Ash And Oblivion Full Name Novels & Stories

"Omegas don't have power like that. We don't have shields. We don't have... whatever that was." "Is that what they told you?" He walked toward me. He was so tall that he blocked out the moon. His presence was heavy, like the air before a lightning strike. "The Blackmoor Pack spent twenty years making you feel small so you wouldn't realize how big you actually are." I looked down at my hands. They were glowing faintly. "Who are you?" "My name is Riven Ashenfell." I froze. Everyone knew that name. Riven Ashenfell was the "Traitor King." The stories said he had burned his own lands to the ground rather than follow the Alpha Council. He was a monster. A ghost.

Finally, he roared, “Grayson, who is this punk?” Grayson stepped forward, and before he could say a word, Ash intervened and introduced himself very proudly. “You actually don’t know who I am?” Ash was extremely conceited. “I thought everyone in Imperial Capital would know who I am. Alright then, let me introduce myself. My name is Ash Long...” Jay’s eagle eyes were stained blood red. “Alright, Ash Long. I’ll remember you. But I do wonder, do you know who I am?” Only then did Ash become aware that this man with an extraordinary temperament might have a remarkable identity as well.

"I think you forget what line of work we're in, Stratford. Tell me." "It was a member of Parliament. Not his security detail, but the Right Honorable Conrad Sinclair himself. Alone. He shoved Belishaw into a car and drove off. I followed them to an unregistered location, a townhouse with no ties to the government that I could find. I waited twenty-four hours outside. Sinclair left twelve hours ago, but Belishaw only emerged from a side door in an alley half an hour ago. He was in rough shape, Damien. Sir, I don't have Sinclair down on any of my records as an SLF. And whatever happened in there, it didn't happen over a polite cup of tea." SLF was code for supernatural life form.

“Ronan’s grandfather. The Demon King.” A slow smile curled his lips. “Please, call me Ash.” I blinked. “Ash? That seems a bit… literal, don’t you think?” He chuckled, rich and slow like wine spilled over velvet. “It’s meant to be. Easier for you to say than my full name. Mortals butcher it so horribly.” “What is it?” He pushed off the wall and began walking toward me, unhurried. “Glasya-Labolas.” I snorted. “Yeah, okay. Ash it is.”

It contained every bit of information found on the man who had been daring enough to intrude on Noah's life. His well-known alias was Ash Grey but he sometimes went by the name Johnson Adams. Ash owned a long chain of well-known clubs in Rosewoods and also had numerous underground club operations awarded to his name, most of the luxurious clubs scattered in different towns around New York and other thriving parts of the world.

He inhaled deeply, the scent of his mate driving him wild with desire. "What is your name ?" Unfazed by the apparent shock on his mate's face, he tilted her chin so he could look at her face, taking in everything about her, from the blonde hair that framed her oval face to her large, luminous green eyes, down to her luscious, pouty lips. "Olivia Grant," she replied breathily. She knew she should be scared, if not a little anxious. "I am Asher Blackwood, and I am your destiny. I am the Alpha heir of North America, and I am making you mine tonight." After making the announcement, he lowered his head and covered her mouth with his.

“We just killed her right?” Kira grimaced and sent the image back to the director’s terminal. “Yeah, we did. Something’s not right with your intel.” “You sure about that?” Rodrigo asked flatly. “Her name was Lilia Baudin. I watched her head explode in my scope two years ago in Prague. Yeah, I’m pretty damn sure.” “A highly possibility that she's an Awakaned too?” Knight asked in the tense silence that followed. Kira managed to contain his flinch, but just barely.

He reached out with a withered, gnarled hand—trying to grasp me, to touch my face one last time. "I'm... so... sorry..." His lips moved, soundless, forming those three words—too late by a lifetime. But his hand fell, limp and lifeless, against the freezing floor. And in that instant, as his eyes closed for good, my spirit dissolved—scattering like starlight into the endless snow. Every debt, every grudge, every wound—all of it faded into dust. If there is a next life, Father, let us never meet again.