A Storm Of Swords Graphic Novel Novels & Stories

Against The Storm By: Joel Racheal ©All rights reserved Meet Cassandra Valdez A hardworking, gorgeous, twenty-eight-year-old redhead. She is a wonderful daughter to her parents and a good sister to her brother, Jake. When she goes on a trip to Andalusia, she doesn't expect to meet Princess Emelia and is quite surprised when she is asked to be a surrogate for Emelia and the prince. Due to unexpected circumstances, she accepts the offer, little does she know the prince is no knight in shining armor.

The yellow-robed female impatiently questioned. A gust of wind rippled through the open window, fanning about the foul blood that leaked profusely from the unresponsive girl. As if deaf to the woman standing over her, she continued her quiet chant. "Once upon a time, in an empire long fraught with war, there lived a saint who loved her people." Away she would drift, deep into the endless abyss, into the belly of darkness. Away so far that when the light chased, when the torch flared, she would not see it.

Then, plan from there everything else. My name is Sebastian Stormcloak, and I am the King of the Vampires. 8 years ago, we attacked Deadly Nightshade as one of the rogues that works for me and saw her running around the pack boarders. She probably thought she wouldn’t have been seen as it was near a more isolated part of their boarders.

Storm believed that she wouldn’t be receiving an answer then. “It’s absolutely sad that it had been stolen. You have to get it back, by all means. It contains instructions and ways to conquer the darkness that is coming.” Storm clucked her tongue in dismay, feeling like pulling her hair. But was it her fault? Was there a way she could have hidden it from the vampire? How had the latter even known that she had the book? She had never brought it out in the open; the book had never left her house. “But that’s alright. Just hang in there, and make the most of the opportunities. About the red beast that had troubled your dreams, and the woman that had given you nightmares for years, you will find

The blade glowed with a lethal light, charged with our combined power. Rider Storm’s eyes widened as we approached, the realization of his impending doom dawning on him. “No!” he roared, but it was too late. With a swift, powerful strike, I plunged the blade into his heart. A blinding light erupted from the wound, and Rider Storm let out a final, anguished scream before crumbling to the ground. The silence that followed was deafening. The rogues, sensing their leader’s defeat, scattered into the night. We stood amidst the ruins of the battlefield, panting and bloodied but victorious.

Her blood, his blood—Dorian’s twisted game, and she was neck-deep. “We gotta—” she started, but a loud snap cut through, close and mean. The floor bucked, the house groaning like it was dying, and Roman yanked her toward the door as plaster crashed down. They stumbled out into the storm, mud sucking at her boots, rain stinging her face.

Eighteen Years Ago The Shadow Pack burned that night; the storm came first, then came the lightning. It split the sky in two; thunder shook the very foundation of the pack, like the growl of a vengeful god. The rain lashed out, falling heavily, but it didn't quench the fire swallowing the packhouse whole. The flames devoured the Alpha's mansion and everything that stood in their way. Hidden in the hollow oak tree is a child with jet-black hair clutching a leather-bound book to her chest.

He folded the paper and placed it back on the desk. He would return someday, eventually. But for now, he stayed He craved the days of his return, not because he missed Gravenport. Not because he craved power. But because something was unfinished. Dante didn’t leave. He stayed. He fought. And he won. But something in him broke. The syndicate war in Dellwire lasted six months. By the end of it, Dante had buried more men than he cared to count. He stopped journaling. Stopped riding. Stopped thinking about Gabrielle Wren.

All characters, settings, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination. This work, LORD OF VIOLENCE by A. Gupta, is copyrighted and may not be copied, distributed, or reproduced in any form without the author's explicit permission. The book contains explicit scenes, including sexual content and violence, intended for mature audiences only. Reader discretion is advised. The author does not promote, endorse, or participate in any of the actions depicted in this work. This is purely a dark fictional story meant for entertainment purposes. ~A. Gupta _________________ Trigger Warnings:

Again. “Forgive me, My Lord. It's the young lord. He's fallen under The Burn.” the healer revealed. My sword wavered in my hand as the news hit me. Not Avani, not him. Sweat formed in my palm and I immediately sheathed the sword. I couldn't comprehend the thought of losing my young nephew so soon. “When did this happen?” My father demanded, his voice stern but laced with a hint of panic. “A few minutes ago when the shift took over him and he couldn't control it. The royal physician is trying to stop it from taking him, but she says it's a losing battle. Avani wouldn't make it.” she sobbed.