Blade Runner Pawn Novels & Stories

Kaelen’s head snapped up, his blue eyes burning with a rage so terrifying that even the air around us seemed to freeze. "Hand it over, Lyra," he growled, his voice deep and lethal. "Or I will tear this castle apart with you inside it." Lyra didn't back down. She held the small silver vial higher, her thumb resting on the tiny cork top. "One wrong move, Your Highness, and I drop it into the snow," she warned, taking a careful step backward. "The glass breaks, the poison consumes her, and your precious Pawn dies in your arms within two minutes."

A figure in white synthetic armor dropped through the opening, his blue optical sensors scanning the room in a wide, mechanical sweep. He saw the empty bed. He saw the darkness. I stepped out of the shadow, the Phantom Blade catching a stray spark of my own bioluminescence. I didn't call for Damian. I didn't scream. The Harvester began to turn, his pulse-rifle rising, but I was already inside his guard. My hand, mapped in glowing silver, reached for his throat. In the hallway, the sound of heavy, unhurried boots echoed. The primary door’s electronic lock screeched as it was overridden from the outside.

“It was only a mistaken transaction. And now, the transaction is over.” I held out the pen to him. His hand trembled, unwilling to take it. “Those… Stellar Dawn matters—was it you?” His eyes locked on mine, desperate for one last confirmation. I smiled faintly, neither admitting nor denying. “Mr. Caldwell, what matters is this: from now on, the Caldwells won’t have only one opponent named Stellar Dawn. Consider that your warning.” The words landed like a death knell, tacitly confirming everything. All color drained from his face. He staggered, unable to bear the weight of that truth. Finally, he understood what he had truly lost.

Bram barreled down the stairs, gun raised, eyes flashing with alarm. He took in the scene in a heartbeat—the corpse, the pen, the blood streaking down the stone. His gaze snapped to Liora, wild with questions. “What the hell—” “He was waiting,” she said, voice raw, clipped. “He followed me up.” Bram’s jaw flexed as he lowered his weapon. He scanned the man’s coat, boots, the insignia barely visible on the inside lining. His curse was sharp. “Arbiters. Contract blade.”

He placed a soft kiss on my forehead. “Are you sure you want to go home and pick up some stuff?” “I won’t have any clothes if not.” “I can take you shopping in the morning to get anything you need.” “What about to sleep in tonight?” “I can lend you a shirt,” his wicked smile was back. “Oh really, What’s with the wicked smile Mr. Thorn?” “Just imagining you in one of my shirts.” “Ok. Take me to yours.” “Are you sure?” “Yes. The longer I let the dust settle the better to be honest.”

“This is Intuin Desparen, the Heart Blade.” The blade’s hilt was simple, but the blade gleamed with otherworldly light, and as he laid it across the palms of his hands, I could see writing imbued upon its length. “What it does,” Rivyn said, his voice quiet and reverent, although it carried throughout the chamber, “you will discover in time, princess, but I will tell you this: it’s powers will only work for you, or one of your direct line.”

The bond was a continuous live wire—pain, focus, the raw determination to hold the threshold for as long as the bodies in front of them allowed. One of the loyal scouts went down hard against the wall. Another staggered back with a deep gash along his arm. Harris shouted something lost under the noise and drove a shifted attacker back through the doorway with sheer weight. For a moment the hallway held. Then Rylan stepped through the broken doors in human form, unhurried, a short blade in one hand. His eyes found Lucas immediately. “You should have taken the terms,” Rylan said. His voice carried cleanly over the residual snarls. “The wing was already finished. This is just the expensive vers

“What is it?” “Dad’s message mentioned something else. Not for now – he doesn’t think he needs it to win this battle. And he’s right. He doesn’t. But his plans for conquest don’t end with Winterpaw Warrior, and neither did Alpha Blare’s.” Her expression hardened. “He spoke of a weapon.”

A small blue light was released into her and she gasped before fainting. I can’t believe it. Syria was a traitor. I searched the crowd for Brock but I can’t find him. I try to mindlink him but I couldn’t sense him anywhere nearby. It was like he just disappeared. Gritting my teeth, I looked down at the ground when I see a pair of black leather boots stop in front of me. I looked up and “Hybrid,” he mutters as if the very word was venom in his mouth. He glares down at me with the same look in his eyes since I got here, and I can’t help but wonder why.

“Aww, you think threatening me makes you a mighty giga chad, do you? I’ve been a member of the lawless underground society for more than ten years, and no one has ever dared wave a threat in my face! Are you happy that you’re the first? Now, come receive your reward!” Phantomknife unsheathed his snowy, shiny blades and pointed their tips at Javier. Cold glints bounced off their surface, making for a terrifying entrance, but little else happened, as Phantomknife never got to hit Javier with them. He felt a sharp pinch on his wrist and saw Javier’s silhouette get blurry. The next time his eyes focused, his shiny blades had changed hands. Javier was the one aiming the pointy bits at him now.