Arno Victor Dorian Novels & Stories

Valen walked over to his desk, running his fingers along the edge, the silence stretching thin. "What did the council say?" Scottie finally asked, breaking the quiet. “Nothing we didn’t already know,” Valen replied curtly, taking a seat behind his desk. His tone held an edge that silenced any further questioning. He turned his attention to Dorian. “Speak freely. I know you’ve been holding something back.” Dorian hesitated, his shoulders stiffening. He glanced at Scottie before lowering his gaze to the floor, bowing slightly. “My Lord,” he began cautiously, “there’s more. The attack on the southern clan—it wasn’t random. Victor Kane was involved.”

“What are you feeding her, Victor?” “Thirteen million in maintenance a year,” another joked. “Maybe I should get a young wife too.” The men laughed. Marilyn did too. Polished. Painless. Empty. Victor squeezed her waist possessively. “She’s more than pretty,” he said. “She’s obedient.” Her stomach flipped. She kept smiling. One man leaned in. Dorian King, the owner of the club, was builtm like a lion and dressed in blood-red velvet. “They say you were a waitress.”

Dorian was fighting against Achilles, the strongest expert known to the west, the the God of War of the Divine Clan. Although Dorian, the number one in the last heavenly leaderboard, just began to display his talent in the Inuit's Incident, after entering Heaven's Gate, he had made great achievement in the battlefield of Heaven’s Gate in the past two decades. In terms of talent and abilities, only Little Apple could suppress Dorian. The rest were almost no match for Dorian. Some even said that Dorian would be the first person in the east in the future, putting aside Jason. By this time, Dorian had already had such a potential. He had already surpassed Herbert and Ava.

POV: Dorian "My name is Dorian," he said, and his voice came out steady, which was the single greatest performance of his life. She looked at him with those dark eyes that had been reading him since a corridor on the fourteenth floor and found nothing. No recognition, no soul pull, no reaching quality. Just a woman looking at a man she had never seen before trying to understand why her legs had stopped working and why his arm around her felt like something her body recognized before her mind had any opinion on the matter.

Amara Cross POV "There are some summaries and simple lessons here. They might help you. Take them." Dorian pointed his index finger toward a stack of neat papers on his wooden desk. I reached out, flipping through them with curiosity, until my eyes tripped over a name written in the corner of one file. It looked longer and more powerful than what my ears were used to hearing. "Dorian Alessandro?" I whispered in shock. A light shiver ran through my body as I stared at the Latin letters written so perfectly.

The runed blade dangled uselessly in his cloak as chaos swirled around him. “Kill him, you fool,” I mumbled under my breath. “This is your moment. Take it!” For a dreadful instant, I feared he would just stand there until someone killed him, wasting all of my careful work. Then, something changed. He hardened into focus. He began to move with purpose, keeping track of Ronan, waiting for the right opening. And when a massive rogue locked Ronan in battle at the temple, Dorian saw his chance. The strike was simple but effective. While Ronan was distracted, Dorian slipped in close with quiet precision. The blade slashed across his brother’s neck not deep enough to kill instantly, but enough to r

I repeated after he didn't reply. "Did you find her name?" He groaned still half asleep. "No, but come and look at this," I said and I heard him slowly stand and slump over to the table I was sat at. "Donatia Chiaramonti, mated name Loren, is written in red. That's Postestas Loren's mate, the one with the powers. Hecate is also in red and so is this boy from 345 BC called Mirus Marcellaro. He died in 359 BC when he would have been 14, which makes me think he had the powers too and something obviously happened to him when he started to get out of control. In those days people used to name their offspring with meaning too. Donatia could come from the Latin for gifted, Donatus, and Mirus could

The laptop screamed to life screen scrambling before resolving into a stark, grayscale feed. Dorian stiffened. “Untraceable netline,” he murmured. “Only one person ever used this protocol.” Isolde looked up from where she’d been archiving the Red List into press packages. “Who?” The voice answered for him. “Hello, Dorian. I see you’ve finally come home.” Julian Vexmoor appeared onscreen older than Dorian remembered, but not softer. His silver hair was cropped sharp; the suit he wore was ash-gray, spotless. Behind him, blurred bookshelves and antique lighting gave the illusion of sophistication.

Dorian was shaking beside me, his eyes fixed on the fire. "He’s still in there," Dorian whispered. "No," I said, my voice hardening into steel as I stood up. I looked at the encrypted coordinates glowing on the screen. "He’s a Santoro. He’s too arrogant to die in a pile of rust." I turned away from the fire, looking toward the dark outline of the Veronesi factory in the distance. The "Regret" had done its job. Now, it was time for the "Revenge."

His gaze locks onto mine, his eyes gleaming with hatred. “You want her so bad, Osiris?” he growls. “Then you can have her. But I promise you, she’ll never be free of me. I’ll make sure she regrets leaving me. I’ll make sure Sophia knows exactly who her father is.” That’s it. I can’t take it anymore. I lunge forward, my wolf roaring inside me, but this time, Nero doesn’t stop me. My hand shoots out, grabbing Darius by the collar and slamming him against the nearest tree.