Alastair Carstairs Novels & Stories

“Why didn’t you try escaping again instead of coming here to do his bidding.” “He is holding my daughter until the deed is done. Should I fail, he will give her to his men as well. She is only twelve, my lady.” I let him go and turned to Emrick. “Who is Alastair to you?” “He’s my father’s nephew, my cousin. He feels that my title should’ve gone to him after I killed my father since I was only sixteen at the time.” I turned back to the man. “What’s your time frame for killing us?”

The heavy glass doors swung open, and Sarah escorted their visitor into the room. Alistair Sterling was an incredibly handsome man in his late thirties, possessing the kind of effortless charm and confidence that only came from extreme wealth and high social standing. He was dressed in a perfectly tailored dark grey charcoal suit, a crisp white shirt, and a silk tie. He didn't have the stiff, cold attitude of a typical corporate tycoon. Instead, he walked into the room with a warm, easy smile that instantly made the space feel comfortable.

A sickening stench drifted in from the hallway. A few low-level ghouls carried a rotting, makeshift rattan chair, stopping fearfully at my door. Slumped in the chair was a puddle of mud. It was Alistair. He was covered in filth, his once-prized custom suit reduced to dirty rags. The worst part was his legs. The wounds he suffered that night on the altar hadn't been treated with high-grade blood. The holy water had completely corroded them down to the bone. "Carys... please..." Alistair struggled to lift his head. "Just a little blood... just a drop... for old times' sake..."

Kincaid looked at him lazily and said, "So you could make it, Uncle Alastair." Alastair Stuart. Second son of his father and Ezra's younger brother. He was a man who seemed larger than life, and he acknowledged his large physical presence, using it to bully smaller and weaker wolves as they grew up. While Ezra focused on widening his knowledge and wisdom, Alastair was focused on increasing his muscles. He was a brute that depended on his fist, rather than his brain. He and Ezra had a funny relationship because they could never stand each other, but they shared blood.

I mouth at him. "It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss. I’m Alistair Carlisle of The Nightreapers Pack." Alpha Alistair stands up and takes my hand gently. His eyes remain on mine as he kisses the back of my hand. "You’re as pretty as the moon fairy, just like the rumors say," he adds, and he sweetly smiles at me.

He said, rubbing Delas arm pulling her closer to him. "Alastair," she said, her tone confirming her annoyance. "Where is he? Is he running late, or has he decided not to come?" Dela asked, changing the subject. Alastair straightened his back and rubbed the back of his neck. "He will be here, don't worry, he had a few things that needed tending to. I don't keep track of him as he is a free agent, but he never misses a party. The poor bloke hardly ever sees anyone, always living in solitude." I heard Alastair say lowly. Just as he finished, another shadow appeared beside him.

"Why them? Why you? I’ve heard the stories, Camilla. They say you’ve come back from death twice. And now, I find out you have not one, but two powers. So why you? Why were you chosen for something so... unnatural? But she wasn’t." His voice dipped as he spoke of her—the woman he loved, the one lost to him. His sorrow was palpable, and for a moment, my heart twisted with compassion. I looked back at the guards, signaling them to step aside. The tension was thick, but I couldn’t ignore his pain. "I’m sorry for your loss," I said quietly. "Don’t speak her name," Alastair growled, his body tensing as though the mention of her was a physical wound. But he didn’t make a move. He stood, still as a

Alistair himself was a ghostly presence—always there, watching from the shadows with an authority that felt untouchable. That morning, I stood before a massive floor-to-ceiling window, gazing at the Vance Global building that loomed arrogantly in the distance. I was wrapped in a black silk robe Alistair had provided. The silk was exquisite, yet it felt heavy with the weight of the man who had given it to me. "Are you looking at what should have been yours?" The baritone voice vibrated from the doorway. Alistair walked in with measured strides. He wore a black shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing a chronograph watch that likely cost more than a human life. In his hand, he car

But Salvador was trying hard to keep everything under his control, which only made things uncomfortable for everyone involved, including Barrett. After leaving the palace, Carissa headed straight for the Capital Guard's headquarters. Since it was her first day on duty, Michael and Max were already waiting for her there with their men. Fortunately, no one seemed to pay much attention to the bruise around her eye. Or if they did notice, they at least had the decency not to stare. The Royal Guard's commander, Alistair, hadn't arrived yet. Carissa knew who he was—Oliver's cousin. Their family had many sons, with Alistair being the most talented among them.

“Solid. Added sniper nests on the east wall. Your orders.” “Good.” I poured him a whisky. “Drink.” He took it. “Cheers. You look tense, cousin. The stabbing got you rattled?” I shot him a glare. “Rattled? Hardly. Pissed off. Someone breached my home.” “Our home,” he corrected mildly. “And stabbed your new pet project.” “He’s not a pet,” I snapped. Alastair raised a brow. “Isn’t he? You bought him. Threatened to return the child if he misbehaves. Sounds pet-like to me.”