Andrius Between Shades Of Gray Novels & Stories

he corrected. I was frozen in place, unsure of who was in front of me. I checked his eyes and yep, they were gray, not yellow. The Andrius I got to know at the lake was like the polar opposite to the man that sat in front of me now. There was no playfulness in his gaze, no softness in his posture. I felt no reassurance from him and I had this urge, no, this need to be praised, to be told I’d done well.

But that wasn’t what he was drawing today. There was a picture of two girls—rendered crudely in crayon, but still identifiable as girls. One of them had short blond hair and the other had long brown braids. Their hands were on their faces and their mouths open in screams. David had drawn these as big black circles. A huge black shadow hovered before them, a shapeless body with red eyes and clearly defined hands. The hands looked like long silver knives. There were many drawings before this one. Lauren wondered how long David had been at it.

The door opened without a sound. The room smelled like medicine and copper. The curtains were drawn, making the space dark and heavy. Andreas was lying in the middle of the large bed, covered in a white sheet up to his chest. His skin looked almost grey against the pillows, and his dark hair was damp with sweat. He was breathing in short, heavy rasps. I walked closer, my bare feet silent on the rug. The sharp line of his jaw was covered in dark stubble. He looked smaller like this, stripped of his fine jackets and his guns. He just looked like a man who was hurting.

Jaiden smiles, "If you say so. I want to get your opinion on something, while I have you here." I nod as I watch Jaiden get her purse from the countertop, pulling out a few pieces of fabric. "I'm working on an upcoming project," She lays out the fabric on the table, "And I think I want to do these two colors with this texture here. What do you think?" I take a look at the colors, seeing a light yellow and blue situated between a small bubble pattern. "What is the project for?" I ask. "What do you mean?" She asks, taking a seat beside me again.

The room was dimly lit, the heavy scent of cigar smoke curling through the air. Alessandro De Luca leaned back in his leather chair, swirling a glass of red wine. Across from him, Mateo Salazar stood with calculated ease, his sharp eyes betraying no emotion. The silence between them was razor-thin, each man waiting for the other to speak first. “A man of your reputation shouldn’t be wasting his time in the shadows, Alessandro.” Mateo spoke, breaking the silence. “Especially not when there’s an opportunity to reclaim what’s rightfully yours.”

No copyright infringement is intended. P.S— THIS IS THE BOOK TWO OF BOOK ONE— DIFFERENT SHADES OF HIM. ENJOY AND LET ME KNOW IF YOU DO. THANK YOU!

“Beyond the brief, I mean.” Aurora sifted through the mission dossier in her mind, her thoughts flickering to Vincent’s cryptic warnings about Nightshade’s unrest. “Only what Lucas shared,” she answered, her voice steady despite the unease coiling in her chest. “Founded by Fenrir Nightshade after a feud with his twin, Faber, over a fated mate. Known for their strength and connection to the land. Why?” Marcus’s wolf slowed slightly, his gaze fixed on her. “This place feels… wrong. Like it’s hiding something. I thought you might’ve sensed it too.”

The campus felt unusually dull that morning. Maybe it was the weather, the sun refusing to show itself leaving the grey sky or maybe it was just her mood. Everything seemed slower. She tried to blend into that chaos, to look busy, normal. But her mind wasn’t on her textbooks. It hadn’t been in days. She slid into an empty table by the windows and opened her textbook, flipping through pages without really reading. The air carried the familiar mix of coffee, paper, and the low hum of stressed students—a smell that usually grounded her—but today, it couldn’t keep her mind from drifting back to him.

I shrugged, nonchalantly. "What problems?" Instantly going into acting mode, I looked around nervously, then put a hand over my mouth as I leaned in, "Hey, I'm not supposed to tell anyone because of my Mom's work ethic. But Greg has mental issues." "He does?" The assistant's eyes widened. "Yes," I nodded. "He sometimes loses himself. Like a multiple personality disorder. So he has to take these pills or he'll be lost for a week or more," I whispered. That made the guy grimace.

The rain-slicked streets of the city glistened like a shattered mirror beneath the streetlights, reflecting neon signs and blurred silhouettes of hurried strangers. Ethan Blackwood pulled his black coat tighter around himself as he stepped out of the car, the cold biting through the fabric and settling deep in his bones. He hated nights like this. Hated the noise, the chaos, the way crowds pressed too close, invading carefully guarded personal space. People brushed past him, umbrellas colliding overhead, laughter and chatter rising above the steady patter of rain. The sharp scent of wet asphalt mixed with expensive perfume made his head ache. He preferred control. Order. Silence.