Magnus Bane Fanart Novels & Stories

Without it, we cannot overcome him. I remained doubtful and crossed my arms. "So, who is it?" Kane inhaled deeply. Magnus is his name. And the only one who can assist us is him. Later that day, we went to a small, secret area of the camp to meet Magnus. He was a tall man with a chilly face and sharp features. Though I couldn't quite pinpoint it, there was something else in his eyes besides the wealth of knowledge. "So, it's you who requires my assistance?" Magnus spoke in a smooth, quiet voice. "After all you've done to me, why should I help you?"

A high central fire. The smell of meat cooking, smoke, leather, iron. The mark under my skin stirred like it recognized the place. I had to force my face to stay blank. Then he stepped from a shadowed tent, and the mark didn’t just stir - it listened. Magnus. Tall. Pale hair bound at his nape. Eyes too calm, too calculating. He wore no armor, only a dark shirt and a long coat, like he didn’t need armor. Maybe he didn’t. Power sat on him like a second body.

I whispered into his ear. "Blah, I think im going to be sick!" Bane fake gagged. "Why don't you leave this whole war alone okay, and try and be a nice guy..." he interrupted me by bursting out into laughter. "Your so stupid if you think I would do that. Im going to kill you on the night of the blue moon, then I will become the ruler of the natural world. Then vampires will be the true race of this world"

"The one they banished. The one you all forgot." "Banished?" Reylap whispered, her hand tightening on Eliott's arm. "Who? Give me a name!" The prisoner opened his mouth to speak, but his expression suddenly contorted. It wasn't pain from his leg—it was something internal. He clawed at his neck, his eyes bulging. "Wait, he’s—" I started, stepping toward him. Suddenly, a pitch-black mark, like a vein of ink, erupted across his skin, slicing a perfect, horizontal line across his throat. It looked like a shadow had turned into a blade.

It was over between us. Magnus took my breath away. A white blouse shirt featuring lace detailing at the throat was part of his attire, complemented by black pants and high boots. He slicked his dark hair back from his forehead and tied it at the back. On his left hand, a ruby ring glinted in the sunlight. He looked as if he had stepped out of another era.

I smiled, confidently. He frowned, clenching his fist. With that I left . In the car I opened the document hastily. I pulled out the first paper. A picture. Magnus and my father. Smiling wide. Happy. Fulfilled. Something else caught my eyes. A figure behind them. Face blurred out. Red eyes. Tall. A tattoo on his arm. Something about him didn't feel right. I brought out the next paper. A name struck my blood cold. “PROJECT EKTROFEAS,”

I turn to look at Caspian's direction. He's already staring at us. His eyes narrow speculatively. "Please?" I turn to look at Bane again. He looks awful. He's unshaven. Fuzzy light brown hair covers half his face. His golden hair isn't as shiny and nicely combed and styled as usual. The light in his sea-blue eyes is gone. They are dulled, troubled, and red-rimmed.

I expected her to laugh, or perhaps to look at me with pity. Instead, Regina’s expression softened into something almost maternal. "You’re a blank slate," she murmured, her thumb tracing the line of my jaw. "That is even better. It means you can be exactly what he doesn't expect." "And what is that?" Regina sat back down on the chaise, pulling me down beside her. "Bane thinks he is the only monster in the room. Show him the girl who held that belt today. Show him the woman who can look him in the eye without flinching. Men like Bane want a mirror that reflects the power they think they hold."

That's my Benny, always the optimist. I sipped my champagne and continued to study the really huge image hanging on the gallery wall. My portrait had been enlarged and printed on canvas for this show. The effect was a bit startling but even so, it was apparent that Benny had talent. For a child of Somali refugees who started with less than nothing in the UK, he knew how to configure a picture. He'd posed me on my back with my head turned to the side, my arm over my breasts and my fingers flared between my legs. He'd wanted my hair splayed out, my legs straight up, and my pussy covered. I'd worn a string thong for the shot, but you couldn't see it. Nothing showed that would classify my image

Playful Woman [Magnus Pov.] Magnus Wellington. Eighteen years old. Heartthrob. Basketball player. Self-centered. Handsome. Bad boy. Martial arts expert and a total Womanizer. In fact, I would have been in college, but because of my pampered and always cutting class, I am still back and forth in the last grade of high school.