Romans & histoires Cinders Of A Lord

I roared inside my mind. But how had I missed it? His arms were massive columns of solid muscle, veins branching like rivers beneath sun-hardened skin. Dark tattoos began at his fists and climbed his arms until they vanished beneath his leather armor, reappearing on his neck as obsidian runes that seemed to pulse with every breath he took. He was the living image of a god of war and ruin.

~~~ The Pure-Hearted Princess and the Kiss of Darkness Book 5 of the Rossi Legacies Coming end of 2023…

Many crawlers around us are all killed but there are still so many. But Enrique isn’t done. He turns towards the spot where Dad had fallen. With one flick of his wrist, the crawlers that are gathered there incinerate the moment his fire touches them, leaving Dad’s body lying beneath them. I lower my shield, rushing over to Dad’s bloody body. “Dad!” But before I even reach him, I can see Enrique’s flames burning up the darkness that oozes from Dad’s body. There’s a lot. Because Lycans hold darkness…

Her iridescent violet eyes gleamed with a terrifying, predator-like focus in the dim blue firelight. "Grand Commander," Lord Cassian’s voice rasped from the shadows, echoing off the damp stone walls. "The Council has reviewed your reports regarding the infiltration of Lord Gorgon’s estate. You claim the weapon manifests were destroyed in the explosion detonated by the Shattered Alliance. Yet, our intelligence suggests a high-ranking Lycan signature was present in the very same corridor you occupied."

Susan 's POV: Startled by the vivid dream, I'm abruptly jolted awake. The dampness between my legs serves as a tangible reminder of how my body responds to these forbidden fantasies. I can't shake his face from my mind—those captivating eyes, those lips that brought both pleasures and torment to my senses. "This is sheer madness," I whisper in despair, seeking solace in reciting the Lord's prayer. Waking up repeatedly due to these haunting dreams has become exhausting, and I long for a reprieve.

Golden arrows slowly emerged, timidly trying to chase away the shadows of the night. The great fire disc made its appearance. First, it emerged as a red line growing wider and wider until it rose victorious into the angelic blue sky, ready to stretch its arms over the whole earth. It tamed its color slightly, becoming comforting as it shyly soaked up the night frost with which you would think it was soothing its own color.

Candice dropped her spoon into her bowl, it seemed she was not going to eat anytime soon. "Why did you want to capture me? What did I do to any of you?" She inquired. "You are an insignificant human, it is your mate Wayne we were really after," she paused and muttered under her breath "Such a difficult man to overcome." Candice watched her, then whispered low "Hey Luke, do you know who this annoying lady is?" "She is Zipporah, the evil sorceress that took my vocal cords," his words floated to her ear. Though his cords had fully regenerated, he still preferred talking to her with his mind.

“Thanion, Lord of the Underworld, Master of Shadows, Keeper of—” “Get to the point, Zeus.” Thanion’s voice cut through the air like a blade, his patience visibly wearing thin. Zeus chuckled again, unperturbed, and gestured around the room. “You know, for someone who claims to hate their title, you’ve certainly embraced the aesthetic. The torches, the black marble, the... ambiance.” He waved a hand toward the spectral woman, who rolled her eyes and vanished into a puff of smoke, leaving the faint scent of lilies in her wake.

“They’ll burn you to ashes... I’m sorry... Really and really sorry...” smirked Virando intensely cynically. Virando swung his hand again. The seven rainbow candles met one another in the center point. They created such a hugely as well as massively blazing flame. The flame soon burnt the soldiers, fighters as well as generals from West Medicine Land to dark grey ashes. “Aaaarrgggghhhkkk!!!” All the soldiers’, generals’ as well as fighters’ tenor eight-octave squealing and squeaking were audible first before all of them were finally burnt to their quietuses, merely leaving their dark grey ashes.

The consigliere—a thin, silver-haired man named Russo—watched me like I was a puzzle he was trying to solve. Halfway through the main course, a young soldier came to Dante's side and murmured something. Dante's expression didn't change. But his hand tightened on my leg. "What is it?" I asked. "Nothing. Stay here." He rose and left the room. I counted to ten. Then I followed. Dante was in the corridor outside, speaking in rapid Italian to a man I didn't recognize. I caught fragments—"Abate," "warehouse," "ambush"—before he noticed me and fell silent.