Monarch Of Iron Body Novels & Stories

Lycans. In the middle of them walked King Valerius. I knew he was the King before anyone said a word. He was easily a head taller than the others. His hair was the color of winter frost, cut short and messy. He had ice-blue eyes that looked right through you, and a jagged scar ran from his left temple down to his jawline, cutting through his eyebrow. He didn't look like a king in a storybook. He looked like a killer who had stolen a crown.

‘They will still be absorbed as long as they’re within the sect grounds. ‘Any sort of unexpected variable can become potentially dangerous to the Monarch’s plans,’ she replied. ‘Don’t look down on humans.’ ‘You’re overestimating them.’ ‘You are too carefree, senior brother.’ Just a while ago, the Iron Fan Mistress even told him before leaving, ‘I prefer you not kill the sacrifices, but the Monarch personally gave his permission and allowed you to kill the dogs of the Qing Clan to avenge your disciple. So don’t run amok. If you can, leave the strongest ones limbless with half a breath…they are the best nutrition…’

Though I was reluctant to agree with my companions—for I knew in my heart it would grieve Monanom, and I could think of nothing worse than saddening her—I too said, “It is.” At that, the goddess bowed her head, and folded her robes around her, and then spun round with a sudden velocity. The temperature of the chamber plummeted, and we saw the reverse side of Monanom—the most hideous and repugnant crone I have ever laid eyes upon. I had forgotten that the dual sides of her nature sit back-to-back on the same body. The crone’s breathing was hoarse, and came in long, slow bursts. A stream of saliva spilled from her near-toothless mouth, and a deep chuckle broke ominously from her throat. “Are y

I was going to rise up and reclaim my life despite everything I had gone through. I turned to leave, but the guards stopped me. “We're not done here.” Caelum's cold voice tore through the room. “There is something else.” The crowd stilled. “We are Ironblood, and Ironblood pay their debts,” he declared. The crowd shouted, “YES!” He nodded his head in satisfaction. “The people of Ironblood have owed a war debt to the lycan kingdom, and today, the lycan king had requested his payment or there would be war!”

I'm on fire, my body starts to heat up, my breathing becomes heavy, and my heart races. Am I a whore? Ash... I don't care what he or the whole world thinks of me, but I sure do enjoy that hammer in my mouth. Enough said! I inhale. I close my eyes. With sensual movements, I lower the straps of my white bra, then unhook it and throw it out of sight, leaving my breasts exposed to the sexy daddy's gaze. Before I make my way to him, I strip off my tiny panties. "Kneel..." he orders.

a voice rasped. It wasn't a human voice. It was a mechanical, harmonic vibration that shook the very foundations of the smelting vats. The Iron Hook sat behind a desk fashioned from the jagged, turbine-blade wreckage of a downed Council drone. His entire right side was a forest of pneumatic hydraulics, his shoulder an exposed nest of copper wiring that hissed rhythmically, keeping time with the city’s heart. He was the monopoly of Iron Ridge, a man who had traded his marrow for a seat at the table of scavengers.

Amy was standing there as Henry knelt beside the body. "Who are you?" I asked Amy standing in front of her. "The Queen" She mocked me. "No more games Aubrey Blaine. No more games. Face the true monarch bravely. Don't hide behind a façade. Face me and end this. Remove your mask." I spoke pointedly at her.

"I didn't intend to kill your kin, but your kin had killed millions of others. So, I'm trying so hard not to kill you too." "A mortal wanted to bargain with a Monarch," The Monarch said while he was sitting lazily on his throne. It was easy to distinguish between a Monarch and the Outer Angels. The Monarch of the Outer Angels had a larger body build compared to the others. With overwhelming power, he stood eight meters tall to compensate for his massive power. But he could alter his height, and Mira knew that he was showing off to show that he had massive power and was indestructible.

Or perhaps the thing that was waking beneath the palace had made the decision for whoever was controlling the wards. And there he was. My father. Malachai Veyr. King of the Ironclaw. Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. His silver hair was pulled back from his face in a severe line that emphasized the sharp angles of his features. His eyes were cold the kind of cold that came from never allowing yourself to feel anything but contempt for the world around you. He sat on what should have been my throne, his fingers steepled together in an attitude of perfect repose, like a predator resting between meals.

Milana’s breath caught in her throat. He rose as she was dragged closer, and the sheer size of him stole what little air she had left. Seven and a half feet tall at least, maybe more, built like a living siege engine. Thick green muscle corded every inch of him, scarred from countless battles, deep gouges across his broad chest, a jagged line over one massive shoulder, marks that only made him look more dangerous. Long black hair fell in intricate warrior braids threaded with bone beads and tiny gold rings, framing a face that was sharp, brutal… and, to her furious shock, handsome. Strong jaw, high cheekbones, amber eyes that burned like molten gold. His tusks were large but clean, curving p