force.Finally, my eyes open.It’s dark. Not forest-dark. Tent-dark. There’s a low candle burning on a stool nearby. The air smells like herbs, blood, and smoke.I blink, sit up——and immediately regret it.My head splits open like someone hit a hamer on it. My limbs feel like wet sand. Heavy and unwilling.“Madeline.”Lucian’s voice.I turn.He’s sitting by my side, elbows on his knees, watching me like he’s been doing it for hours. Or days.I try to speak but my throat is dry.He’s already holding a cup out before I can form the thought.“Here.”I drink it without question. His hand brushes mine, but I barely register it.Then the memories come back.The fight.The guards.Luther.Ruby.Ruby.My breath catc

Lucian’s POVThe first thing I smell is blood mixed with rain.Lots of blood.And magic.It hits me the second I cross the final ridge back into camp. My boots skid on scorched earth, the scent of burnt trees stinging my nose.Too late.I’m too fucking late.“Lucian!” Claw’s voice tears through the fog. He’s limping, a deep gash on his left arm and blood stains around his ribs. "I'd say I'm happy you're here but that would be a lie. For the first time, Lucian, in not ready to lie. They hit hard. Came straight for her.”“Where is she?” My voice is already low, dangerous.“Woods,” he pants, glancing back. “She ran in after Ruby. Said she wouldn’t leave without her.”Something tightens in my chest. “Ruby?”Claw looks away, jaw clenched. Fang walks past dragging a corpse by the neck.“She’s dead,” Claw says quietly.The words barely land before I’m running.I run past the chao, the broken bodies and over burnt ground. My heart banging like war drums and Canis—my wolf—is snarling inside my

Madeline’s POVMy eyes suddenly snap open at the sound of someone knocking the door.The knock isn't loud. It is cautious and careful. As if to test if I was really sleeping or pretending.I sit up immediately, my heart racing and my eyes scanning the darkness.Another knock.Quieter this time.I throw off my blanket, cross the room, and yank the door open only to be met by an unexpected face.“Elisha?”His eyes are wild and his hair ruffled. His shirt too is unbuttoned halfway with his chest rising and falling like he’d been running through the woods.“Elisha, it’s what? Three in the morning. What’s going on?”He doesn't answer. Just walks in, pacing like his skin didn’t fit right.“I’m going insane,” he mutters.I shut the door. “What?”“I said I’m going mad, Mads.”My brows pinch.“Okay. Why?”He laughs bitterly, like it isn't a joke but a confession. “You won’t understand.”I step closer, folding my arms. “Then explain it. I’m listening.”He meets my gaze with something burning beh

Lucian’s POVI shouldn't go.It's a trap. A really bad idea.And I doon’t even trust late-night meetings. Especially ones hosted by women who know exactly where to stab. Emotionally or otherwise.But here I am, lacing up my boots, walking into an obvious trap. It quite obvious and Skylar is not someone you'd trust, ever. The invitation burned like a dare in my palm. “Meet me at Hollow Creek.”Skylar.The name alone is a goddamn wound.She doesn’t do subtle. She doesn’t do safe. But one thing I know is that if she’s calling me out in the middle of the night, under a full moon no less, she’s not just fishing for closure. She’s planning something. She always is.I pull on my coat and reach for the door flap of my tent—“Don’t.”Ryker.The man’s really is buikt. Arms crossed, face harder than granite, jaw tight enough to snap steel. His eyes meet mine like he’s already playing my funeral in his head.“She’s playing you,” he says.“She’s always playing me.” I shrug, brushing past him. “It

Balthazar’s POVThere’s something sacred about screams echoing off stone.It's not just the sound or the music of agony reverberating through old, blood-warmed rock, but the purity of it. Pain, after all, is the only language that doesn't lie.I sit atop my throne of bones with my hands clasped loosely and my eyes half closed. The throne pulses with the same dull red glow that seeps from the ancient runes etched into the cavern walls. Runes older than the packs and also older than memory. They whisper in a tongue long lost to the surface, a lullaby of suffering and power. Of hunger.Chains clink in the darkness around me, followed by the shuffle of broken bodies. I know each sound. I’ve memorized them. There are nine wolves left alive in this chamber.Nine souls slowly being unstitched.Nine hearts bleeding into my veins.Their spirits bend under the pressure, unraveling like threadbare rope.“More,” I whisper, and the blood runes flare brighter.A cry erupts from the far corner—a fe