Dzin Rogue Lineage Mga Nobela at Kwento

Another Rogue. Only that this one has no smell.

Atlas’s massive form becomes a wall of fury as he leaps over a fallen pillar to shield me, his claws rending a rogue’s throat in a spray of dark crimson. ​I swing the dagger at a third attacker. Its torso ignites in blinding silver light, the rogue crumpling in a cloud of ash with a dying screech that echoes off the ancient oaks. The dagger’s wrath is lethal, tied directly to my blood—a guardian, just as the visions promised. Aria’s growl is a triumphant blaze that makes my veins sing. ​The remaining rogues hesitate, fear flickering in their compelled, crimson eyes. But then, a low, unnatural horn echoes from the ridges.

Kael grabbed the rogue by the throat and slammed him against the wall hard enough to crack stone. “Who sent you?” The rogue only smiled, blood dribbling down his chin. “You’re already too late.” Kael slammed him again. “Answer me.” The rogue’s eyes slid past Kael, locking onto Lyra. His smile widened, feverish, almost worshipful. “There she is.” Fear twisted in Lyra’s stomach, cold and sharp. The rogue’s voice dropped to a whisper. “The lost bloodline.” Kael’s grip tightened until the rogue choked. “What does that mean?”

Also many self aid techniques. Life in the compound was coming about nicely. Everyone had been getting along nicely and were all enjoying eachothers company. The Rogue camps that were set up outside our territory had moved onto the royals land for safety. Many of them had agreed to join the Blue Rose pack but there were many that were still very leery of the Alphas and would often shy away from everyone. It was extremely clear that many of these women had been through the ringer quite a few times. We had questioned some of the others that had agreed to join why they were Rogues. Though many could not explain it or who said that they had gone through hell. It was hard to understand that many

“It doesn’t matter; you’re mated now. I am happy for you.” “What about you? Have you found a mate?” “I did, when I turned 18. She was older by two years. About a week after we met, there was a rogue attack; she was one of the few who didn’t make it. It all made sense why Dylan hated Owen. It isn’t because of who Owen is; it is because Owen is considered a rogue. Dylan probably blames all rogues for losing his mate. “I am sorry to hear that.” I touched his shoulder and gave a sympathetic smile.

Zander demanded, his voice a dangerous growl. The rogue smirked, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. “You think this is over? It’s just the beginning.” “Answer me!” Zander roared, shaking the rogue. The rogue’s smirk widened. “It’s not just your territory we want, it's her.” Zander froze, his mind racing. Before he could press further, the rogue’s body went limp, his neck snapping as if by an unseen force. Liam stepped closer, his face pale. “What the hell just happened?”

I bit down on my lip, unable to confess that his enemy was the only reason I was still here, still fighting to remain by his side. A look of disappointment, profound and bitter, passed over him, reading my silence as an immediate confirmation that I was working with the Rogue. “It’s about my lineage,” I finally confessed, grasping the nearest half-truth. “I spoke to him once here, when I was alone, and he told me he knew of my family line.” I looked him straight in the eye, pleading for his belief. “He offered to help me discover it. With all the uncertainty, I was just desperate to know.”

The rogue’s claws scraped against my arm, but I pushed it back as my heart hammered in my chest, the scent of its bloodthirst filling the air. I glanced at Davina—her eyes wide with fear as the rogue shifted its attention from me to her. Without thinking, I acted on instinct, throwing myself in front of her. The rogue’s claws grazed me again, this time deep, sending a surge of pain through my body. I pushed back with all my strength, managing to knock the rogue away. But I could feel the darkness creeping in, the pain starting to take its toll. The last thing I heard was Davina's terrified scream before everything went black.

Two warriors flanked the third, driving it backward with coordinated attacks, giving it no room to escape. But Rowan wasn’t finished. Darius burst from behind the fallen tree, larger than the other rogues, eyes burning yellow, fur streaked with dark red. Milo’s blood, Rowan realized, fury surging. Darius lunged first, fast, reckless, fueled by something feral. Rowan sidestepped, slashing Darius’s flank with his claws. The rogue howled, spinning around and snapping his jaws inches from Rowan’s throat. Gamma Holt rushed forward, but Rowan barked an order: He’s mine.

Just wolves who'd run out of patience meeting wolves who'd made the mistake of being the thing in the way. I didn't waste motion. Didn't roar. Just dismantled. The rogues came in coordinated waves—side passages channeling them in controlled numbers, never enough to overwhelm, always enough to keep us occupied. Quite trained. This was choreography, not chaos. A rogue broke past the outer line toward Rhiannon. She didn't shift. Didn't retreat. Just raised one palm, and silver light detonated outward—not soft, not healing, but blinding. The rogue screamed, hands clawing at his eyes. I stepped in and ended it before he hit the ground.