Cassian Novels & Stories

“And you didn’t see her stop herself, did you? You didn’t see her spare them.” “Because you weren’t there to stop her from going further,” Ronan snapped. Before Vale could reply, another voice cut through the tension. “Gentlemen, please,” Cassian drawled, stepping out from behind a tree with his usual lazy smirk. “You’re scaring the girl. And honestly, it’s too early for this level of testosterone.” He was all sunlight and mischief even in the half-light of dawn, golden hair tousled, shirt half-buttoned. But his eyes — sharp amber — darted between them, serious beneath the charm.

I would remain upright while my heart pounded and my mind weighed between threatening and hopeful possibilities. The first to break his intense stare at me was the warrior whose forearms displayed fiery tattoos that seemed alive. I would soon learn his name was Cassian from those who whispered legends about him. His appearance embodied war itself through sharp angles and resolute strength while his towering stature commanded a presence that made the surrounding air tremble. He possessed golden eyes that radiated fierce intelligence and a predator’s keenness while simultaneously expressing both curiosity and a challenge.

“Everything just seems to be shattering around me, Franco.” Then another voice cut through the air, laced with venom, loud enough to make my wolf bristle instantly. “A traitor like you shouldn’t even have the courage to set foot here. Don’t you have any shame?” Franco and I turned toward the source of the voice. Cassian. Standing shirtless in the doorway, his glare was pure fire, his tone thick with fury.

We let the silence speak first. His men collapsed one by one—tranquilizers, not bullets. Every breath was a countdown. Every heartbeat, an omen. And then we found him. Cassian. Slumped in a high-backed iron chair, swirling his wine with a hand far too calm for the storm around him. Behind him, a crimson curtain. Above him, an antique chandelier. A madman still clinging to his stage. As we entered, he looked up. Smirked. “Well, well, well,” he drawled, rising with the arrogance of a ghost who believed he couldn’t die. “Such an honor to stand in the same space with a distinguished warlord of the underworld. It’s my pleasure, Your Highness.”

he continued, completely ignoring my threat, “I’m actually surprised.” My brows furrowed despite myself, “That Sylas didn’t tell you the truth.” he continued, My heart stuttered, and my fear returned, greater than ever, “What truth?” I asked in a quieter voice, He stepped back slightly, giving me a little space, but somehow his movements made it worse. He watched me for a long moment, like he was savoring the moment, then, his lips curved slightly, “My name,” he said slowly, almost pleasantly, “is Cassian.”

The water in his bowl was bone dry. My guard dog. The one who had been with me for years. A gift from Cassian on my sixteenth birthday. He was gone. I spun around and ran back to the main house. For the first time ever, I burst into Cassian's study without being announced. He was on the phone. He frowned when I stormed in. "Where is Ombra?" I asked, my voice trembling. He said, "I'll call you back," into the phone and hung up. His eyes, cold and distant, landed on me.

He didn't even look up at me. I stood, said goodnight, and started for the tower stairs. Only then did he finally notice. "Wait. Are we out of moon-wine?" Cassian’s voice dripped with displeasure. "Or are you too stingy to spare a glass for your other mate?" Where his brother was quiet and stoic, Cassian was a primal beast—violent, untamed, and vicious. "Useless human. Can't you do one simple thing right?" That was just him. Cruelty was his language.

“Sorry to say, but you have the survival instincts of a fart.” My eyes narrow, heat flaring in my chest. He flashes his palms. “Before you chop my head off, how about I introduce myself? I might change your mind.” “I'm not counting on it.” He chuckles, a deep rumbling sound that sparks a low hum in my belly. “I'm Cassian. Cassian Cross.” Of course he'd have a hot name. It's evident in the soft pout of his lips and the heat of his stare. “So…who's the lucky guy?” His jaw tightens, eyes on my fingers.

Cloaked. Unarmed, visibly. He was escorted up through the fortress and into the war chamber, dripping seawater across polished stone floors. I stood at Dominic’s right when the stranger entered. He removed his hood slowly. Silver hair streaked with dark. Sharp features. Eyes like cold steel. “I am Lord Cassian of the Western Coalition,” he announced calmly. Dominic did not offer a seat. “There is no Western Coalition.” “There is now.” Silence stretched. Cassian’s gaze moved briefly to me.

Less amused and more honest. “Yes.” he whispered, lowly. “Then tell me who you are.” I pressed, stepping closer. For the very first time since his arrogant way of speaking, he hesitated before answering. “My name is Cassian.” he started. The name settled strangely like it belonged somewhere older than memory. It wasn’t unfamiliar but just… heavy. “I was what you are becoming,” he continued. “You keep saying that.” I uttered, as cold slid through me. “Because it remains true.” he answered.