Novel & Cerita Mr Draven Book

I took a deep breath and stepped towards Draven's bookshelves. I reached for one of the paper folders and briefly looked through it, hoping to find any documents signed by Draven. I found nothing. I took out a few more folders and put them on the floor. Then I crouched down and skipped the pages, but they were only printed. In another folder, I finally found his handwritten initials, D.E., but it was far from being any kind of proof. I sighed nervously and put the paper folders back in their place.

I didn't realized I was fall asleep. “Liora!” My eyes flew open as his voice cracked through the silence like thunder. I bolted upright, the velvet sheets slipping off my legs as I turned toward the sound. Draven. He was at the doorway, gripping the wheels of his chair so tightly his knuckles had gone white. His chest was heaving, brows drawn in a scowl that could shatter bone. Even seated, he radiated fury. His power didn’t dim just because he wasn’t standing and it clung to him like smoke, like something you could choke on.

"Making them the softest lycan... and also the most heartless if triggered wrong." The room fell silent, the weight of his words settling over us. I stared at him, my mind racing. "That's not possible." "It is," Draven said firmly. He stood abruptly, striding toward the adjoining room. Elara looked at me, her expression filled with confusion and fear. "What's he talking about?" "I don't know," I admitted, though the pieces were starting to fall into place in my mind. Draven returned moments later, carrying a massive, leather-bound book. The cover was worn, the pages yellowed with age.

By the time the final body hit the ground, the courtyard was a sea of red. I stood at the center of it, breathing hard, my claws still dripping. Her father had fallen back, horror etched across his features. His council sat paralyzed, soaked in the blood of their own men. And there, calm as a midnight breeze, Draven leaned against a pillar, sipping his smoothie like we were at a tavern. He glanced at their confused faces. “He’s a Lycan, remember?” he said casually. “You don’t summon war and expect a welcome.”

I change into a pair of leather pants and a bra strapping my sword to my waist. While I'm changing, Flavius wanders around the room, lightly brushing his fingers across the many bookshelves I have carved out of the mountain wall. "When I thought of your room, I never thought of so many books. I thought it would be full of weapons and armor," he says jokingly. "I love to read, honestly," I respond. "I’m surprised, though; you even have books written in other languages," he remarks. "There is a lot of great literature that came from the elves and the fae. As a dragon, I am fluent in all languages. I only have to hear the language once, and I can speak it," I tell him nonchalantly.

Controlled enough to frighten her more. Vaelith steps closer instinctively. His breathing steadies almost immediately. The council woman watches carefully. “You regulate each other unusually fast.” Maelor’s expression turns openly disgusted. “You truly don’t hear how monstrous you sound.” The archive flickers violently. Then another hidden memory emerges unexpectedly. Draven again. Older this time. Maybe nineteen. He stands alone outside a council facility at night while rain pours heavily around him. Blood stains one side of his shirt. The memory version of him looks exhausted.

“I brought you a dagger, Mira.” The sound of his voice hit me like a physical blow to the stomach. My lungs seized. I turned and saw Draven standing in the middle of the throne room, a shadow amidst the gold. He was dressed in all black, his sea-green eyes shining like stars—not with the cruelty I remembered, but with a shattering hope and a desperate, broken longing. He held a Glossin steel dagger in his hand, the very weapon meant to end his life, and he was walking toward me as if he were walking toward his own execution.

Something that might sound dangerous to others, but it is just another day for them. I hear Draven following close behind me. I can feel his icy gaze watching my every movement. Drae is an expert swordsman, just like my father, but stronger and faster than my dad ever was. Drae has hunted many supernatural creatures over the years and defeated them with nothing but a scratch on his body. He moves like a ninja; every breath he takes and every movement he makes is utterly silent. And he wields a sword with the precision and accuracy of a strike of lightning. If Draven wanted to, he could kill me in less than a second and there would be nothing I could do about it. Luckily for me, I am not a da

He was something else entirely. “I don’t care how long you’ve been lurking in the shadows,” Draven growled, stepping forward, the jagged key in his hand flaring with dark energy. His body, though weakened from the blast, still carried the force of his ambition. “You’re standing in the way of destiny.”

And find out if there was any way to fix it. As she drove, Caitlin thought again of the rare books she had found in her library. Most of all, she that of that one rare volume, and its torn page. She thought of its ancient ceremony, the one in Latin, with its cure for vampirism. She wondered again if it was real. Was that just passed down from folklore? An old wives’ tale?