Clone Wars Stories Novels & Stories

Few more minutes and I’m still staring something until I fall asleep. *** I was in the dream again but not like a nightmare before or a strange masked man. I don't really see them especially in their faces but I can clearly hear what they're talking about. I saw a man enter a study room naked and wearing only jean. I saw him approach a man sitting at a table and drinking wine. “How is she?” The man asked him. “She’s fine now.” “Is the Andersson Clan attacked her?” “Yes.” “I think we should move fast before they kill her.”

Howard and Clayton were dead—finally. When they hadn’t been able to lose Aurora and her team, they had decided to try to make a break for the jewelry store, using it as cover until they could make their way into the chamber below the floor. They thought they would at least be able to take out the two Hunters and impede the Guardian’s progress enough so that they could get away; they were wrong.

“Actually, there’s something else. Dad’s summoning you home. He wants to see you.” Joyce frowned, her irritation returning. “Dad? Why didn’t he just call me? I have a phone, you know.” “You weren't picking up. And besides, this wasn’t the kind of message you deliver over the phone,” Ambrose said. His tone was more solemn now, and Joyce could feel a weight behind his words. “It’s urgent. Eight of our hunters were killed two nights ago.” Joyce shook her head, letting out a frustrated sigh. “I told you all before, I want nothing to do with this whole ‘hunting wolves’ nonsense. It’s absurd. You all should get a life”

“He said goodism! Good Lord!” Fola scowled at them all. “It's not like we're serial killers or anything.” Still smiling, Gabe walked to Jaz, a basket of crossiants in his hand. “Crossiant?” Because she wanted something to do with her hands, she smiled and reached for one. “Sure. Thank you.” **** “I want my money's worth from you, you know.” Gabe sidestepped her warily and went to the side of the bed. He saw what was laid out on it and startled back a little.

In a flash, Kaymaer was inches away from X’s face, but before he could do anything, a blast of white energy went through his chest. He started to fall to the planet’s surface even he instantaneously regenerated and rushed back at X, only to get beheaded this time. His head grew back immediately, but this time he pulled back and hundreds of thousands of clones pour out of his body, with lightning speed. They surrounded X and lunged at him but he simply slices his hand through the air and they burst into pieces, but it was all a distraction. As the clones float away, Kaymaer is revealed with a tiny orb in his hand.

Dear Readers, From this point, i will continue writing the sequel of the book "The claim of his Claws.." in the same book series as "THE BETA'S CONQUEST.." In this sequel, a part of beta Lance's story will be highlighted after his abandoning of the pack. His struggles from the heartbreak and post traumatic stress disorder that he suffered after his beloved mate died. Will there be another chance for Lance or will he destroy everything coming in his ways? Will he be able to control his dark side or let it go and become a rogue Werewolf wandering in the world.

“You’re right, something really happened and now I just don’t have a way to fix it.” “Oh my God! Wherever you go, trouble follows. Now what?” Declan’s voice was getting a little playful. “Hey man, I’m not playing. I’m really in trouble. Look, because you’re my friend, I’ll tell you a story. Maybe you can help me understand and move on. And maybe even explain myself.” “A story? Whose story?” He was already getting intrigued. “Mine, Declan, mine.” For a few seconds, there was silence. Only the wind was still gently blowing through the flowers in the garden, spreading their fragrance.

he said, his voice a low vibration that hit me square in the chest. The chatter died instantly. He turned around, leaning against the podium, his sleeves already rolled up to reveal the lion etched into his tanned skin. My pulse spiked. I couldn't stop my eyes from tracing the golden outlines of the beast on his arm, remembering the way it seemed to ripple in the moonlight of my subconscious. "The Art of Storytelling is not a solo venture," he began, his almond eyes finally sweeping over the rows. "To understand narrative, you must understand collaboration and the friction of differing perspectives. For the remainder of the semester, you will be working in groups of five."