Dark Haired Elf Novels & Stories

“Try again.” I looked closer at his features. He had a tall strong build, and his face was much younger then I remember. A pair of deep green eyes looked back at me, but I remember the Dark Alpha had brown eyes. His short black hair was styled differently than the Dark Alpha, like a young Henry Cavill. His face was smooth of any facial hair which actually made him pretty darn handsome. If I wasn’t kidnapped and didn’t already have the perfect mate, I would have considered him a contender in the dating pool. If I actually was allowed to date.

(Angelina) Angelina shows the inside of her tight skinned combat uniform, revealing her tanned chest that has the Maiden unit tattoo. “A dark Elf is a race that usually lived in the coldest and darkest environment..it was simply their nature…instead if they were on the desert…that might be dangerous for them…hohoho”. (Alfred)

As he thought of yelling for them to keep quiet, his aid barged into the tent, “Your highness, they’ve arrived with the prince.” Prince Lumiere smirked and got up. Pulling on a robe, he looked at the women on the bed. “Wait for me.” He walked out of the tent covered in only a robe that hung over his shoulders. Making his way to the border, the dark elves parted a way for him. Prince Licht was staring in awe as he waited. The dark elves were fascinating indeed. Black hair, black nails, black clothing. It was only those traits that made them different. Their eyes were a variety of colours.

A shimmer of moonlight on steel. Elira’s dagger was in her hand instantly. “We’re not alone.” Figures emerged from the shadows—tall, cloaked, their eyes glinting like stars. Their movements were silent, precise, deadly. Elves. One stepped forward, lowering his hood. His hair was gold as wheat, his features sharp and cold. His gaze swept over Kaelen before settling on Elira. “Liraethiel,” he said, voice like steel wrapped in velvet. “You’ve broken exile.”

Standing over the twitching carcass was a man who looked like he had stepped out of a fragment of a dream I wasn't supposed to have. He was tall, with the lean, lethal build of a MoonShadow Elf, his silver-white hair tied back in a warrior's queue. Two black horns curved back from his temples, the mark of a high-caste warrior from the border kingdoms. His eyes were the same color as mine, but sharper, colder, and currently bleeding with a frantic, desperate protective rage that made my chest ache with a recognition I couldn't name. My head throbbed. A jagged shard of memory flared white-hot in my mind, one that didn't belong to the Rina from the modern world.

When I saw her hugging the amber-eyed wolfman and going as far as to act coy, I knew that she'd been reborn alongside me. Said wolfman, Morgan Nightshade, stood at around six feet and six inches tall. His upper body was bare, leaving his muscles and the bloodstains on them in full view. In our past life, Charlotte had been so frightened by the sight of him that she'd hurriedly backed away. Instead, when she'd seen the tall, well-proportioned, pointy-eared elf with a gentle temperament—Elwin Duskwood—she'd grabbed his hand and refused to let go no matter what.

“I’m heir-apparent to the McCrory Coven, and we control the Baelic realm.” Despite the chill going down her spine, North rejected the demonstration. “That has to be some kind of trick. An optical illusion and nothing more.” Orin stepped forward next, pushing the long black hair behind his ears and down his back. The gesture revealed pointed ears. “I’m Orin Aelfryck, a dark elf of the Fae realm.” She arched her brow in skepticism. “That can be makeup and prosthetics. What’s your magic power, dark elf?”

There were no longer any blood wolves, just me. The door creaked and for the first time, the door opened. I lazily turned my head to the side and looked at the door. A man walked in with another man a few steps behind him. The first man was older with a white beard, short white hair, and deep red eyes. The other man was slimmer, taller with lavender eyes, amber eyes and scarlet hair. They were both dressed the same way but with different colours. They wore wool tunics over leather breeches and calf-length boots. What gave them away was the pointy ears and grey skin. Dark elves.

His posture as he fell eliminated the impact. "JA" showing a proud expression with a thumb up, his words along with a smile denoted great self-confidence. Zark could swear he saw a gleam come out of his smile. He was a young man brimming with energy. His white hair moved along his shoulders reflecting his surroundings. The blue color of his pupils made his eyes sparkle like those of an outgoing rogue. His long, pointed ears and grayish skin revealed that he was a Drow, better known as Dark Elves, a relative of the High Elves and Wood Elves.

“If something intelligent is pushing from the other side, brute force won’t hold forever.” Fenrir studied me carefully. “You’re changing.” “Learning,” I corrected. “There’s a difference.” A ripple of energy passed through the grove. From between the trees stepped a figure cloaked in pale green light. The figure was tall, graceful, unmistakably an elf. His hair was silver, braided with living leaves. His eyes were sharp, ancient, and very aware. He bowed to Fenrir first. “My prince,” he said. “You return at last.”