Mercenary Novels & Stories

Vic tried to kill him, and he nearly killed Vic himself! “A werewolf can't have friends,” Yarsi whispered like a spell, but how desperately he didn't want to believe it. This is not the end. Mercenaries never leave an order unfinished. They will attack again, but now not openly, and if they fail again, they will repeat their attempt. And then again and again, until they achieve their goal. Peace is too much of a luxury for you….

Osiris frowns, but takes a seat, his eyes fixed on Nero, bracing himself for what comes next. “Nero found out something about Morana,” I start, trying to ease into the conversation, “about her wolf.” Osiris’s brow furrows in confusion. “Morana? What about her wolf?” “It’s not just her wolf, Osiris,” Nero takes over. “When I used my Alpha Sight on Morana, I found out that there’s something attached to it called a Meraloth—an ancient entity that feeds on memories. And we believe it’s responsible for the memory losses both you and Camellia experienced.”

I know the romance is less because thats what I told you it's a sad story of redemption and coming out of vengeance of revenge than romance. Sinfully Yours. The story is dark romance with erotic content. It's like a faithful relation with a sinful obsession. So don't forget to give a try to my new story. You wouldn't be disappointed. I hope you enjoyed the story. Till the next Story adios.

Below me on the narrow stone trail, four Corvinus mercenaries in heavy iron armor were scrambling up the rocks, trying to flank the altar platform where Mira was standing. I leaned over the boulder, picked my target, and squeezed the trigger twice. The sharp crack of my rifle echoed off the granite cliffs, the first mercenary collapsing backward into the snowbank, but the remaining three didn't even flinch—they just kept climbing, their faces pale and their eyes glowing with that sick, corrupted purple light. "They aren't stopping!" a Silvanus scout shouted from behind a nearby rock, his hands shaking as he jammed a fresh magazine into his suppressor. "Dante,

"You're Jason Leigh, right? Human resources informed me that you're only a high school graduate. Do you really understand all this?" "I used to be a mercenary," I corrected him in a calm but clear voice. Tony was taken aback, but he quickly laughed out loud. His laugh was so loud that it echoed throughout the workshop. The people standing next to him laughed along. "What's a mercenary doing here as a stockkeeper? Who would believe you, Leigh?"

In a natural limestone bowl sheltered from the worst of the wind, the council's hired mercenary camp buzzed with cold, calculating efficiency. Roughly twenty mercenaries—hardened veterans of the southern border wars, clad in mismatched tactical gear and heavy leather dusters—sat around a series of low-burning campfires. They weren't high council enforcers bound by protocol or uniform; they were apex predators-for-hire, answerable only to whoever paid the highest bounty in silver and gold.

Aria’s voice cut through our shared telepathic link, her silver eyes flaring with a desperate, fierce clarity from behind her flickering shield. The third mercenary had abandoned his cover, sliding down the icy slope with a long, titanium broadsword raised for a downward execution strike aimed straight at my exposed neck. The wind shrieked once more as the dampening net began to buckle under the raw, expanding volume of my hybrid alpha core, the stage set for a final, bloody extraction in the frozen mud.

When the final corporate name unmasked itself on the screen, Duncan’s heart stopped. The money had landed in the account of Viper Strike Security, a notorious, highly lethal mercenary group composed entirely of rogue Alpha shifters who specialized in political assassinations and domestic terrorism. Duncan’s breathing turned ragged, a savage, beastly growl rattling deep inside his chest.

The mercenaries funded by the broken merchant lords hadn't just marched—they had accelerated their advance, using the cover of the upper ring’s blackout to blitz our outer border fortifications. Beneath the thin, sweat-slicked silver mesh of my inner tunic, the fated-mate bond was a chaotic storm roaring through my hybrid core. The coarse leather of my riding trousers rubbed relentlessly against the raw, highly sensitized skin of my inner thighs as I turned away from the shattered vault doors, my heavy combat boots clicking sharply against the stone. The deep, heavy ache between my legs throbbed with a dark, primal intensity—a constant, carnal echo of the absolute, dominant fury with which K

“It called me three weeks ago. Said the team was compromised. That you, Joel, were going to sacrifice me to save yourselves. I believed it. God help me, I believed it.” Joel’s expression hardened, but a flicker of pain crossed his features. “And now here you are. Another proxy in its war.” The second mercenary suddenly laughed, a bitter, broken sound. “You think you’re winning? IZO44 has hundreds of us. Some know what they’re doing. Most don’t. It’s building an army you can’t see coming.”