Boris Pavlikovsky Novels & Stories

Nikolai “Boris is dead.” I hear as soon as I pick up the phone from Dimitri. While I was grateful he had died I was rather surprised, he had looked very healthy yesterday. Dimitri sighs and adds “Pavel killed him.” Pavel, another one of the men I worked with, was not a very wise man to offend. Even I stayed out of his way most of the time. “He must have died in a terrible way then.” Pavel had a reputation of killing people in the weirdest places or while they were doing the weirdest things.

And how did he manage to bring it into the Games without getting caught? Boris swiped at the vial with his massive paw, shattering it in an explosion of glass. A silvery substance splashed across the rough bark of the pedestal, and he quickly ran his claws through it, coating them in the shimmering liquid that danced with an otherworldly glow. He turned to face me again, his entire form imposing, radiating a newfound power that was almost palpable. His eyes were fierce and wild, two molten orbs that pierced the blanket of darkness surrounding us.

While wiping his hands, he said, "I've chosen six of them. The first one is Boris Lameer. He used to be a special-forces soldier. He was framed during a mission, but he took away a biochemical weapon with him, and he was hunted down after that. He gave the biochemical weapon to A Country's President. At first, he had reckoned that he could start over and even have a girlfriend, but he was still hunted down by a group of people. His girlfriend ended up comatose in order to save him." "Do you know him?" Joseph asked Waverly. She had no idea about his identity, but she knew about the matter. When Boris had taken away the biochemical weapon, he had worked for Quinn to earn money. However, Boris

“And give her what she needs to feed herself and children.” “You do realize that the merchant is going to tell everyone that a high-ranked wolf bought half his stock, right?” Marcel asked as the two of us walked out. “let him do that.” I said calmly. “I want the food that is within the Petrova territory to reach the people who need them. I don’t care what it would take, pretend that they’re not coming from out grounds, but these people are going to be dying for choices that could have been made for them… and their children shouldn’t suffer because of it.”

Mariana's Pov “Alexandr Radimr Vastlav. Thirty five years old. The newly named Pakhan of the Orekhovskaya OPG. In simple terms, the Crime boss of Bratva. First son of Vladimr Zakone Vastlav.” My slides pad against the floor as I make my way down the stairs, dreading the conversation that I’m about to have with mio padre. “His family and our family haven’t been great friends for years and it unnerves me how a son of Zakone would want to be in business with our family.”

Maybe myself when I’m old. Anyway, I'm Sergei Moreau. A former Boyevik (enforcer) for the Orlovs, now a personal guard to the Pakhan's daughter. Alongside me is Viktor Ivanov — my brother in everything but blood. We stand outside her doors, follow her in the shadows, eat at her table when permitted, and sleep in shifts. This is the life of a guard.

“Let us meet. I have reason to believe we are chasing the same shadow. —Valerian.” Alexandro didn’t hesitate. For the first time in their entire history of cold wars and silent agreements, Valerian had extended a hand—and Alexandro was desperate enough to take it. He mounted his horse and rode fast, the freezing northern winds lashing against him as his guards followed at a distance. No one dared question the urgency in his stride. When he arrived at the fortress near the shared border, Valerian was already waiting—cloaked in dark red, his long hair tied back, eyes sharp but not hostile. There were no guards flanking him, a sign of good faith. Alexandro dismissed his own men and stepped forw

That bond was vibrating like a live wire under his skin. “There he is, ladies and gentlemen—Yaroslav Viktorovich Demidov! Captain of team Russia, Moscow's rising player the only non-magical athlete in the tournament, and easily the most disciplined player on the ice. With him, is his team Volkov Ice Dynasty” Disciplined, wow! It's like a kind word for repressed as hell. Demidov walked in with his team while adjusting his gloves with clenched jaw, slicked-back hair, eyes in permanent murder mode. Even seeing this, Kensington's mouth went dry. And god, he was in trouble.

And that was not something that I had to end, that is, of course, if we were to keep our reign up. “We are going to have to control them, Cosimo. They keep growing stronger, and if this proceeds, then they won’t only target Italy.” Mikhail, one of my Russian partners stated. Though human, the man was stronger than his kind. It was his recessive gene that took over in his case. He couldn’t shift despite being the son of two wolves. A shame for his bloodline. “As if you need to tell me what I already know.” I stated bluntly. The man shook his head at me, and I raised an eyebrow. “You doubt my word.”

Had someone come for Dimitri? Alexei's face darkened. "How many?" "At least twenty, sir," the guard replied. "They are heavily armed." "Who is leading them?" Alexei demanded. "A man named Boris," the guard said. "He says he was one of Mr. Dimitri's lieutenants." Boris. That bastard. "What does he want?" Alexei asked. "He demands to see Mr. Dimitri," the guard explained. "He says he will not leave until he does."