Novel & Cerita Keegan Russ Fanart

The only one who wasn’t that interested in the fantasy that was being created through our bond was Keiran. Does he not want kids?

Good. At 2:58 the door opened. Kieran stepped in. Thirty-two. Six-three. Dark blond hair tied back in a loose bun, sharp jaw, green eyes that always seemed to see more than he let on. Sleeves of black ink running up both arms—geometric patterns, a few Norse runes, one small rose on his forearm that he never explained. Today he wore a fitted gray tank that clung to his chest and shoulders, black shorts that showed the thick cords of muscle in his thighs, and black trainers. A black wrist wrap on his left hand. He carried a water bottle and his phone.

It was something else that Falcon said, and it was entirely something else that Kyle heard. "Got an idea? Great. Now tell me quickly." He gushed restlessly. "No, no idea, bítch! I'm talking about Kevin's girlfriend. I've seen her somewhere. Wait, let me check on my phone." Falcon held his phone in his other hand and went through it. After over five minutes, he boomed, "Got it!!!" "See this profile here. Sugary Kitty on Önly Fans. This woman here and Kevin's girlfriend are the same. Which means— Kevin's dating an Only Fans model." Falcon said urgently. "Do you think he's being fooled?"

He looked so much like him but he wasn't him. There were slight differences. Kieran had a bigger nose. His was straighter and pointed. Kieran's lips were fuller. His was just perfect. Kieran had a soft skin due to pampering. His was tanned and rugged. Kieran's jaw was rounded. His was chiseled. I exhaled, just a little. "Now can I reintroduce myself to you?" He asked, his eyebrows raised. I gave a small nod. "I'm Kaden. Head warrior of Silverfang pack." He stretched out his hand for a handshake and I took it.

I haven't done that since Kels was pregnant. I'm laughing as I work on my reports for the night. T: There's no way that sweet little girl is a demon. N: Man, you didn't see what came out of her body. R: You keep that over at your own house, bro. This is what I'm dealing with. He sends me a picture of Keegan sitting against Rambo, the two of them watching TV. T: Looks like your dog is doing the watching, and you're just spending your time bitching.

“If you weren’t such a serious dick all the time, maybe we could’ve been friends too. Like I am with Alex.” Kieran’s jaw tightened. He didn’t answer. He just turned and walked away. Alex lingered at the bottom of the staircase after Kieran walked away, rubbing his jaw like he was thinking too hard. “I still want a painting of you,” he said, eyes bright. I sighed not having the strength to argue. “Why would you want to paint me?” “Because,” he said, stepping closer but keeping space, “you have the exact heart-shaped face I’ve been searching for. The goddess Flerani. And I thought maybe I could embody her in you.”

Aside from that, the room was very empty with only a few chairs here and there. “That's Roger, your trainer.” Keegan gesticulated to a man on one of the chairs. He was extremely hefty and was shirtless; dark and scary tattoos ran all over his body and he was wearing something like a large black blanket around his waist with dark flowers like a crown around his head. His face also had what looked like mascara on his eyelids, lips, and cheeks. He looked really gothic and that scared me. "Hi Roger." I waved at him when we stopped in front of him.

“You missed me.” I bit back a smile. “You’re impossible.” He leaned in slightly. “Admit it.” Instead of answering, I glanced down, unbuttoning the top of my uniform shirt, then the second button, just enough to pull the collar aside. The shirt underneath peeked through, the black fan t-shirt Kai had given me with bold black letters stretched across it: “Kai Blackthorn No. 1 Fan.” His eyes widened for half a second before his mouth curled into a slow, smug smile.

They were Kieran and Rowan—but not my Kieran and Rowan. The "Draft Kieran" was a nightmare of Alpha tropes. He was ten feet tall, his muscles bulging unnaturally, his eyes nothing but pits of liquid fire. He didn't look like a man; he looked like a cover illustration gone wrong. The "Draft Rowan" was a hauntingly beautiful ghost, his golden hair glowing with a light that hurt to look at. He held a sword made of pure "Heroic Resolve," and his face was frozen in a mask of tragic, self-sacrificing nobility.

Kevin nodded. “Fascinating,” he remarked, glancing through the other drawings—although his features held a sceptical gleam. His eyes were drawn to the last drawing of a man that closely resembled him. Derik singled out the drawing from the rest. His eyes burned with disbelief as he looked at it closely. “This is—me?” he said, his forehead puckered. “Is this the moment T-Murek stabbed me in the gut?” Kevin nodded in affirmation. He looked up at Kevin, his brows drawn together. It struck him as odd. “You saw this in your dream too?”