Gauntlet Heroes Novels & Stories

I knew at that exact moment, she was someone from my rivals or else none of this fucking bastards had the powers to look into my eyes. Out of nowhere, she stretched her arms out to grab the gun from my waist. Thanks to my hard training, I dodged it swiftly, and turned her back in a whip with her hairs. Right at that moment, my eyes zoomed at the traditional tattoo that all members carry in each gang. This woman had a tattoo of broken wings that made my blood boil in rage. Yanked hard by her hair, I growled to let my men know, " Fucking Hell Mateo! She is from Russian Bravta. How the fuck they know about this?"

Halo Noel: Gael is the real hero in this story. MARCH 28, 2013 | 12:46pm — EXT. SILVER RIDGE HEIGHTS. SLATER RESIDENCE. OUTDOOR SHED. DAY. Halo Noel (On Phone): Gael is the real hero in this story. Lucian stands over flat slabs of metal, halfway sawed through. His home workshop is riddled with tools specifically made for metalwork. Even evidence of his projects is strewn about, some half-finished or discontinued. Some are torn apart, parts added to newer inventions.

The heavy blast doors hissed open. Caleb walked in first. He didn't wear his full bipedal armor, just his dark tactical pants and a tight black shirt that left the Sovereign silver-gold runes on his neck and arms exposed. The sheer, suffocating weight of his Alpha aura instantly forced the Grand Marshal to slump forward, gasping for air. Scarlett followed, her midnight-blue combat tunic pristine, the starlight brush spinning casually between her fingers. "You survived," the Grand Marshal choked out, his eyes wide as he looked at Scarlett. "The Guild sent an Erasure Protocol... and you are still standing."

Little T and Coin were sprawled out in the hallway leading to the office. Bulletholes riddled the walls, the liquor bottles behind the bar all shot to hell. Jake stepped over Nitro’s body, the anger raging in his veins. They’d been good men, all of them. Michelle had been their first lady, a woman that had always smiled and looked after all of them. He was beyond pissed off. He was ready to go to war. He pushed the office door open and clenched his fists. ‘Now we’ll take what is ours.’ It was sprawled on a piece of paper on Bandit’s desk. There were only two MC’s that wanted what the Warriors had. The Reapers and the Dogs. One of them attacked the clubhouse. Or both of them.

This isn’t just a party — it’s a goddamn masquerade of killers and liars. Mafia kings, cartel lords, their mistresses, and enemies in disguise. Everyone in here has killed people or sent someone to die. Everyone is armed, even when pretending to flirt. Men with tattoos that tell stories of loyalty and blood. Women with eyes like poison. And me? I’m the ghost they’ve heard of but never seen. I felt the heat of every eye on my ass as I glide through the hall. Good. Let them look. I reach for a glass of champagne from a passing tray and take a sip. Cold.

Silas said rubbing the back of his neck. “And your father is right.” A deep voice spoke. “Whoa!” Silas and Marco said leaning their heads back to look up at the 7 foot 4, 400 lb. wall of muscle smirking down at them. “I’m Royal Delta General Shadow Collins; this is my mate Royal Delta General Jennifer Collins.” He introduced himself and his mate. “Hi, I’m Royal Beta Jyden Hunt.” He greeted them. “Those two over there are the Shadow Twins, Spyder and Spencer Collins, Delta Warriors, and part of the Queens Royal Guards.”

AVA Without another word, Hunter moves swiftly away from the lockers, passing by his two friends whose names I'm guessing are Preston and Gomorey. They had been gawking at Hunter with a mischievous grin playing on their lips, and Hunter didn't waste a chance to shoot them both with his penetrating glare. I noticed their pupils retrench as they stared at him, meaning they were conversing with each other through mindlink. It was brief, lasting a couple of seconds before Hunter turns left and straight down the now-empty halls.

This was a high stakes tug of war with both sides taking the upper hand from time to time. Milton and Azure dragon were calm, they let out deep breaths as they cast spells. The lightning ball had already swallowed up Milton's desert crawler. His two remnant spirits were no more. He felt a presence to his right and swung his battle axe on instinct. It collided brutally against a gauntlet. Surprisingly, the gauntlet was made from wood, but from the feeling it gave him, he would not be foolish enough to think this is regular wood. The gauntlet was covered in thousands of runes; he recognized a few of those runes.

“I know you’re a werewolf, but not one that I know, and I know pretty much everyone in this pack.” Heath shifted into a crouch, the rough tarmac digging into his knee and foot, shivering as the warmth provided by his fur disappeared and his skin pricked with gooseflesh in the cold of the night. He held up his hands. “Health Gale,” he said. “Les Guerriers Sanctifies of Havermouth.” “Heath Gale,” she repeated, the tone of her voice changing. “We’ve met before.” “If you don’t mind,” he gestured to the gun. “I’ll stand?”