Born Darkly Novels & Stories

The name struck me like a blow to the stomach. The Darkened were myths—rumors of a cadre of ancient fighters, once exiled from the realm, who practiced dark sorcery and flourished in disorder. It was claimed that they were the overlooked warriors of a conflict that had faded into history. Nobody understood their genuine desires, yet the tales were sufficient to instill fear in any rational individual. "You should never have crossed us, Kael," a voice echoed, smooth and eerie. It originated from one of the forms—a towering, authoritative figure who advanced, his visage concealed by a mask of solid obsidian. "The cost of betrayal is high."

It was the first girl we saw, the brown-haired one where her picture was taken in a field. The girl let out a silent tear, her tiny, shaken hands around his arm as she tried to free herself. “Him? Her? Or me?” Dominic questioned, his gun pointing directly to his head. The room was completely empty, the only thing there was the tiny lamp on the ceiling that barely illuminated itself There were no windows, no sign of the outside life. Not even a single ray of the sun. It was completely dark and cold that goosebumps started to form on my skin.

The full moon hovered in the sky like a blade of cold silver, illuminating the ancestral cemetery of the family; a place where only the oldest and most feared monsters of the vampire bloodline had the right to rest… or pretend they did. At the center of it all, Seraphine’s coffin. Tall black candles flickered around it. Rare white flowers, gathered under blood moons and forbidden rituals, covered the dark wood like an insult of purity. And beside the coffin stood Lucian Darkmoor. He did not move. He did not breathe. He did not blink. Dressed in an impeccable black suit, he looked like a statue carved from pain and hatred. But statues do not tremble with contained fury. His eyes, usually two

She can't still pinpoint his category- newborn, master, or elite, other than that he is a vampire. She remembered her eyes before everything had gone black; they are the most beautiful ones she has come across. They are not dull brown or dark brown. It's a balance in between which can only be described as the color of honey. Honey brown that is so light she could see the specks in his eyes.

I reached out and opened the door, revealing the dark office of Julia peters. My heart skipped a beat. I hadn't realised in my fear the day before that the office was unnaturally dark. The only light available was from a lantern at the farthest corner of the room. I thought someone like that should be able to afford to buy thousands of bulbs and chandeliers. I shrugged and looked around the room then I noticed a movement from the corner of my eyes and there she was. Seated in her chair, staring at me. No not me, Roddy.

"It's an immortality spell." She shook her head. "Not likely. Immortality is a myth. You'd have to be a god to do that. Is the darkness a god?" "I don't think so." My eyes shifted through more of the books. They all had one thing in common: the need for a blood relation of the person casting the spell or the person they were summoning. "So, If not immortality, then the darkness must be summoning a Grey. Are they trying to summon my mother?"

They held my funeral on a drizzly day. Francis stood by the grave, decked out in a black suit, black umbrella in hand, his face a mask of nothing. The casket was sealed tight. After a fall from the 18th floor, there was not much left to show, and not even the mortician could work miracles. Nora was at his side in a black dress, her sobs barely a whisper. Bernard loomed nearby, his expression dark as storm clouds. The rest of the clans had shown up, pretending to grieve, but really, they were all watching to see if the Davis family would crumble, if Francis would break.

We didn't let the darkness win. END OF VOLUME ONE

When this happened, it pleased the elder who possessed that Undead greatly. In a large castle with lighting that was as bleak as the land of the Undead, there was such a being: an Undead called Dark Shadow. This Undead was sprawled lazily on the only throne in the entire castle, a throne that was hers and hers alone. Unlike her name, Dark Shadow possessed pale beautiful skin that was uncharacteristic of an Undead. Her blood red eyes had a hint of blue in them, and her beautiful face and lovely curves would have easily deceived one into thinking that she was human like they were. Stretching lazily, she twirled a few strands of her long black hair round her fingers, her lazy eyes conveying a s

Threat materialising from the void beyond reality. The pack felt it immediately. Felt the weight. Felt the hunger. Felt the anger. This Dark was different from Dawn. Colder. Harder. More certain. More convinced that nothing was superior. More determined to prove that existence should be erased. “I am the Second Dark,” it announced. Its voice was ice. Was emptiness. Was absolute conviction. “I have come to correct the First Dark’s mistake. To undo its betrayal. To prove that existence is suffering and nothing is superior. To erase everything and return all consciousness to the perfect peace it should never have left.”