Lord Of Hollows นิยาย & เรื่องราว

“There’s an old prophecy—one even most Alphas pretend doesn’t exist. It speaks of a bloodline betrayal, a Luna returned, and a fracture in the unity of the packs that will shake the bones of the earth. Some believe the pendant is the key. Others say it’s a trigger. But one thing is clear…” He looked at me, dead serious. “You are not the only one looking for it.” A chill wrapped around my spine like ice fingers. “Who else?” Ashir tilted his head. “Ever heard of The Hollow Ones?” I stiffened. “Thought they were a myth.” “Nope,” he said. “They’re very real. Packless wolves turned mercenaries. No code. No loyalty. Just muscle, teeth, and blood money. Someone’s hired them. They’re in Vermont now.

The air was heavy with the smell of old blood. I opened my eyes, expecting the white pillars of the Moon Goddess’s realm. Instead, I stood in a graveyard of white fur. Thousands of them. Massive Lycan wolves lay scattered across the grey stone as far as the horizon stretched. Their ribs were cracked open. Their chests were hollow, dark holes where their hearts had been systematically ripped out from the bone. My stomach heaved. I took two stumbles backward, my heel catching on a massive, lifeless paw. "Tola," I whispered.

“One I thought had been destroyed after the binding.” His jaw tightened. “Then she’s been working with someone who knows the old ways. Rowan?” I shook my head. “No. Someone older. Someone deeper.” “The Hollow King,” Logan said, his voice like thunder beneath the stone. Silas nodded slowly. “Then it’s time we stopped underestimating him.” That night, I didn’t sleep. I stood in the sacred pool chamber—barefoot, hands trembling, blood still crusted beneath my fingernails. The moonlight filtered in through the skylight, silver and cold, catching on the surface of the water like a blade.

In the final year of my bond with vampire lord Saul, the curse of our pact struck, and I was overwhelmed by agony, but my lord was nowhere to be found. He had gone out. He left me to suffer. Alone. When the door finally creaked open the next morning, I looked up through bloodshot eyes—hope flickering like a dying candle. But he wasn't alone. He carried an unconscious woman in his arms, her head resting against his chest like she belonged there.

she whispered. “What?” Her eyes stayed fixed on Dominic below us. “The Hollow recognizes him.” Cold crawled slowly through my chest. “What does that even mean?” She looked genuinely unsettled now and somehow that scared me more than everything else in this mountain combined. “The Hollow only answers blood contracts,” she said quietly. “Original bloodlines. Bound monarchs. Chosen anchors.” Her voice lowered slightly. “Not modern Alphas.” Another corpse hit the ground beneath Dominic’s hands and dissolved into black smoke entirely this time.

They believed the soul could be stripped, refined, and stored. That death was not the end. Only a door. Their matriarch, **Liora St. Clair**, was obsessed with the deep places in the mountain. While the early werewolves bonded with the land and the moon, she listened to *what lived beneath the stone*. And it answered. She and her followers called themselves **The Hollow Bones**. They carved runes into their ribs. Offered breath and blood to the soil. And in return, they were promised vision beyond death, whispers from the veil, and *bodies that would not decay*.

In the hollow’s center, a gnarled willow stood, its trunk split and blackened, as if struck by lightning, its branches drooping, laden with thorny vines that glowed faintly with indigo light, the air around it shimmering with a dark, oppressive haze, a shadow shard embedded in the tree’s heart, its surface carved with spiraling runes, its hum a low, menacing thrum, the Shadowborn’s power stirring, the hollow a crucible where the pack would face their newest foe, the air heavy with the weight of ancient magic, the wind howling softly, the willows trembling, the Shadowborn’s whispers a death knell, the legacy of their fight a heartbeat in the shadowed silence, the promise of peace a fragile th

"We aren't running, Emma. We’ve come too far. If your brother is the beacon, then we’ll just have to shut off the power." "Wait," Vincent’s voice echoed from a nearby shadow as he materialized. He looked paler than usual, his obsidian eyes darting toward the falls. "There’s more. The Void-Weaver... he’s not alone. He has a battalion of Hollow-Wolves. Shifters who have been completely drained of their souls and filled with the gas. They don't feel pain. They don't have mercy." I stood up, pulling the violet-and-silver cloak Alessia had woven for me tighter around my shoulders. I looked at my Kings, at the wild wolves of the Deep Woods, and at the two tiny lives I was carrying into the heart o

The others wait behind me in breathless silence. I can feel their tension like a physical thing. Caelan is the only one who steps forward, positioning himself beside me without hesitation. His palm brushes mine, and the contact sends electricity up my arm. A shape begins to form from the ash and shadow. He’s taller than I remember from my dreams. Cloaked in bones that gleam like polished ivory, crowned with antlers that drip with silver moss like tears, the Hollow King emerges from the veil between worlds. His eyes are empty sockets that should hold nothing but darkness.

But what use was steel against something like this? The void writhed, twisting and unfurling like the tendrils of some unseen entity. The whispers grew deafening, echoing in Elior’s skull, in Sienna’s, in the very bones of the earth. And then, the voice returned. "We are the Hollow." The tendrils stretched toward them. "And now, we rise." Sienna gasped, her fingers digging into Elior’s arm. “Elior.....” The void surged forward. Elior threw himself in front of her, sword raised. The ruins collapsed around them. The darkness swallowed them whole.