Agent Strahm Novels & Stories

"H-Hello." Estrada smiled warmly at him, "Hello, Ariston." Estrada, like Bellatrix and Rae, was around 17 years old. She had been a servant at the Gravemaw Mansion for years. Her parents owed a significant debt to the pack and chose to flee rather than pay it off. Estrada was left behind at the age of 4. Rumor had it that they abandoned her to avoid being pursued and to work off what they owned. It seemed to work as nobody has seen or heard from them since.

“You're right. When we find that bastard, we are going to make him pay with his life. Blood must spill, Moreno.” “And blood will definitely spill, but we need to work together. Pull our resources together because, let me tell you, we aren't fighting against a street thug. Damien is working with a man named Steven Crowley, who is an ex-military strategist, which means that he has a lot of weapons and tools at his disposal, and we need to tread carefully when it comes to him.”

I said with a smile. I waited in the small queue that had formed on the hammer line. Out of the five men before me on the line, only two had been able to hit the base hard enough to make the bell at the top ring. When it was my turn, I stepped forward and grabbed the handle of the mallet. It was heavy, but with my shifter strength, it was like holding cotton candy. A lot of the males around were surprised that I actually lifted it high. Gavrael just had a smirk on his face. I had been expecting him to tell me to not do this in order not to attract attention, but instead he supported me. I struck the base dead centre, careful not to use too much strength so I wouldn’t smash it to bits.

I assured her as she nestled in my embrace. “It’s not childish. You are reporting a crime to a ruler. It just happens the criminal is your sibling, and the ruler is your mother.” Andromache assured me, hugging my other arm. “And this is what makes you stand out as a kind person.” Andromache added, kissing my cheek. “You are a good man, Asterion.” Hesione smiled, leaning up kissing my cheek.

The entire room suddenly fell into a strange silence. Everyone stared at Simon in shock. Only after they were certain it was really him did they gasp. Mick and Amanda looked at each other. "That's impossible! How is it Simon? We drew the long straw." Amanda frowned at Carla. "Carla, did you draw the long straw or the short one last night? Did you make a mistake?" After calming down, Carla answered in a hoarse voice, "I personally drew the long straw."

Storm (Beta): The enforcer and tactical hammer. Caspian (Gamma): The eyes and ears, master of the intelligence network. Agile: The fourth-ranked strategist and technical genius. Sky: The fifth-ranked officer, the silent shadow. And years ago, the one who almost tore it all down, Juno. Juno had once been a rising star in the Order. He had charisma, courage, and a natural talent for combat that rivaled Travis’s. But he lacked the discipline and the humility required to serve under an Alpha. His envy turned into a bitter, burning hatred.

You can only say one thing—ability users are utterly reckless. "Hand over fifty of them, and we'll leave immediately!" Astrid demanded in broken English. Travis Carlson—the leader of the Zimtam Outpost—was exactly what Ray had figured: a middle-aged guy standing about five-foot-nine, sitting ramrod straight. He let out a scoff. "Yeah, keep dreaming."

Liam needed her help, and she was glad for the escape. *** What had just happened? Stralath glanced around the empty room. Well, that was a massive fail. She wasn't interested in being snapped up by an investor? Was she crazy? Surprised at her reaction, he headed for the exit, analyzing where he'd made an error and their next plan of attack. Sex trafficker? She thought he was a sex trafficker? Feeling offended, Stralath huffed out a breath. Did he look like a sex trafficker? He'd need to G****e the term and see if he had any criminal resemblance?

"I didn't suggest it. I didn't even hint. This came from their medical director." I looked at him. "Would it be weird? Me working with your team?" "Maybe." He met my gaze. "But we've survived weirder." I took the contract. Three weeks into the gig, I discovered that Aiden Sterling, strategic mastermind and corporate survivor, was a genuinely terrible loser at video games, always left his dirty socks on the bathroom floor, and had a quiet, infectious laugh that made the Sharks' equipment manager—a grizzled veteran of thirty seasons—grudgingly admit "the kid's all right."

Sleeping was the last thing you wanted to be doing here. There was movement off to his left and he pulled out his pistol, reflexes still sharp even after everything. It was a figure limping towards him, half stumbling. The closer it came, the more he could tell this person was infected—the secretion covering its Hazmat suit, emanating from a hole in the helmet. He could see enough to know that this was Strauss’ assistant, the one who’d thrown herself out of the window.