Lord Of Whispers Novels & Stories

I asked. "Are you joking? You know me," Ethan battered, but quickly turned serious again at the look on my face. "Of course I did. I wanted to confirm the information." "And did you?" "Well, with the rest of the warriors dead it was hard to confirm, but I did find something else of interest," he said. "When inspecting her room, I came across a bottle labeled with the name of that poison you told me about: Whisperbloom." My mind clicked as everything seemed to fall into place. If everything that Ethan found out was true it would appear that my own illness and the attacks on this pack were all connected, and all linked back to the same person.

Justin leveled his gaze, “The gods never favoured me. I prayed for months for even a sign. Nothing came. The Southern Lands care not of the business in the North. The people are fighting for a lost cause. I am no King.” We both were Goddess blessed. Maybe I was his sign from the gods themselves. But he served Eric. I couldn't risk telling him my identity as The White Wolf… “You may be serving Eric but you are still fighting for your people. Don’t give up on them.” I pleaded swallowing my pride, “Justin they need you.” And I need your help to find Vivian and escape… “What you are suggesting is treason to your king. Your betrothed.” He gestured to the black banded ring on my finger, “Keep your

"Your existence is destructive, you'll bring disasters in the life of your loved ones" I cried my heart out, the fear absorbed me, but the dreadful voice seemed to neglect my suffering and continued "you traitor! Murderer! Wait for your karma to destroy you as you destroyed them," The voice kept on echoing. I covered my ears in horror. I screamed but I couldn't find a single soul that could offer me a helping hand. I could listen to the voice rising wild and nigher the trees and its leaves the drifting air, the ground that I was fallen on with misery the rocks that stood still in its might all that existing around me whirled in a motion and whispered "It's time for your retribution, it's ti

“Jackson? What the hell is going on now? Esme?” “I don’t know what happened. I was desperate to speak to him, but not stop speaking to you then my head started hurting. You can both hear me?” “Yep and each other too.” Brodie seemed as confused as I was. “What’s going on? With the meeting I mean.” Jackson stumbled over his words as he spoke. “Turner has leaked a photograph of a werewolf to the press. It’s just a warning shot. The photo is blurry. He’s warning me what will happen if I don’t hand over power.” Jackson walked through the door and surveyed the room.

“They call him Il Fantasma Vittore.” The words stopped me cold. “What did you just say?” He coughed, blood staining his teeth. “The Ghost of Vittore. He took your war and turned it into prophecy. He says the son-in-law stole the throne, and he’s here to take it back.” My jaw locked. “That name’s dead.” He laughed weakly. “Not to them.” I didn’t think. I pulled the trigger. His body slid down the wall, lifeless. The name still echoed in my head like a curse.

But the end of what was unclear. I searched the abyss and found nothing. Fear overwhelmed me; images started to appear one by one. Cleo, Prue, work, mum, and the last was Damian. Each disappeared as if they were smoke. Whisps filled the air and dissipated one at a time until there was only one left. The whisp from Damian floated across to me. It morphed into a guiding light as the ticking became faster. Something deep inside felt the pull; I needed to follow it. Step by step, one foot in front of another, I followed his light. It led me to a door in the middle of the abyss. The door stood solid in front of me as the whisp passed through it and disappeared.

Lucas P.O.V Whispers. All around me people are whispering together, but I cannot decipher what they are saying. Not yet. They are not close enough. Pieces of hushed conversation reach my ears, but not much makes sense. I find myself drifting between waking and dreams. The dreams are filled with fire and ash, a soft silk laughter and eyes obsidian black and as endless as the deepest pitches of hell. “Don’t worry, prince of the daywalkers, I will not take her all for myself.” He says, smiling softly. It fills my body with dread, and makes Ulric growl possessively.