Arno Victor Dorian Novels & Stories

" The breakfast is ready, sir " The melodious voice of Arlene said from behind Maximo and the latter let out a sigh. He slowly turn around to stare at the beautiful lady before him. By the way she tries to look too good and more beautiful Maximo realized she is trying hard to please him. His face ease up to a simple smile and he nodded at her. " I'm Maximo Santino. You can call me Maximo, not sir " " Max will be..."

Aranjo put on his ears and after a calm state, Aranjo opened the window curtain of the stretcher. However, before he had time to open the curtain, the large curtain that was in front of him was roughly opened. A soldier in a suit of armor full of blood stared at him. The Warrior was not from the Danzou Kingdom, so Aranjo retreated his body. That means they were defeated by the enemy. The soldier looked at him with such passion that even the soldier seemed to swallow. Aranjo knows clearly the beauty and the beauty of his body that makes every eye stare in awe of him.

I raised my head that had somehow found its way to the floor and soon locked eyes with Dorian on the stage, smiling brightly. He looked so handsome and dangerously tempting in all the right ways wearing a dark grey ceremonial suit with black and red accents. A few achievement medals glinted off his chest when he breathed and his long deep black hair was slicked back perfectly, with a few small rebellious locks falling forward on his forehead. The sight of him was all I needed to push away all the panic and fear that had sprouted in me. And if it weren’t for my brother holding my arm, I would’ve rushed across the room and up the steps to Dorian without a care in the world.

--- Across the city, in a warehouse that smelled of rust and old blood, Dorian poured himself a glass of something dark and watched the sun rise through filthy windows. He was beautiful in the gray light—golden hair catching the faint illumination, amber eyes gleaming with something that might have been pleasure. He had waited a long time for this. Centuries, watching Alexander Volkan play at being human, pretend he was something other than the predator he'd been made to be. And now, finally, Alexander had given him the weapon he needed. The girl. He smiled, lifting his glass to the dawn. Luna Marchetti. Antonio's daughter. The last of the bloodline that had caused so much trouble for his ki

His hands and my hands and the eastern road stones beneath us and the battle raging on every side. He was good. That was the thing I had to keep acknowledging to stay functional. Dorian Vane did not survive years of running a military operation from hiding by being a soft target. He was fast and precise and he knew how to read a wolf's body in real time and adjust to what he read. He read my left shoulder. Hit it in the first thirty seconds. The same targeting Kaelor had used in the northern yard because Kaelor learned it from Dorian's training systems and now the origin of that

Every wound stitching shut before their eyes. He looked like something born from hell, drenched in blood that was both his own and that of the humans who had dared to cross him. The guards barely had time to reload before he tore them apart, their screams echoing down the hallway as he charged toward Dawson's office. The Chancellor was halfway through the fire exit when Orion caught him by the collar of his shirt and hauled him back, slamming him into the wall so hard the plaster cracked. Dawson's scream was cut short as Orion's hand closed around his throat, lifting him until his feet dangled in the air.

He was a man who had an intention - no beating around the bush and it was a breath of fresh air. I smirked. "I was yours the minute I laid my eyes on you. Name." I am a twenty two year old woman acting like a horny teenager. The strangers' lips tilted up in a small smile and he bit his lower lip, humour dancing around in his brown eyes. "Dominic." I picked up my clutch and placed a few notes underneath the empty glass. I stood up, raising to the same height as him even though he was still sitting. He was watching me intently as I walked behind him and leaned forward until my lips were just barely grazing his ear.

His eyes flick past Matteo—straight to me on the bed. He smiles. Small. Sharp. “Name’s Dario. I work for Rossi’s old crew. The ones who didn’t like how the truce ended.” He shrugs, casual. “Vittorio’s gone. Someone’s gotta clean up the mess he left. Starting with his daughter.” My stomach twists, but not from fear. From heat. From the way his gaze drags over my body—over the collar, the bite marks on my tits, the cum painted across my stomach like war paint.

Caspian muttered. Lastly, there was one sorcerer who drew my attention the most. My eyes locked onto the sketch of Dorian. My heart began to pound erratically. The line of the jaw, the cold yet oddly familiar gaze. I felt as though I had seen this person somewhere before. Not in a nightmare but in real life. “Who is this last one?” I asked, my voice trembling. “His name is Dorian, the Blood Architect. He’s the one who designs the ritual seals and ensures the flow of energy from the sacrifice reaches Vane,” Niobe replied briefly.

Presence. Lucian stepped forward first. Dorian did not bare his throat. Not because he lacked power—but because he did not need to prove it. There was something ancient in him now, old in a way that had nothing to do with years. He chose restraint. "I am Aethone," Dorian said evenly, his Lycan's voice gravely from non-use, carried the quiet weight of something ancient. "And my wolf is Varr, Your Highness." He inclined his head—not in submission, but in respect freely given.