Novelas y relatos de Damien Wayne

It was war smelling the mate bond. I thought the bond was dead. “You smell like power now,” he growled. “Like storms and the moonlight. What really happened to you?” I stood tall, refusing to hide my body. “I survived. I was what you tried to kill.” Damon’s jaw dropped. For the first time, I felt pain appear right in his eyebrows. “I was wrong, Annie. Cassandra lied to me. I only allowed pride and fear to make me throw away the best thing in my life… my coming Luna.”

_*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> I've met him exactly twice — once at Ryan's birthday party two years ago, and once at their family's Fourth of July barbecue last summer. Both times, I could barely look at him without blushing. Both times, I went home and touched myself thinking about what it would be like to have him instead of his little brother. _*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> Damien is everything Ryan isn't. _*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> Where Ryan is soft and boyish, Damien is hard and masculine. Where Ryan is five-foot-nine and slight, Damien is six-foot-three and built like a man who spends his mornings in the gym. Where Ryan has a face you forget the moment he leaves the room, Damien has a jaw that could cut glass and

a deep baritone voice resounded from behind him and he was quickly towered by a masculine man with a rather cold look on his face. “Damien, what are you doing here? I thought you left after the dinner?” he asked. Damien is the world’s youngest Major General. He is also the eldest son of his Uncle, Asael Knoxx, and his wife Kirsten Knoxx. His uncle had three children with Kirsten and another daughter, Aria Pendragon, with his ex-fiance, Athalia Pendragon.

Alana gulps before uttering the words that shock each one of them to the core. “His real name is Austin Jones of the Black Onyx Pack.”

While Gale is walking across the course at a speed that a sloth could overtake her, Damien and I try, and fail, to imitate the sound Cain made just now, stopping when he shoots us a look that lets us know how much he's not enjoying our joke. "He's a bit up and down, isn't he?" I whisper to Damien when we climb down to the forest floor and wait for the others to make their way across. "Like, he was being all jokey and flirty one minute, then the next he's all moody and serious."

“-like yourself. You're young, harmless, and easily taken advantage of. You stink of mortality. Underworlders won't be able to resist. I, however, exude power-” “-ful odors.” Damien burst out laughing at my interjection. “I exude power, you wretch.” “The stench of death? Is that why you have no friends? Because you smell like roadkill?” “You're insufferable,” he said. “At least I'm not the root of all suffering.” “I think you two might need counselin',” Damien observed.

Hatred and anger was swimming in the depth of his eyes. Damien was Zander uncle and Zander's father cousin. Damien was seventeen when he tried to kill Zander's father, Dimitri for throne. Zander's grandfather and wolf council banned Damien to be a part of any pack . Damien became a part of rogues. Damien had always been cruel, greedy and ruthless bastard. He wanted to become the most powerful among the supernatural creatures. Damien challenged and killed the king of rogues and became their ruler. All his life he tried to find Selene's descendent to become more powerful. He destroyed pack after packs , killed so many people for his greed.

That's make-believe, myth, movies, and books. Okay, Mark, slow down. Then what else could it be? It has to be; no matter how improbable, if all other facts fit, then that has to be the answer. Wasn't that what another fictional character had said? Close to it anyway. Damien was a werewolf. But he wasn't running around killing people, or tearing them apart on the full moon. Wait, when's the full moon?

“You’ve been carrying your own pain in silence since your sire. Talk to us.” Damien stared at the opposite wall for a long moment, crimson eyes distant. The elegant, cold vampire rarely showed vulnerability. But after watching Kael shatter and Serena burn her mother-figure twice, something inside him cracked. “I wasn’t always like this,” he said quietly. Damien’s Story “I was turned in 1897. London. I was twenty-four, the youngest son of a powerful aristocratic family. My father wanted me to join the military. My mother wanted me in politics. I wanted neither. I wanted freedom.”

I internally ask myself why he’s standing there like that without an umbrella. Damien doesn’t answer my question right away. He stops few steps away from me and studies me for a moment under the rain and shakes his head. He goes ahead to push his wet hair backwards with both hands before pulling out a box of cigarette from his leather jacket , he opens the full box, takes out a cigarette, places it between his lips and then throws the box away. He takes out a lighter and lights the cigarette. He takes a small drag, drops the burning cigarette on the wet ground and steps on it. I don’t know why I found that move insanely sexy. He holds my gaze before speaking