Book Tyrion Lannister Novels & Stories

She never bothered so far as I was healthy and walking but I remembered when I was a little girl, sick with fever she stayed by my side till I was better before she disappeared once more. I loved her and she loved me in her own weird way that was why she gave me Archie so I would never be lonely growing up. "How dare she think of leaving me?! After everything I've done for her! After everything I sacrificed for her! Wasn't my love enough for her?" Father lamented as he drank himself to stupor. It was satirical watching the mighty Tyrion Greyjoy, a tyrant who enjoyed reaping where he did not sow and leaving the weak hopeless wailing over a woman whose body he owned but heart could never win.

My heart started beating faster and the tingling sensation on my arms grew rapidly. " I'm… I'm " I stuttered backing up some steps. Sebastian sprinted towards the boy who lay unconscious on the ground. He placed two of his fingers on the guy's neck probably to check his pulse. He quickly proceeded to dial a number on his phone. " I … I didn't mean….I didn't want to kill him, I'm so … I'm so sorry. He just came at me...and ...and I just snapped…." My voice trembled seeing Sebastian's reaction.

I pressed the back of my hand against my face and held it there until the worst of it passed. Then I lay in the stillness and made myself think. I was my father’s daughter. Zane and Zander’s sister. Lycan blood ran in my veins and none of that had changed just because I was chained to a bed in a boarded-up room with Anya cut off and a man who had spent over a year planning to use me. None of that had changed. My hands were still shaking when I reached for the water bottle. They grew firm before I got it open.

"You healed. How? Darren said the suppressant was still active. You were burning up an hour ago." He walked toward me, his bare feet silent on the pine needles. The moonlight traced the clean lines of his chest and stomach—unmarked and perfect, as if the wounds had never even happened. He stopped right in front of me and looked down. A slow, dangerous smirk curled his lips. "I'm a Lycan prince," he said quietly. "Those wounds were never real."

But I couldn’t move. Because I was staring at Ryn. He was different. That was why he was the strongest warrior in Veyra. That was why Vaelor kept him close. He wasn’t just any warrior. He was a dragon fighter. As if he sensed my gaze, he lifted his head. Our eyes met. Only a dragon can recognize the magic of a dragon fighter. If he notice I did, he would get suspicious. I smiled at him. “I told you he would wake up. He was just convulsing.”

“The tip is poisoned. You don’t even have to stab someone. Just nick his skin, and he’ll die in agony.” My gaze homed in on the blade. I wanted it so badly. It was so close. So sharp. The crone nudged it forward. “You know who gave that to me? Darragh Ryan. The Mercenary. The Haunt of the Hills.” I’d heard of him—everyone had—even though he’d left the pack before I was born. The males got shifty when his name came up, but their dismissive laughs always rang false, like they were whistling past a graveyard.

How much more does she want? This is ridiculous he has a house he could have taken her in. Is he doing this out here just to bother me? Why is my tyrant having sex with some whore bothering me? As much as I hate for him to know this bothers me and that I'm out here I can't watch this any longer. Slowly standing up his eyes dart to meet mine. I guess I'm not as stealthy as I had hoped. Rolling my eyes at the smirk on his face trying to hide the hurt in my eyes I turn and go inside slamming and locking my door. I just can't win!

It never gets easier, does it? His past is paved in blood, in burned empires, in broken, dangerous men who still wanted revenge. Tears welled in my eyes, but I blinked them away. I couldn't let him see my fear. How do I get out of this, unscathed? I can't even think properly. The man was still talking—ranting, laughing, waving his gun like a trophy as he relived his ruin. My body refused to listen to me. All I could hear was the thunder of my pulse and his voice echoing around me like a nightmare on loop.

None. Mercy is not a word for me, it’s definitely not a word for a man who thinks what is mine is his. They call me cruel, they call me tyrant, let them. The pack survives because I decide, that is my rule. That is order. I took a throne young, I held it with blood, I sharpened fear into armor. Mercy would rust that armor, make me weak. I will not be weak. I push open the door, Hanging by the bar like some broken thing, wrists chained above his head, his body slumped but still breathing. His face bruised so bad the skin swells.

"Please, don't go… I was wrong, I truly know I was wrong… I can wait for you. I'll wait until you forgive me…" I stopped and looked back at him. The man kneeling on the floor was once the most important person in my world. But now, I felt nothing. "Get up, Joric," I said, my voice devoid of all emotion. "You are an Alpha. Have some pride. You have your Luna. Go to her. And stay out of my life." And with that, I truly turned and walked away. Torin was by my side, his hand a warm, steady presence on my back.