Brandon Stark Novels & Stories

My stepmother’s breath hitched, but she quickly smoothed her hair, her mask sliding back into place. Brandon skidded into view, eyes darting from the scratch on my face to the blood on my arm, then to her standing a little too calmly in the wreckage of the study doorway. “What happened?” His voice cracked, panic rising. I swallowed, chest burning. “She’s been helping him, Bran. She’s with Drake.” Brandon’s face drained of color, and for once, there were no words. Just silence, heavy and sharp as glass, hanging between the three of us.

It ignites a rage within me that I dare not unleash for my own plight. When I shift my focus to his adversary, I understand why he believes that hope is gone. “It required five men to subdue the large one,” Lord Marius informs my father. “He took down three of them. He’s not very talkative, but we suspect he’s one of the alphas—likely from the Midnight Clan. Quite an impressive specimen, wouldn’t you agree?” The larger male embodies the essence of the untamed and rugged mountains from which he must have originated. He stands tall, with a pronounced jawline, and his muscular physique appears as if it has been sculpted from stone.

I looked down at him from up the stairs, Arrogant as ever, with that smug smile stretched across his lips, the one that used to send chills down my spine but now just made me want to slap it off his face. “Well, well,” he said, taking in the grand entrance with mocking awe. “The mighty Bloodfang estate. Not bad. Very… gilded cage.” I didn’t move. “What do you want Brandon? What are you doing here?” Brandon chuckled. “Relax, little omega. I come in peace.” He took a slow step forward, his eyes sweeping over me with lazy interest. “I heard about your… promotion. From pack reject to the fake Luna of the most feared Alpha on the continent. Quite the fairy tale huh.”

They still saw me as a wealthy outsider, a problem brought in by the Alpha. One fighter in particular didn't hide his disgust. His name was Brandon. He was tall, built like a brick wall, with short dark hair and a nasty scar running down his left cheek. He tossed his practice blade into the dirt and wiped the sweat from his forehead, marching straight over to where I stood. He didn't stop until he was standing right in front of me, using his large shadow to block the sun from my face. "You have a lot of nerve standing here watching us bleed, princess," Brandon said, his voice loud enough to echo across the entire yard.

She reached out, unlatched the heavy brass bolt, and pulled the door open. Standing right outside in the dim hallway was Brandon Blackwood. He stood draped in his tailored black overcoat, his broad frame blocking the light from the corridor. His dark, smoldering eyes glanced past Robin’s shoulder, taking in the sight of Dane weeping on the floor in sheer agony. Brandon didn't look surprised. A slow, dangerous, highly satisfied smirk touched his handsome face. "Need me to dispose of him, Little Soldier?" Brandon asked softly, his deep baritone vibrating through the hall.

Regaining my composure, I said, “Why would he lie?” “Michael Howe, our alpha?” Brandon repeated, as if tasting the words. He held out his hand. “I’m Elder Brandon Stewart, Alpha. I am curious though, why would you agree with her, seeing as your family has held a no-tolerance policy against rogues for many years.”

What did she want from me? My dad's name is Chansey Slate, he is Beta to our Alpha, Brock Landon. My father is married to Rebecca Slate, and I have a brother named Tyler, who is my twin. We look like complete opposites. I have dark brown hair, his is raven black, which I envy, to be honest. He's darker-skinned toned than I am. He's extremely well built, meaning he's super muscular for his age, since he is always working out! And I mean working out all the damn time, just like his arrogant best friend, Blake.

I must have been thirteen and still figuring out my feels for Landon. I turn back around, as I hear the click of the door. Landon stared at me, eyes no longer that warm brown colour I love, but cold and coal black. I have never seen him like this, but I have heard that Alpha's can get angry. This was more unnerving, because I could see the livid anger brewing under his skin.

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” My hungry gaze trails her curvy frame, failing to move past her chest. The deep V cut of her dress sends a tingle to my groins, her nipples poking the satin material like two beady dots have my tongue wetting my lips. This gorgeous woman belongs to me. Elna Amahle Stark. I spin her in a slow circle, eyes ravaging her backside. She grows hotter everyday and I’m just plain old Brandon. How the hell am I keeping up?

The fact that a bodyguard watches Turkish movies is more surprising. “Of course.” Eren wobbles, his mouth full with popcorn. “Which season is it?” “Last on.” I reply shortly, observing him while his eyes are plastered on the screen. Even while eating like a monkey he looks so cute. “So.” He swallows everything in his mouth and looks at me. “Delena or Stelena?” Easy question. “Delena.” I choose surely. He raises a brow. “Because?” “Uh.” I trail off, mentally preparing my script. “Damon lits up a fire in Elena. He makes her feel alive, passion and different. They have a strong chemistry and together they are intense.”