Dorian Wayne Novels & Stories

For once, the ancient manipulator looked genuinely off-balance, his careful plans disrupted by variables he hadn't anticipated. "I absolutely can," I said. "I'm the Alpha. My word is law. And my word says that traitors answer for their crimes." Guards grabbed Varyn's arms. He didn't resist. He was too smart for that, but the fury in his ancient eyes promised this wasn't over. That he'd find some way to turn this situation to his advantage, given time. Which was exactly why he wouldn't be given time. Dorian, meanwhile, had collapsed to his knees. Not in submission or respect, but because his legs finally gave out under the weight of terror and defeat.

He slipped the black invitation into his coat pocket, turned, and began walking toward the heavy iron doors that led out of the underground arena. He didn’t look back at Jaxon. He didn’t look back at her. And for the first time in years, Dorian Gates walked away—not as a pawn, not as a son desperate to please—but as something far more dangerous. A man who had nothing left to lose… and no one left to fear.

“It won’t stop. It will recover, it will evolve, and next time… you might not be so lucky.” Kai’s jaw clenched. “And what? You want to help us?” The man’s eyes gleamed. “Let’s just say I have a vested interest in how this all plays out.” Sasha didn’t trust him. Not for a second. “Who are you?” A long pause. Then, finally, he gave a slow, almost mocking bow. “You may call me Dorian.” The name sent an uneasy shiver through her. Kai stepped forward, his voice dangerous. “Why are you really here?”

A pair of leather shoes, long legs of black pants, and a black shirt…my gaze moved further to rest on pink lips left out under the black mask he wore. Who exactly was he? His rare gold colored eyes pierced through my being, and in that moment it felt as though I was bare. My nipples stirred under my wet dress, making things even worse than they already were. “Prince Darion,” The attendants chorused, their heads dropping, unable to look at the man as though he was a plague. Or perhaps someone of high status –pretty evident from his temperament. I clenched my jaw hard, feeling the swell on my cheeks. It still hurt from last night…if not even worse.

I leaned against the wall, keeping my voice low. “Cocky as ever,” Reid said. “The beating of the other day really rattled him up but it seems he’s healed already. Do you want me to rough him up again?” I gritted my teeth. “I said keep an eye on him not launch a WWE tournament.” “You told me to keep him on edge,” Reid countered. “Consider it done. He’s weak, Dalton. Perfect pawn material. I closed my eyes, anger churning deep. Perfect. Just like his father — arrogant, blind, too busy playing Alpha to see the knife coming.

Dorian woke up alone in a rotting shack with nothing and no one. He was still sitting on the floor when the door came in. A dozen FBI agents in tactical gear, weapons drawn. "Dorian Fontaine. You are under arrest for international arms trafficking, money laundering, and first-degree murder." The night before his trial, my father went to see him. Through thick bulletproof glass, Don Morretti sat down and looked at the ruined thing across from him. "Before this is over," my father said, "there's something I want you to know."

But then again, the woman did kill my men… “I take it that you’re letting go of your morals?” Daria asked, taking sight of me as I ran my finger over one of the daggers. It was a present from her years ago, and though she cheated, and we broke up, I never really had the heart to get rid of it. I knew that it was a valuable present from her, and that was why I was sure to keep it safe with everything that I had.

With Miguel's return to the room, the two could come across two guys standing at his door, one with brown hair in a well-aligned haircut, a shaved beard and standing with his hands in his pockets while the other was talking super excitedly, gesturing a lot. This one had dark blond hair combed back. As Miguel approached the duo, he put his hand on Catherine's shoulder, making her look at him a little scared at first. His hand was warm, and he had to take a step to his side, which made her smell his wonderful scent. It was Miguel's perfume, with a woody odor that matched perfectly with his lumberjack style. The trance in her mind was broken when she heard him introduce her.

He had said he was going to college, but in reality, he went underground as a hacker. Dorian was a big bear of a man, and he could hack into things others wouldn't dare try. Not only could he hack, but he also had people working for him that were the muscle that made people disappear. Dorian typically used his skills to steal from the rich to give to the poor; he saw himself as a Robinhood. If someone got close to finding out or turning him in to the police, they were never heard from again.

Her presence steels my nerves. We reach the clearing. The cave yawns open like a hungry mouth, and the enemy waits. Rogues. Dozens. No masks. No mercy. They form a living barricade around the cave mouth like sentries of hell. And Dorian stands among them. He looks different. Taller. Pale. Something… inhuman. “You’re late,” he drawls. “Touch him and you die,” I bark to my warriors. “He’s mine.” Dorian raises the perfume vial and sprays it across his neck like it’s cologne, not corruption.