Erik Von Detten Brink Novels & Stories

I stared up at him, unsure what to say; time seemed too slow, and despite the people around us, It felt like we were the only two people here. A throat cleared behind us, forcing us to pull our gaze from one another. I looked up at a male with onyx hair and his jawline the same as Damon; in fact, if Damon had his hair, they would almost look loke twins minus the apparent age difference. This male was more rugged around the edges, something that only came with a life of stress and unforgiving heartbreak. King Erik looked so different up close compared to when I saw him at the ball only a month ago. "It would seem we have a change of plans then?" Erik asked, arching his brow, giving Damon a lo

He doesn’t right away- he stares Sam down for what feels like an eternity before I elbow him in the ribs and he returns the handshake. “Brock’s the alpha of the pack in Riverton,” I supply, shifting my gaze from him to Sam uncomfortably. The tension between the two of them is so thick that I feel like I could reach out and grab it. Men and their damn egos. “The same pack that Heidi’s staying with,” I add, looking to Chris. We need a buffer in here, stat! He takes the bait, stepping forward. “Oh yeah? She said the family she’s been staying with is wonderful, been taking good care of her.”

Then Eric bought, renamed it Ostrov Nol the day the papers were signed and had the name carved in Cyrillic into the cliff face at the helipad. The house Single-level brutalist fortress of black concrete and one-way smoked glass perched on the cliff summit. Helipad painted with a blood-red Н (Cyrillic “N” for Nol). 180° fixed ballistic-glass wall facing west into endless Pacific storms. Garage hidden in the rock: his matte-black 1995 Ferrari F50, a snow-white Lada Niva he shipped from Siberia “for the irony,” and a blacked-out Sikorsky S-76 with Н0L tail number. The caretaker is ex-Spetsnaz (silent, 6′7″, lives in the boathouse year-round).