Lord Farquad Novelas e Histórias

a gravelly, terrifying voice growled from the far end of the room. The heavy iron wheels of a massive, custom-built chair creaked against the polished stone floor as Frederick Whitmore—the legendary former warlord of the Bloodfang Court—rolled himself closer to the light. His legs were completely lifeless, covered by a heavy, fur-lined blanket, but his gray eyes were as sharp as jagged glass. He was my grandfather through bloodlines the Ashfords had tried to erase, a retired mafia lord who still held the respect of every pack in the Blackveil District.

"Yours is somethin' I don't even recognize. What'd you do? Heard your company dragged two direwolves back from the grave. Stem cells? Some magic brew? Or some vicious curse from the Moon Goddess herself? Bet your half-dead ex-husband Lucas Farrow wouldn't recognize it either." Lucas Farrow. The name hit me like a fist, and my hands clenched, nails digging into my palms until I felt the sting. Lycidas saw it, his lips curling into a sadistic grin. "He's in agony every damn day, but he only screams your name when it gets too bad." "You're gettin' old and chatty," I snapped, shoving down the tremor in my voice.

"My fiancée has always been courteous—maybe too much so. I know Grindham has many foreign investors, and each of you has your concerns. But no matter what you're thinking, don't touch what belongs to my wife." That was a clear warning. Yet the elders were more shocked that Landon had described Aria as "measured" especially while she was forcing Fabien out. Landon's smile deepened. "As for Mr. Langford, you've been worshipping a Krowonian spirit. Have you forgotten your roots? A man like you has no place in commerce. Don't you agree?" Fabien's expression drastically changed. He realized his plan had failed. Though he couldn't stomach Landon's arrogant tone, he knew Landon was the current head

He gave an exaggerated bow worthy of a royal performer. Beside him, Darius sighed deeply. "You practiced that." "I absolutely did." Lucian said proudly. "It's embarrassing." Darius huffed. "I call it elegance," Lucian said with a smirk. "It's still embarrassing," Darius said. Lucian ignored him before motioning toward his cousin. "And this grumpy-looking giant beside me is His Majesty's Beta, Commander of the Royal Army, future headache of the kingdom, and my beloved best friend— Prince Darius Blackthorn."

After that talk with the Queen, he was so happy, finally, he would get the resources to be able to take us revenge. In the morning, he arranged a meeting with the Queen and the Pack. "Good morning, elders of the Salt Lake Pack, I am glad to announce to you that I have retired. So, my next successor is going to be Lugard. If I die, I would want no one but him to take my place. Thank you." She said slowly and without waiting for anyone's comment, she left with Lugard. She went to the company and then made the same announcement, not caring about anyone who was against her decision.

Thorian chuckled in response, his amusement clear in his eyes, causing Rolf to roll his own eyes in mock exasperation. Thorian, never one to shy away from a challenge, responded with a hint of bravado. "Now, we all know that's a joke, because you won't survive a minute on a battleground with me," he boasted confidently. Rolf frowned, acknowledging the undeniable truth in Thorian's words. Thorian's strength, inherited from his lycan lineage, was unparalleled, and he was destined to become the next king, overshadowing his royal lineage.

Harold hastily shook his head and said, “Even if I were to die now, I would have no regrets. My son, Henry, was an entrepreneur with extraordinary talent and was unparalleled in the business field. “My grandson, Adrian, is a brilliant soldier who has performed numerous meritorious services in his lifetime and killed countless enemies. Moreover, he was promoted to the position of war legate. “That is a great honor to our family.” “Hold on, Father…” Rue interrupted Harold, “What do you mean by war legate? What are you talking about?” Harold was puzzled. “What? Aren’t you aware that Adrian is War Legate Draco?” Rue’s entire body shook upon hearing this. She took a few steps back in a panic befo

Logan growled under his breath as he turned on his heels heading towards the hospital. Ivar was growling inside of him angry that his mate was locked away. He was picturing her in the dark damp cell and his blood was boiling. His foot was pressed all the way down to the ground as he sped towards the prison. The gravel kicked up from the road as he pulled up to the prison gates. He laid on the horn as the guards looked confused. They moved out from behind their post as he continued to beep. One soldier approached him. He watched his face go from confused to shocked. He began waving at the other guards to open the gate.

Whiplash said, his voice accompanied by a hoarse whistling, a sign of his old age catching up to him? The squad members pulled up their displays from their hero suits, and one by one, they read out their current rankings and attributes. The readings were disappointingly low, except for Dante, who was on the cusp of breaking into the B-rank. His ranking was 11,382, the lowest of the low, showcasing the scarcity of ranked superheroes compared to the unranked ones. To be ranked was truly an honor and privilege, reserved for the most skillful and promising individuals. The rest of the squad reported their low attributes, all of them unranked.

Harry asked in a whisper, “Mr. Jourdain, this is Bryson Yost, a warlord.” Leon, who planned to kill Kayson to get merits, was appalled. “What did you say? A warlord?” Kayson glanced at Carlson coldly, and the latter sneered. “What are you looking at!?” Kayson merely smirked and approached Farris, who had fainted. He put a hand on Farris, his gaze growing icier. “Leon Jourdain, was I rude to you? Have I mistreated you?”