A Warrior's Fate Novels & Stories

There was something different in his eyes now, not doubt, not fear… certainty. Then he looked back at Liam. And this time, there was no restraint left. Not anger… not chaos… just absolute finality. “You heard her.” His voice was calm. Too calm. He stepped forward, placing himself fully between Liam and Hazel now. “This isn’t your story anymore.” Liam clenched his jaw, clearly not expecting that. His gaze flickered to Hazel again, desperate now. “Hazel, you don’t mean that, he’s just-” “He’s my husband.” Hazel said and Alan cut in before Hazel even needed to speak, his tone sharper now.

Khalid began to invite Chyou Chen on every mission, in a few years their name seemed to be a scourge that was feared by all warriors in the world. The two of them make a very great killer couple. until one day, they got a mission to kill a warrior in one of the sects which at that time became the black sect that everyone hated the most.

I'm made of sharp edges and vengeance, and I will not crumble. "Eleven years. You should be more informed," I snap. It's a foolish mistake to irritate a Warrior, but I'm tired of being undermined and treated as a disposable toy. He clenches his fists. He's the perfect impersonation of danger, and for the first time, I wonder who exactly I'm dealing with here. "Careful," the word barely escapes his gritted teeth. "We're done here. I will only answer to your Alpha," my voice comes out cold and detached.

But for now, I had to focus on my mate who was standing there with a frown on his face, his arms folded on his chest as I could hear Amoux growling louder. I pulled my hand away gently and walked towards Connor. He couldn’t take his eyes off Cathal and I knew there would be a testosterone war between these two, especially how flirtatious his introduction was. “Are you ready?” I asked. “Ready for what? Come on, Zaire. I can’t fight you, you’re my mate,” he whispered, hesitantly taking a sword one of the warriors handed to him. “Exactly, because you’re my mate and possibly the future ruler of this pack, we need to train together and against each other to test our strength.”

He knew he do not follow all that they taught him, but still, what he did absorb kept him sane. He also knew that the Chief of Warriors of Mauraye was not going to be happy about this. He was on a retreat and would be on his way back now. He had not let him know because he didn't want the man to get hurt. But he knew if the chief warrior had anything to say about it, he will be here, with the wrath of a god. ----------- A fortnight later, the war began. It was brutal. Eloy was in the middle of it. The Kings themselves were just watching and observing.

Thankfully, bodies had been removed, as the warriors that were with us from the Midnight Forest Pack, now all bandaged up, told us there had been a fair few of Crimson Night Pack Warriors on the floor, bloodied and injured, some even dead. I don’t even want to think about that. That is one element to my family being warriors I hate. The fact that a big part of that is the fighting, and the killing it can involve. And the way they seem to be so free in forgetting about it, and letting it go like it is literally nothing. Like it is part of their day job, which I guess it is really. But it just doesn’t sit right with me and puts me on edge. Yet most of the men in my family are warriors; my Dad,

"I will try." Luna's force departed first, thirty-three warriors moving at speed toward the western forest where smoke already rose to the sky. I watched them go, knowing some would not return. My own team assembled quickly. Twenty warriors, mostly veterans who understood suicide missions. We carried light armor and weapons designed for speed over protection. "Move out," I commanded. As we ran toward the eastern border where Garrett waited with his hostage, I felt Aria's anguish through the mate bond. She stood on the wall watching us leave, torn between duty and family.

I guess that day was today. I were already wrapping up with my mates the plan for the next mission, when Alpha boomed through the link, “Your mate is in trouble. Packhouse. Now!” I ran like my life depended on it—because hers might. I shot a message through the mind link for another warrior to finish without me as I sprinted across the field, pushing every bit of speed my wolf could give me. He was just as frantic as I was.

If the Goddess, in her cruel irony, had written that fate long before I understood the board I was trapped on. Two paths crossing too early, too late, or exactly when they were meant to. I felt a slow smile form on my lips. My plan was working. Hertor was with me. Not just by my side, but completely with me. Body, mind, soul. A warrior molded by ancient oaths had chosen to break them for me. A captain had chosen love over honor. A wolf had chosen the wrong female, or the right one, depending on who told the story. There was power in that.

A Northern Claws warrior, by his gear, but one who appeared to have suffered some horror. "Found him at the border," Garrett explained as we approached. "Says he was freed from enemy captivity." The warrior's hands shook as he drank water, his eyes elsewhere with trauma. "They're fighting," he croaked. "The enemy commanders. Arguing over what to do next. The witches are demanding that the entire valley be cursed, destroyed utterly regardless of cost. The wolf packs are demanding that's too wasteful, that they need prisoners and intelligence. And there's a third group, all human, who simply rant and rave about 'securing the asset' as though this were some kind of retrieval op."