Noctis Draven Novels & Stories

"You've been poisoning yourself for years to survive. That's not weakness. That's desperation. There's a difference." "Feels the same from where I'm sitting." "It's not." He steps closer, and the air between us thickens. "May I?" I don't know what he's asking. I nod anyway. He kneels in front of me. Kael Draven, heir to a biotech empire, the Alpha who commands armies of men and controls an underground network of crime and commerce, kneels on the floor in front of my chair. His eyes are level with mine. His hands rest on his knees, not touching me, waiting.

Tonight, the water was completely devoid of my labor. Suddenly, his inner wolf lost all desire to soothe its muscles in the basin. Just then, the communication crystal buzzed violently against the iron counter. He glanced at the flashing runic script on the screen, turned on his heel, and marched straight out of the master suite. The housekeeper called out from the landing, her voice trembling, "Alpha-Prime, is your beast deploying to the borders tonight?" Draven tapped a rapid response into the crystal display, his face completely masked in shadow as he descended the stairs. "Dismiss the thralls to their quarters. My wolf is occupying a secondary fortress tonight."

C does this mean, Draven has forgiven her? find out in the next episode

“Can you levitate a mountain, Alpha Draven?“ a wide-eyed boy asked. “Could you slay a thousand warriors with a single roar?“ another girl inquired, her voice filled with awe. Draven chuckled, his laughter echoing through the room. “My young friends, your imaginations are running wild. While I am no ordinary man, I am far from the legend you paint me to be.“ A sudden movement caught his eye. In the corner, Draven”s one-year-old son, Bernard, stirred from his slumber. The tiny boy's eyes slowly opened, blinking at the unfamiliar surroundings.

Not unless everyone voted my brother in as Alpha, because it would no longer be his birthright. I figured Draven would be in his office, because he burns the candle at both ends at all times. He rarely sleeps because according to him, there is always work to be done. I knocked lightly on his door, but I could tell by the lack of light coming from under the door that he wasn’t there. He wasn’t in his room either. So, I called him. “Draven? Where are you? I’ve been to your office and suite, and now I'm standing in the hallway being gawked at by these young boys who should be in their rooms. Isn’t it past curfew?” I said loud enough for them to hear me.

Darkle laughed with some sarcasm, wondering if he was not afraid when seeing his whole herd had been killed a while ago, and these two were the ones who killed them and no one else. Why not be afraid?? Does he trust his strength to this degree or does he not care about his life? Do you think that Mars and Zayn can't kill him? " Come on, my girl, come forward." NBS laughed at Mars inside him when he saw his father's Mate standing confidently in front of him Yes his father's mate! Because he is not a legitimate son! He is the son of a witch whose father had an illegal relationship with her, so he took the power of witches and the power of werewolves, a hybrid yes.

With wide eyes, she looks up at mine, searching and probing. “You’re a Nero?” she asks in a breath. I nod, but realize that those listening can’t see it. “My name is Nova Ainsley. I grew up on Korpillion. I worked for Horne Energy, but for lunars before I escaped the planet, I was making illegal Neron weapons.” “The weapons maker?” Arden asks, and I can tell, her mind is reeling from all of the revelations.

And with that promise echoing in his heart, he surged forward, his pack close behind, ready to face whatever darkness lay ahead. A few hours later, the first light of dawn crept over Blackthorn, painting the ruined courtyard with muted gold and crimson hues. In that fragile morning glow, Diego stood atop a shattered wall, surveying the aftermath of last night’s battle. Amid the remnants of shattered stone and spilled blood, a familiar sound stirred hope in his weary heart—the steady, resolute voices of his pack.