Mando Helmet Novelas e Histórias

"It is hidden somewhere, but I know the location, though it will not be easy to access-it is well-guarded. Do you think you are capable?" I scowl, feeling anger bubble up inside of me as I glare at the cloaked man. "I am capable of whatever I wish to do. What is this object?" "It is a helmet." Another awkward pause. "It is...an ancient artifact. Very valuable, you see?" "Okay." I say, digesting the information. A helmet is worth five million dollars to this man? I pause, regarding him carefully. "What is your name?"

a man of medium height wearing full combat gear greeted us with bow. His chest plate shone light blue, his light helmet was covered in chain mail down to his neck. Its links were interwoven with Ashgenrian runes in an outlandish fashion. The stranger’s gaze seemed sharp and piercing. I couldn’t even imagine what he had in mind.

"Silver ready?" "Yes Alpha!" The two rows of men yelled in unison as they made adjustments to their rifles. The back of this armored truck was large enough to fit more of us, but I wanted only a select few to accompany me on this mission. "Do we really need to wear these Alpha?" Adonis, one of my younger warriors analyzed the thick black helmet sitting on his lap. "This is a recon mission, I want no one's face caught on any camera, plus, these are bullet proof, you won't survive a silver bullet to the head will you?" I questioned.

Worry and fear were etched all over her face, and before I asked her what was wrong, I caught a shadow from the corner of my eyes. My eyes narrowed at a tall, mysterious-looking man standing by the door behind my dad, who at first I thought was Hunter. But when I looked closer, I realized it was not him, but the spitting image of Hunter Ysrael. No, the original image and father of Hunter Ysrael, Alpha Marcus of the Cruelcrest Hounds pack. He was wearing all black, from the bulky leather coat, black slacks, to black ankle boots. Anyone would mistake him as a nightcrawler if he keeps popping up in the shadows. But more importantly, what is he doing here?

He is holding a helmet. "I bought it because I can see that you like raiding motorcycles," he said, putting the helmet on me.

The man who gave up his seat in the car produces two black simple helmets with straps underneath. Trey cocks his head at the helmet and frowns, but I elbow him in the arm, and he reluctantly grabs both passing one to me before he puts his own on. Satisfied we're both properly geared up, the employee nods once. With one hand on the side of the car, he walks along with us as Trey slowly edges the vehicle forward as traffic moves.

I shrieked, rushing to his side and gasping when the light passed over the large bare window. He was dressed in a blood-stained vest coat with brown leather pants that cuffed around his ankles and the chain links cuffed around them. Human…he was human now. His beautiful face had been covered with a metal helmet that worked like a muzzle around his mouth. Cruel. This was nothing but cruel! “Mnngh,” The old Beta groaned, and his impossibly stormy gray eyes met mine in surprise, before panic flickered through them. “Hush…it’s okay, I’m here now,” I whispered, moving to unsnap his helmet before he threw his head back, out of my reach.

Jayda caught the keys, walked around to the driver's side, pulled open the door. She paused before climbing in, reached for the racing helmet she'd brought from the mansion, the one piece of her old life she'd refused to leave behind. The helmet felt right in her hands as she pulled it on, the familiar weight settling over her head, the world narrowing to what she could see through the visor. She slid into the driver's seat, her body remembering the position even if her muscles protested the angles, her hands finding the wheel like they'd never left.

The helmet was matte black with a red line trailed in the middle… it struck a memory. Not from him, I hadn’t seen this in person but there was a video that had circulated on the internet months ago, shaky footage of an illegal race. For some reason the driver with that helmet always caught my attention, winning most of the races but never taking off his helmet. I recalled it had a dent. Leaning closer to the helmet, it was the same. “It’s you.” I pointed to him. “What?” Caspian raised his brows. “You’re that driver who goes by the name Ace.” My eyes widened in disbelief.

He wasn't erratic and perhaps I'd never see him be that way. "You see, this is the best way. You choose, give me Valiant and give me Regal. You are free to go on your own or I can assist in making you go with a hollow point." "Fat fucking chance...just stop with the veiled threats and demands. Show yourself." I heard him say while I watched from a safer distance. The truth is that while he stood there looking like a model in his fancy tailored suit, he was so skilled with any weapon in his hand. He hadn't earned his nickname for no reason. Claymore, that shit would be a testimony to his calloused conscience.