A Warrior's Heart Cast Novels & Stories

As we neared it, the words from her premonition came to me. “What you hold close to the heart will not survive. For war is a field of no rules and morality, something you know of. But the last cards are in place as you have not changed the course of your path. In war, there are no rules but one unspoken yet agreed upon. Attack the heart. And what does an immortal man hold close to his heart that he couldn’t hold before? His mate, Vivian.”

And this thought is given by a nagging pain somewhere under the heart. The lamps cast strange shadows on the walls. Glare fell on a large cracked canvas depicting a battle. Because of their movement, it seemed as if the people on the canvas were coming to life, looking with cold, understanding eyes straight into the soul. One in particular: a tall red-haired warrior with wide red stripes on his shoulders. He held a spear that almost fell from his hand in a deadly flight, but he did not look at the enemy, but at the viewer. There seemed to be some condemnation in his eyes. Or not? The light changed again, and the warrior's gaze became completely indifferent.

My heart skipped a beat, my tears moist right then. I dropped to a crouch and held him, pressing my ear against his chest again. I could hear his heartbeat, thumping powerfully through his thin shirt. It was such a familiar sensation. It was Stan's heartbeat. As I closed my eyes, my tears flowed ever so quietly. We stayed like that for a while, and as I wiped my tears, I held Nathan firmly in my arms once more. "Please live a good life with Stan's heart." - Nathan walked with me to the gates of the orphanage, but I never once turned to look at him again.

Aria’s eyes narrowed. “Back to where it all began,” he replied, then strode off as if marching into battle once more. Aria wanted to call after him, but swallowed the words. She knew there was no turning back. If Damian Cross had returned, the storm had already begun. And Kai stood at its very center. On the television, the commentators spoke of comeback, glory, redemption. But the eyes on the screen promised something else: blood, vengeance, destruction. And deep in Kai Mercer’s heart, a voice whispered the cruel truth: if the ring pulled him back in, it wouldn’t only be his fists that bled.

“Unless you want me to drag you out.” My heart hammered, the witch’s mark on my wrist prickling with heat. I straightened slowly, stepping into the open. The warrior stood a few paces away—tall, broad-shouldered, with the pack insignia stitched into his cloak. I recognized him now. Jarek. One of Damien’s favored blades. Not openly loyal, not openly treacherous. The worst kind. His gaze slid over me, sharp and assessing, before settling on my face. “Well,” he drawled. “Looks like the future of Shadowfang has sharp ears.”

"The castle has its queen. You have held your vigil for four hundred years... but the horizon is open now. For you. For us, if you would let me show you." Tala looked up into his handsome face, her icy eyes softening with a genuine, deep-seated tenderness she couldn't entirely hide. She leaned into his touch for a fraction of a second, her heart racing against the ancient rhythm of the storm. But then, the warrior in her took hold. She gently placed her hand against his chest, feeling the steady, powerful thud of his heartbeat, and gave a firm, warning shake of her head.

Lourain gritted his teeth and shouted back at Marth, "You're getting too full of yourself, you dog! I didn't bother with you before this because I can't kill you right now. I can't believe you took that as a sign to pompously talk to me like that! "Marth, listen well. Once we get out, I'll make sure you're begging for mercy! I'll beat you half to death before I skin you alive and take your Heartblood. That will be the last bit of value you'll ever produce!" Heartblood was a very sensitive topic to the warriors from third-grade worlds. After all, many warriors from third-grade worlds had been tortured to death for it. The death count was immeasurable, and it was something they were very sensi

Zoe hissed, her heart pounding. Cassius’s eyes glowed with the light of his magic, but he didn’t act immediately. He was waiting. As the first warrior lunged at them, Cassius moved with lightning speed, his sword flashing in the dim light. It collided with the warrior’s blade in a shower of sparks. “Stay close,” he commanded, his voice grim.

“Bring him in.” The warrior nodded and stepped aside. A moment later, a tall, scarred man walked in, his presence commanding. His dark hair was streaked with silver, his amber eyes sharp with experience. “My name is Garrick,” he said, his voice deep and rough. “I used to run with Miguel’s pack before I saw the monster he really is.” Kaida narrowed her eyes. “And why should we trust you?” Garrick smirked. “Because I hate him more than you do.”