Garroth Ro'meave Novels & Stories

" Rome smirked before closing his eyes, wanting to catch a short breather and maybe dream a little more of Margaux. . . . THE SEA WAS UNRUFFLED as it watched an armored Mercedes pull over a simple four-story building. The palm trees were just as silent when Rome stepped out of his car, letting his assistant drive it to the underground parking lot. The place was visually less appealing than its owner: brick walls, a simple neon sign, and a one-way mirror facing the highway. It was just like any other cheap bar except for the fact that the glass used on it was borosilicate—a bullet-proof material that only God himself could break.

With a defeated sigh, I follow him inside. Thick curtains are draped over the windows, giving the interior a dim lighting. But my eyes still make out the thick walls, made of black stone, with streaks of silver that glint faintly. We pass by iron doors with claw marks etched into them and a wide hallway with glass cases full of weapons—silver-tipped, obsidian-hilted, runes, garrote wires. I stop in shock. A full arsenal is right here. I shake my head. There isn't any record of wars going on. For the past couple of years, the shadow pack has been peaceful.