Grimgar Of Fantasy And Ash Books Novels & Stories

Dark. Intricate. Not ink. Not entirely. Something older. Something that doesn’t belong on human skin. My breath catches. Because I’ve seen it before. Not like this. Not fully. But pieces of it. Fragments. Etched into old books. Spoken in warnings. Taught to pups who were expected to lead one day. My hand stills. My gaze locks onto it. “What… is that?” Nyxara moves instantly. Too fast. She grabs my wrist and shoves my hand away from her, stepping back in the same motion, putting distance between us again.

I run my hands along the shelves, searching for a grimoire that might contain the tracking spell I need, until I finally find a heavy book, its worn leather cover etched with enchatress symbols with a chilling precision. It takes me some time to find the right page, the words in an ancient language dancing before my eyes, difficult to understand. My heart races, and there's a lurking fear that I will fail. I'm not used to tapping into this side of my gifts, and every powerful spell I attempt drains a significant part of my strength. But this time, I cannot hesitate. “Majesty, are you sure about this? We could call the queen and…” Asher suggests, his hesitant tone reflecting the tension in th

"This is far from typical werewolf bonding or any relationship dynamics I've read about. Even for magical entanglements, this is... unprecedented." As we spoke, Gray scribbled notes on a pad, his expression like a man piecing together a particularly complex puzzle. Finally, he stood up and walked over to one of his bookshelves, filled with antique volumes that seemed as ancient as the wisdom they contained. He scanned the spines before pulling down a book that looked older than time. Flipping through its delicate, aged pages, he stopped at an intricate triangle illustration and placed the book in front of me. The triangle was surrounded by symbols resembling a blend of arcane runes and somet

The anchor that keeps three broken men from drifting too far out to sea. So hearing Gray dismiss Ashley like she's nothing to him? That pisses me off. The guy was ready to ride into the sunset with Christine—an ice-cold, calculating bitch who damn near destroyed him—and now, because she burned him, he thinks it's okay to treat Ashley like shit.

As if noticing my curious glances, Lucan leaned closer and explained, “That’s a Graveborn. They call themselves Necromancers.” I frowned, studying the man in question. At first glance, he looked human but the details betrayed him. His eyes glowed a deep crimson, and when he spoke, sharp fangs flashed briefly. I would’ve taken him for a vampire, but his skin wasn’t pale like the ones I’d met before; instead, it held a faint gray tint, like ash brought to life.

He smirked the moment he saw me, that kind of smirk that never reached his eyes. “Well, look who crawled back,” he said, voice slick and playful. “You sure you’re still one of us, Ash? ’Cause word is, you’ve been getting soft.” I ignored him and kept walking. He followed like a shadow that wouldn’t quit. “I’m just saying,” he went on, “Griff’s losing faith. Man needs soldiers, not saints.” “I’m not here for a sermon,” I replied, grabbing a beer just to keep my hands busy. My fingers shook around the bottle. I hated that he noticed.

Helen's whisper grazes my ear: “Miss Smith… nothing to fear. He’s a madman.” Her hands grip mine, iron-cold, holding me steady as the bodyguard beside me growls, low and warning. “Go away.” I force myself to breathe, to steady my limbs. No, Jenny. You can’t be afraid. Not yet. Forcing my eyes upward, I see the man in front of me, a nightmare made flesh. Wild, tangled hair falls over a face drained of sleep. His eyes are raw, red, and burning. Too many nights without rest have sharpened them into knives. Dark hollows gape beneath his eyes, and I feel them reaching for me, like they could swallow me whole.

The result was every single person agreeing to fight. Blakely, Grenza, and Asher were a part of three different groups. Blakely was a part of the combat group. Grenza was a part of the magic group. Asher was a part of the elemental group. All three of them had access to magic, but they utilized it differently. Blakely was a badass with combat magic. Grenza was more a pure magic user, reminiscent of a witch. Asher’s magic was elemental in nature, primarily that of fire and water. They were two opposites, which made his magic very useful. He could choose which one worked best in any given situation.

I tried to croak, but it was useless. The pressure intensified, wrapping around my chest like iron chains. My lungs burned, desperate for relief. Every instinct screamed for survival, but I was powerless against it. My vision blurred as I stumbled backward, heart pounding erratically. When I looked at Asher, what I saw made my blood run cold. His eyes glowed a violent, hellish red—an unnatural hue that radiated raw, uncontained power. Magic. "Asher," I mouthed soundlessly, terror creeping in as I realized what was happening. He wasn’t just furious—he was using magic.

The runes pulsed like a heartbeat. The shadow paused just beyond the circle. It had no clear form, but hints of a muzzle and claws flickered in and out of existence, as if it couldn’t quite decide what it was. When it opened its mouth, no sound came out — only a ripple of cold that raised gooseflesh on everyone’s skin. Jude whispered, “What the hell…” Lyra’s eyes hardened. “It’s a Hound of Ash,” she said. “He makes them from the wolves who fight him.”