A Lesson In Thorns の小説・ストーリー

Thorns quickly emerged from that circle. The growth of the thorns took some time, and I took a moment to glance at Vivian and Alen. I noticed they were exchanging glances, and their expressions revealed something was amiss. Why was Alen looking at Vivian with an "I told you so" expression, while Vivian looked anxious, as if she wanted to stop the thorns from growing? Unusual circumstances required immediate attention, and I couldn't think further. I continued chanting the spell, causing the thorns that had grown around their feet to coil tightly around their ankles, making it impossible for them to escape.

She was seemingly having trouble connecting reality with her own perception as Thorn’s gorgeous, dark eyes emblazoned on his perfect face utterly dazzled her. Thorn finally asked, “Are you hurt?” as he looked down at Leila. He felt his dragon blood rushing with excitement. Leila shook her head mechanically. “Good.” He nodded and tried to push off the ground and back up, yet her peach colored nipples on her soft, plump breasts were mischievously in his way. Just as he was attempting to get up without accidentally touching her bare skin, Thorn heard the golden knights running towards them. “Prince Thorn?” One of them gasped, astounded that their leader would order them to guard the house and t

Its obsidian teeth pulsed with a sickly indigo light that tasted of acidic ore and ancient rot. The harvest. I didn’t just plant the crop; I provided the ink for the scythe. My lungs seized. Every breath was a struggle against a throat filled with the phantom shards of five years of silence. I stepped forward, my boots skidding on the frost-slick stone, trying to shield Leo. The lasers simply climbed my white blazer, settling over my heart with a clinical, predatory indifference. Thorne stood at the center of his executioners, his white robes looking like funeral shrouds against the dark red glow of the abyss. He smiled, revealing rotting gums and a map of ancient greed.

Some were sharpening blades made of salvaged steel; others were tending to the glowing moss that lined the walls—our only source of light. ​"Today," Martha said, stopping in front of a massive, cracked concrete pillar, "you learn the Song of the Earth. The Thornes use their power to dominate. They use their senses to hunt. But we use our senses to belong." ​She told me to close my eyes. "Do not look with your eyes. Look with your blood. Feel the vibrations of the city above. Every footstep, every turning wheel, every heartbeat. The earth is a drum, and the Thorne blood is the stick."

The air around him seemed to thrum with power, silencing any lingering noise. “This is not the first day of school,” Thorn began, voice carrying like a thunderclap. “This is the first day of war.” Several students shifted uncomfortably. A few grinned, the hungry kind of smiles bred from violence and pride. “I’m not here to coddle you. You want your hand held? Go find your nanny. You want to survive the real world? Then earn it.”

“Trial by Fire. Objective: subdue your opponent without killing them. First to yield or be forced from the circle loses. Begin on my mark.” Jax leaned over the railing above me, grinning like a maniac. “Try not to barbecue the prince, Kane. Some of us still need him breathing.” Li, beside him, waved a little flag that read TEAM FORBIDDEN ROMANCE in glitter. I flipped them both off. Elowen raised her hand. The torches flared. “Begin.” Thorne moved first (a blur of shadow and lethal grace). I barely tracked him before his shoulder slammed into my chest and the world spun. We hit the ground hard, rolled, came up with him pinning my wrists above my head.

It felt real. I didn’t do the graceful forms the warriors practiced. I went to the scarred posts. I hit them. I kicked. I let the anger out—Ayla’s old terror, Liliana’s buried rage, my own cold fury. She won’t leave alive. My claws, tipped with Seris’s wolf-strength, tore long gashes in the wood. “Trying to redecorate?” The voice was a smug blade through the morning. Thorne leaned on the fence, dressed all in black, a king surveying his courtyard. A wicked little smile played on his lips.

My earpiece buzzed again: "Mara, flank positions—drones up, scent trackers active. If they breach, go for knees and throats." Emerging into the courtyard, the rain had eased to a relentless drizzle, turning the gravel to slick mud that squelched under my boots. Floodlights pierced the gloom, illuminating the wrought-iron gates like a stage for judgment. Thorne's convoy idled there, engines rumbling like distant thunder, black SUVs gleaming wetly. Figures shifted in the shadows—ten, maybe twelve armed goons, rifles slung but fingers itching on triggers. Thorne stepped out from the lead vehicle, an umbrella held by a burly lackey shielding his grizzled head, his face a mask of false righteousn

the driver said, his voice a low drone that cut through her thoughts. Lyra looked up. Thorne Tower sat in the center of the city like an obsidian needle piercing the low-hanging clouds. It was a masterpiece of architectural arrogance—all sharp angles, reflective surfaces, and a silhouette that seemed to repel the very light it stood in. It was the physical manifestation of the man who owned it.