Drift X Brite Bomber Novels & Stories

Drake opened his eyes and his blue orbs pierced into Dillon, making the Beta of the pack shiver because of his cold gaze. “You know what… I hate it when things drift away from what I planned!” Dillon could feel Drake’s anger through his words. He knew something terrible had happened, and he was afraid to ask more about it. Emily might have failed her task for tonight. “My apology about that. It’s my duty to follow—”

“No swerve.” “Wait for the swerve to decide if you trust the driver,” the other replied, and touched the sack like a talisman. Halfway down the market run, one truck slowed a hair too much, drifted a shade too close to a side lane. Jun’s hand rose without words; three militia peeled from shadow and took exactly three steps. The truck’s engine changed its mind. It corrected. Alexander’s voice count-clicked in their ears. “Drone one, lazy circle at our four o’clock. Drone two, holding high. No brain. If they blink, I blink twice harder.”

I say to the cab driver as we pull away. “It’s not a problem, the young lady on the phone explained the situation. If it was my wife and child I'd hope someone would do the same.” The cab driver replies with a friendly smile. I smile in return and Lorie and I sit silently for the rest of the ride back to Draven Manor. Once we are safely inside I phase us both back to the underworld and take Lorie to her room before linking with Victor. As Lorie is taking a bath I step outside her door and explain what had happened today to Victor.

The two fought fiercely, neither willing to back down. Just as their battle reached a life-or-death moment, a fighter jet roared through the sky. From its cabin, a burly middle-aged man leaped down. It was none other than Brightbane Sect's leader, Draven. "Umbra, bring it on! At this point, there's no need to drag this out. Let's finish it quickly." Draven sneered coldly as his voice echoed across the battlefield. Not long after, another fighter jet streaked through the air, diving into the battlefield. Then, Umbra descended gracefully.

Drift asked with great confidence. To Drift, the Brennans were considered the absolute elite of Capital City. "The Brennans who are one of Capital City's Eight Influential Families?" Chase questioned. "So, you do know who the Brennans are. Listen up. I'm Drift Brennan. What do you think now? Scared? I don't care who you are. Apologize to me right now and give me the woman next to you. If you do that, I'll spare your life."

All of it was getting smaller. Getting smaller felt good. The airfield appeared twenty minutes later, small, private, entirely inconspicuous from the road. The jet, however, was not inconspicuous. It sat on the tarmac with the composed authority of something that had never once questioned its right to exist and saw no reason to start. White and dark grey. Clean lines. The Dravyn crest, small and understated near the tail, because apparently, when you reached that level of wealth, you stopped needing to announce it loudly.

Raindrops beaded on his shoulders, glinting like scattered diamonds under the dim lights. "Boss." Drake approached quickly, but there was a noticeable hesitation in his movements. He was trying to hide his right hand behind his back, wincing as he spoke. His face was pale beneath the harsh lights, and a thin sheen of sweat covered his brow. "Apologies, Boss. There was a minor malfunction with the detonator during the breach. My right hand took the brunt of the recoil—cracked a bone. I can't lead the way properly tonight."

My cheeks and lips were a sickly shade of blue, and my skin bore signs of frostbite. I lay there quietly, as if soundly asleep. But everyone could see it was just a dead body. Ava covered her mouth and started to sob out loud. Jamie hid behind Dad, quietly asking, "Dad, what's wrong with Lyra? Why is she lying there? Is she cold?" After Mom was taken to the side, a patrol officer began asking them questions. "When was she left behind at the rest stop?" "Around… 4:00 pm," Dad answered, his throat dry.

The jet sliced through a sky bruised with dawn. No words passed as Damian stepped aboard, just curt nods exchanged between men who already knew. The Drăghici heir had returned to Romania, and blood would follow. The interior of the plane was opulence forged in shadow: dark mahogany panels carved with the wolf crest, embossed leather seats stitched in burgundy thread, and gold accents dulled with age and legacy. Beneath one seat rested a locked weapons case; he didn't need the key. He broke the latch open with his boot and dragged it into the aisle.

Bryant had already jumped out of the car and opened the back door. Britney got out and followed Bryant to the trunk. Raiden shone a flashlight into the trunk, took out a package, and tossed one to Bryant. Then, he retrieved another package and pulled out a pair of sand-colored hiking boots, handing them to Britney. “Put these on.” Without hesitation, Britney took the boots and bent down to remove her casual shoes. Suddenly, a deep rumbling sound echoed from the sky. Britney looked up to see several planes flying overhead against the night sky.