Grand Master Varka Novels & Stories

One of their colleagues sarcastically said from the side, “All right, Canna, why are you provoking the trash? He probably just brought two bags of fruits at most. Why? Are you hoping that he’ll also give you a bottle of wine from Serene Winery? “Okay, quit talking nonsense. Hurry up and uncork the wine. I can’t wait to take a sip.” Jarek stood up. “Okay, let me open the wine bottle and let all of you take a sip.” He reached out to open the box. However, just as he opened the box, Jarek was stunned. Hold on… Why was it a Grandmaster? Jarek remembered that he had asked his friend to buy a bottle from the Elite series. Why had a Grandmaster been delivered? Did they send the wrong one? Before he

“Elysia greets the Grandmaster.” As one, the rest echoed: “The Gods of War greet the Grandmaster!” The man before them — tall, composed, and carrying the weight of heaven itself — was none other than Quintan, the Grandmaster of Somerland. He had arrived without sound, without warning, as if he had simply appeared from the ether. Quintan’s sharp gaze lingered on the dark clouds above before falling on the broken form of Danial. His expression was unreadable. He lifted his hand, releasing Raiden from the invisible hold, and nodded faintly.

The cult's acolytes were kneeling, as always, their shaved heads bowed, mouths moving in that low hum that sent a wave of unending goosebumps covering my skin, making the walls vibrate in response. In the center of the spiral, Varek reclined on the steps of his altar, robes spilling around him like spilled ink. His smile met me before his eyes did. “Lila,” he purred, voice a velvet drawl that slid under my skin. “Tell me, milady, should I be flattered or frightened by this visit of yours?” “The boy you sent to Blood Nest was vanquished by Rune.” I gritted out. “You should be ashamed, Varek.”

In my ignorance, I had somehow turned a gesture of peace into a supreme, heretical insult to a werewolf’s ancestors. "She will learn respect to the bloodline," Halvar snarled, his voice deep, distorted, and dripping with saliva. "Or I will tear it out of—" Varul exploded out of his chair. His movement shattered the gravity in the room. His chair scraped violently against the stone floor like a clap of thunder. The temperature in the Great Hall plummeted to zero.

Alexei asked again, and the smoke loosened just enough for the man to speak. "Vy... Vyborg..." The answer came weakly, dragged out by force. "The... outskirts of Vyborg... forested region..." "Name." Alexei pressed, and the smoke tightened again. "Kres... Krestov... an... old... reformatory..." The Grand Master coughed blood, his body destroyed but still alive, and Alexei stared at him for a long moment, his violet eyes glowing. The smoke did not retreat; it remained there, rippling around his body like a living extension of his rage, and the Grand Master collapsed against the chair, utterly drained.

Said the troll elder as he moved forward towards the rolling rocks. While Tia was still looking at the trolls rolling down the hill, roots from and trees uprooted. While she was still looking at that they covered the whole house covering every opening there was. “Bloody Matias!” said Tia irritated, Matias was one of the powerful wizards from the North, he was stubborn and always believed in conspiracy theories. She was not surprised that he was swayed by the seer, the man is good with words.

"Such a mess, princess." "Sorry," Verna blushed deeply, the arousal and passion too much. When he called her princess, she knew she was in for a good hard fucking. Her toes curled in anticipation. "Don't be sorry, princess," Mr. Chairman smiled. He pressed his lips to her forehead, his beard scraping along her skin. "I love how responsive to me and our games." He pressed his forehead against hers, looking into her eyes with a soulful gaze. "Are you ok? It wasn't too much?"

His white beard was frozen with rime, and his scent was overwhelming—stale blood, wet dog, and the bitter, sharp ozone of an alpha whose dominance was being tested. "You played with fire on the mainland, Queen Natalia," Varga sneered, halting five paces away. He didn't bow. He looked down at her, his lips peeling back to reveal thick, yellowed fangs. "You burned his docks. You stole his winter bread. And you think you’ve won us a war?"

Of course he did, I lowered my eyes to my lap so they wouldn’t see the hatred flicker briefly across my face, hatred itself was dangerous, the Mothers said bitterness poisoned a woman’s spirit, but lately I felt poisoned already. Two months ago, the Master summoned me to his private study after evening prayer. I still remembered every detail, the smell of incense, the heavy silence, the guards outside the door and him, Gabriel Vane. The man everyone worshipped like a prophet, he was old enough to be my grandfather, perhaps older, no one actually knew his real age because nobody dared ask questions about the Master, but whispers among the older women claimed he was already in his sixties, his

Verik smirks. “Don’t you just love it when a fucking plan all comes together? Huh, brother?” Varion chuckles as he watches his brother. “You know what I love most about this? I love that Myra never cowered, just like Vasseria. That’s what made it more fun to break her and figure out how the hell she is healing those wolves from the canix,” Verik says, standing up.