Hermione Scabior Novels & Stories

“I can’t mate with the Alpha of Demon Siege. No one knows what he looks like. For all we know, he’s a century old wolf with a fetish for owning young wolves. And worse, he is by known far and wide as the deadliest Alpha in the whole country.” “That’s exactly why we have to choose him.” Rogen intoned. “You’ve already given me your word, Veni. Don’t go back on it.” ******* “Are you nervous?” Lilith asked as she wrapped my hair into a loose bun, clipping it with a claw-clip that was shaped like an actual claw. Staying friends with her despite the knowledge of her betrayal that I carried around like a trophy was by far the hardest part of my being back here. That was aside the fact that I was no

She was filled with a sense of hopelessness and despair, knowing that she was now at the mercy of the lycan king. Despite her fear, Scarlett refused to give up. She still believed that Tobias was responsible for the massacre of her family, and she was determined to prove her innocence and clear her name. She would stop at nothing to see justice served, even if it meant putting her own life at risk. As Tobias took her into a confined small chamber, she felt a growing sense of discomfort. The room was dimly lit and had heavy curtains on the windows, creating an eerie atmosphere that was only heightened by the strong scent of his perfume. The lycan king's gaze was intense and seemed to bore int

Kate hated the drama that came with her life and badly wished for it to come to an end. Rogues! Werewolves! What is this? Some sort of Vampire Diaries? She felt like she was in some sort of fantasy Island. Everything was just too much to bear. Just how many things did her Mother not tell her? How many secrets was Brian hiding from her? This was way too much for her poor heart to bear. Now there is a possibility that she might be a werewolf and she had to disguise and hide herself as the Alpha or whatever the tittle was called was going to pay a visit to the bar and since there was a chance that she was termed a Rogue, she had to disguise and hide herself.

He shook his head sideways seeing the routine and expected sight. There, a woman in her thirties is sitting on the floor in the middle of the room. She is wearing a torn black knee length gown. Her long golden blonde hair is completely messy blocking her face completely. His gaze travelled down to her hands which are filled with red liquid that is completely busy in adoring the white sheet kept on her lap. Both sides of her are completely filled with numerous paintings done by her. The dark room in which her form is only visible by the glow of the moon light caressing her form through the window is giving her a more scary look.

As you can see miss Scott Incubus demons are not human same as the vampire but they can use them to mate with their human prey". My eyes winked at her and her gaze at me became intense. I moved my eyes to her seatmate whose name is Thamer. He's not an ordinary mortal. I think he's hiding something and that's the thing I must find out. I finish the class and everyone in the class left one by one. The last person who leaves her sit was Diana. Before she does I called her name. "Miss Scott can I have a word with you?", I said while I'm waiting for her on my desk. "Diana it's time to go!", his classmate Thamer called her. I set a piercing look in her eyes. I tried to connect with her through the

She goes to a drawer and retrieves a big brown book. "I keep a record of all the Creatures I've come across. There was a particular Demon. A succubus." She says flipping through the old pages stopping at her destination before handing me the book. "Isn't that the female version of an incubus?" Anessa asked. "Correct. I came across a transitioning Hybrid. Half Succubus, half Mara Vampire." Haer starts to say. "What does that have to do with Meave?" Meryl asked curiously.

“I can smell him on you and your dog.” “Wolf.” I corrected again and she rolled her eyes. She and Mabel act very much the same. She turned around to look at the area around her. She was taking everything in. “You know Hermione. This is not just a field. It’s overflowing with power. You don’t know this because you’re too busy bothered about that uncle of yours and sleeping with Bernardo-” “Whoa! Stay out of my damn business!”

he whispered “This is exactly what I’ll do to that baby was it’s born and I get my hands on the filthy thing” ~~~ Far away from the forest, in a dark room, Hermoine stood alone. Her eyes were locked on a large monitor in front of her, showing a live feed of the feast. She had found a way to hack into the pack’s hidden cameras. She watched Elena smile. She watched Salvatore lean close to her. Hermoine’s hands clenched into fists. “I should’ve been Luna,” she whispered. “That should’ve been me.” Her chest burned with hate. She grabbed a glass bottle beside her and smashed it against the floor. Then another. Then another.

A servant asked as she noticed the long scar that draws a line from her palm to her wrist. Morrigan retracted her hands in an instant, staring at the scar. Unconsciously she traced the long scar on her hand with a thought in mind. Reminiscing the first day she stepped into the kingdom. "Some accident I encountered. It didn't heal well because I didn't have enough herbs to cure it, thus it ended up with a long scar." The servant bowed her head low. "Do you need us to put an ointment? Such a long scar is really visible. The scar seemed to be from a deep wound before." Morrigan shook her head. "No need, this reminds me of important things in the life of a royal... Humility." The servants around

And then it appeared. Not Sebastian. Not one of his broken puppets. But her—Liora. The witch with wildfire eyes and a voice that could either mend souls or tear them apart like parchment in a storm. She stepped into the chamber, her silhouette haloed in unnatural gold, as if the magic clinging to her refused to dim for anyone—not even the monsters lurking in this stone tomb. Her gaze found mine instantly, and something unreadable flickered across her expression—not pity, not grief, but something far more dangerous.