Dr Thorn Percy Jackson Novels & Stories

And then I saw him. Draven Thorn stood at the edge of the battlefield, his eyes locked onto mine. He was tall and imposing, his dark hair falling in wild waves around his face. His presence was commanding, and even from this distance, I could feel the malevolent power that radiated from him. Our eyes met, and for a brief moment, everything else faded away.

Especially not ones that had the potential to expose secrets they’d buried for decades. I pushed the door open with a flick of my wrist. Inside, Dr. Morrow stood near a table cluttered with files and blueprints, her back turned to me. Opposite her, leaning against the wall in a swirl of shadows, was Blackthorn. “Hyperion,” Blackthorn greeted me with a predator smile “I was wondering when you’d show up.” I stepped inside, my gaze shifting from Blackthorn to the scientist. “You should have stayed out of this Blackthorn,” I said, my voice cold.“This isn’t your fight.”

Because Max Carter—king of ashes and thorns—was still unconscious on the pavement, the rain washing away the blood but not the damage. Not the damage at all.

It was the perfect place for a man who had lost everything to rot. "We have to go to him," I said, turning in Killian’s arms. I looked up into his dark, stormy eyes. "If Dominic is still alive and gathering power, Thorne is our only window into his mind. Thorne spent his whole life trying to please that monster. He knows the rituals. He knows what his father did to his mother."

“That’s not normal. So I started digging into things that aren’t supposed to be normal.” A fresh wave of cold fear slid through me—different from the terror Alpha Victor inspired. This was exposure of a new kind. “Who are you?” I whispered. “Exactly who I’ve always told you I am,” he replied, calm as ever. “Marcus Thorne. Architect. Designer. And, thanks to my family’s history, someone who keeps certain truths.” “Thorne?” Thorne repeated, eyes narrowing dangerously. “As in…?”

“I’ve posted myself at the door – no one goes in or out without your word.” “Good,” Liam said, striding toward the elevator. “If anyone tries to stop me – anyone – you do whatever it takes to keep them away.” The locker room was quiet, lit only by the dim glow of the emergency lights along the floor. Dr. Thorne stood in front of his locker, removing his white coat and folding it carefully over a chair. He was a man in his late fifties, with graying hair and hands that had saved hundreds of lives – hands that were now trembling as he worked.

“Yeah, I guess,” “We talking about Mateball?” Kairos and Maximus snapped their heads up to look at the door to Kairos’s room. Lounging against the door frame was Thorne. His bleach blonde hair had been freshly washed and toned. It stood out against his deep olive skin. He wore thick black rimmed glasses over his honey-gold eyes. “Yeah,” Kairos said. “You going? You taking History of Wolves or The Last Great Queen this year?” “Har, har,” Thorne rolled his eyes. “I’m taking no one. Unlike you two, I’m trying to not piss off the Queen.”

"Whatever you are planning to do, do it fast. The Alpha is running out of patience. And when he decides to act, he won't care who gets hurt in the process." "I understand." "Good." Dr. Thorn moved toward the door, then stopped. "One more thing. There's a teacher at your school. Harrison. Have you noticed anything strange about him?" Jaime's heart skipped, the memory of the black spot and teacher Harrison flickering in his mind. "Why do you ask?" "Because his energy signature has been fluctuating. Coming back inconsistent on our random scans. Like something is interfering with it." Dr. Thorn's expression was grim. "I think he might be infected. Or controlled. Or... I don't know. But keep your

I tried to blink away the tears but their words had cut like a knife. In an instant, Thorne pushed the boy against the locker and placed a hand around his neck. “If we ever hear you or any other low life trash, bad mouth Amara again, we will personally rip each and every one of your throats out.” Thorne’s voice was sharp as the hall went quiet. “Am I fucking clear?” The boy meekly nodded and Thorne released him. He scampered off, holding unto his throat. “What class do you have now?” Draven asked me.

Lucian slumped beside her, his chest heaving as he fought the nausea of the serum-exposure. "Welcome to the Island," a voice echoed through the hangar. It wasn't Julian Thorne. It wasn't the Board. Standing on a catwalk above them was a woman who looked like she had walked out of a 1940s film. She wore a sharp, white lab coat over a silk dress, her hair pinned back in a perfect wave. She looked older than Maya, but younger than a grandmother. "I am Dr. Aris Thorne," the woman said, her heels clicking on the metal stairs as she descended. "Silas Thorne’s sister. And the only person in this family who actually understands how to finish what Arthur started."