Alec Lightwood Shadowhunters Novels & Stories

Talon Darkheart stood at the cliff a craggy hill, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the tranquil village nestled below. The full moon's silvery light bathed the landscape in an eerie glow, casting long shadows that seemed to dance with a malevolent intent. Behind him, an army of rogue werewolves, their eyes aglow with intense darkness, waited for his orders. He had wanted to bring half a dozen rogue warriors, but at the last minute he changed his mind. Jade was a powerful lycan with Alpha blood in his veins, and same with Apollo, Jade's uncle. He had to be fully prepared to take them both down.

He had been observing the red-haired vampire as she spoke with the other female through the glass doors of the art gallery. “Mason!” Dylan phoned once more. Mason yelled out, "Coming," and started to move with the rest of the group. When Mason joined them, Dylan commented, "So, she was hot, you know, for a dead person." Dylan was a werewolf who was 37 years old and had stopped growing since he was in his late 20s. Like Mason, he was tall and slim, but when his dark hair wasn't tied back, it hung to his shoulders.

Lucian howled. and Alejandro picked up running, bleeding, broken, but still moving. Clarice was vanishing into the smoke, Yolanda’s struggling form was disappearing with her. With a howl of agony, Alejandro ran faster. Not toward the fight. Not toward his throne. But after his queen. Alejandro ran like a beast possessed, his Lycan form bleeding, his breath heaving, Yolanda’s scent was faint Clarice had taken her towards the far end of the forest where the cliffs were high.

“We break them here, or we don’t leave this hall.” The fighting surged again, a wave of steel and fury. And in the center of it all, Eolan’s shadow rose higher than it ever had before—black and jagged against the torchlight, more beast than man. The Creed had come for him, but tonight, they would learn the price of hunting the Shadow Heir.

The metal of the blade turned red-hot instantly, forced to melt by the sheer pressure of Alaric’s grip. Rowan let out a cry of pain as the heat traveled up the hilt, but he didn't let go. He slammed his shoulder into the older man, trying to tackle him away from me. "Rowan, no!" I screamed. I felt the violet light in my chest flare up. It was weak—strained by the deal I had made—but it was there. I threw my hands forward, sending a blast of shadow-fire at Alaric’s back. Alaric didn't even flinch. The fire hit him and simply dissolved into his cloak.

He is – “The nail in your coffin,” the man says and pulls the trigger, blasting Zion’s once-loyal follower to smithereens. Alec Winters, the Hunter. He is a legend among all packs for never having lost a fight with an incubus or succubus before. Is he here for Alisa? He stretches out his hand and I decide to take it, allowing him to pull me up. If he’s not against me, then I can assume that he is with me.

The werewolf I had loved since I was little, was in bed with someone else. Any servant in the Wilder manor knew about the Heir Alpha’s long-standing crush on Eliana Woods. Alex had loved her since they were young. He even fought his beta because of her four years ago, it was a very bloody fight. Afterwards, his mother, Luna Amaya, sent him away to Bloodclaw, a disciplinary and training academy for young male werewolves of high rank.

"They're in the medical wing right now. They're violently ill. The doctor says it's poison. Wolfsbane poison. They might die, Lyra. Those children might die!" Lyra's blood turned cold. Ice flooded her veins. "What? No, I just got here. I haven't even seen the twins. I would never such a thing. How can you say this?" "Dr. Reed found this in your travel bag." Sera held up a small glass vial with shaking hands. Even from across the room, Lyra could see the dark liquid inside. Wolfsbane. Deadly to werewolves. Especially deadly to pups. "That's not mine," Lyra said immediately.

***** Somewhere across the city, in a room with a small window and no identifying features, a man sat in the shadows. He was older—weathered by years of war and loss. His presence filled the room even in silence, heavy and oppressive. He sat perfectly still, waiting. A door opened behind him. Footsteps. Someone entered, bowing slightly. “Sir.” The man in shadow didn’t turn. “Speak.” “The scout was spotted near the Blackwood gala. Inside their territory.” A pause. “And?” “The heir was there, Alaric Blackwood. And his father.” “I know who they are. Tell me what I don’t know.”

Lilac lay still in Alaric's arms, her breathing shallow as blood seeped through the coral silk of her gown. The enchanted dagger pulsed with dark energy where it protruded from between her shoulder blades, its obsidian hilt drinking in the light. The room was stunned to find the face of the Nightshade Alpha. On top of that, Lilac being his mate was huge. But none of those thoughts touched Alaric. His aura exploded outward, shattering nearby goblets and sending candles guttering. A feral growl ripped from his throat as he cradled her closer, his claws pricking the fabric of her dress.