King Of Wrath Kindle Novels & Stories

A quiet moment passed between us, before Knox spoke. "At least, you've finally found her." "It would have been better if I didn't." I almost snapped. "Do you understand what this means, Knox?" "Ronan..." he started to speak, but I cut in. "The Alpha King of the entire werewolf kingdom is bound to a woman who is too fragile to bear the weight of the crown." I released a low scoff. "She probably wouldn't be able to wield the sword of authority if she were to be coronated queen. My bloodline deserves better."

Love you. Also, I have this new werewolf book that will soon be exclusively under M********r. The Alpha King's Forbidden Hybrid. You can find it there. ❤

The two giant whirlwinds rose quickly and went to where they were. "Swallow all the enemies," he whispered to the two whirlwinds. When Chief Thanos saw two approaching giant vortexes, "—Full back — Full back..." he repeatedly shouted. The enemies from the Kriotteotall Realm ran their separate ways, when they saw the approaching whirlwind giants. When Empaler Aegaeus realized that the robbers had completely retreated, he quickly returned to General Accientsy. "How is she?" he asked the duke worriedly. "She's still comatose," replied the duke, who reflected on his face and was apprehensive about his only filia.

Grabbing her hand, I pulled her up from the chair and dragged her out of the bar. “Leave me,” she protested, her voice a whiny whimper as she tried to pry my vice like grip from her wrist. “You’re hurting me.” My sadistic instincts were awoken by the sound of her pleas, and my grip on her wrist tightened, enough to cut off some blood circulation. She cried out in pain, and tried even harder to wrench her wrists away. I briefly stopped in my tracks, and her breath audibly hitched as I slowly turned towards her.

They grinned with too many teeth and the forest recoiled. Heat flared as Wrath stormed onto the field, scorching the grass to ash. Blackened armor hugged a colossal frame, glowing cracks bleeding light through the plates. Chains wrapped their arms, spitting sparks with every movement. Their cloak was torn and dark with old blood. Wrath was a storm in a body.

Just power a suffocating wave of it that hit like a storm. My head snapped up, instinct overriding fear. And there he was. The King. Massive. Taller than any man I’d ever seen. Broad-shouldered and draped in black armor with faint red lines that seems to move, like they were alive. His hair was ink-dark, swept back to reveal a face carved from shadow and wrath. And his eyes— Gold. Fully, terrifyingly gold. The wolf was at the surface. Every muscle in my body screamed to look away, but I couldn’t. Because those eyes, those beautiful eyes, were trained on me.

the first man said. “I pictured her a little more … fleshy. Wrath’s a big guy,” the man said and sniggered. “My name is King and I’m the president of the Night Stalkers. If you behave yourself, you won’t be hurt too much. Wrath has a lot to pay for.” She had no idea where the courage came from, but she couldn’t stop the words spilling out of her mouth, maybe she didn’t want to. “And yet you’re punishing him by scaring a little boy and threatening a woman. How manly of you.”

It has been a week since Yahir was captured. King Quincy had sentenced him to death after one week of taking fifty whip lashes daily. Today is the day he is put to death and I am looking forward to it. His mate’s parents were sitting in front of us and I placed one hand on the mother’s shoulder and my other hand on her father’s shoulder in a gesture of comfort. I released a small amount of my omega waves and they visibly relaxed. The mother smiled at me, “Thank you, princess.” I smiled, “You’re very welcome. This may get a little gross. Let me know if you need more.” She smiled, “Thank you.”

The snow fell light outside. I was Killian Wolfe. Warborn. Alpha. No one questioned or disobeyed me but she did. She didn’t cry when I rejected her. She didn’t beg. She looked at me like I was nothing. I turned away from the window and reached for the glass of wine on the table, I downed it in one goal. The burn in my throat didn’t help. I gripped the glass harder and it cracked. I needed to bury her. Not her body. The memory.

Their grips bruising. “Keep moving,” one snarled, shoving when her legs buckled. She twisted. “Get off me.” A hard yank on her wrist shut her up. Fingers like steel cuffs. “King wants you breathing,” the same gravel voice said. “How much of you stays that way? Up to you.” King. The word sat heavy in her skull. Everybody knew who that meant. No pack name. No fancy title. Just *the king*. The bastard who’d clawed his way out of the eastern wastes, smashing every alliance that dared stand in his path. Mercy was a joke to him. Weakness got you buried.