Noctis Draven Novels & Stories

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.”

Another thirty minutes passed, and the fever in Draven’s blood subsided. Resting on the floorboards covered with splinters, supporting his weight, I tried to coax my Nullifier channels into his blood, calming his body and soul. Bit by bit, the corded black ridges on his neck melted away. His harsh, ragged breathing smoothed into occasional long breaths. Only after Draven finally relaxed and fell asleep did I carefully lay him on the bed. But he didn’t stir from his unconscious state. The usually immovable rock carved from pure, stubborn granite had been completely exhausted by the struggle with the ancient monster inside him.

Far beyond the borders of Briar Hollow stood a kingdom unlike any other. The Kingdom of Noctis. A land where the sun rarely shone through the endless mist. A land ruled by vampires. At its center rose Castle Nocturne. A colossal fortress carved from black obsidian stone. Its towers pierced the clouds. Its walls had stood for centuries. And upon the highest throne sat the most feared being in the supernatural world. The First Blood Vampire. King Lucien Draven.

My hands are cold and damp as I walk into the Nox office with Samiel and Draven. The morning silence makes the place feel heavier, more intimidating, as I face the two massive men standing in front of me. — I swear, vicarius, when you called asking about the rune of Grace, I thought you’d gone insane. — Draven says, taking the glass of whisky from Samiel’s hand and pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s tense. — I’ve always been insane, Draven. I thought you knew me well enough. — Neither of them smiles. Apparently, it wasn’t a joke. — What took you so long?

Without hesitation, Draven attacked like the killing predator he was, showing no mercy as he imagined Verik’s face, his fists pushing into the male’s chest, leaving him for dead. In his darkened state, Draven had begun to hallucinate, and when he saw the woman he saved was Myra, his wolf yearned to be with her; so, he accepted her kiss and the bestial claim of one night under the stars, calling out Myra's name. Now, waking up to her name from his nightmare, he cried out, “Don’t…Myra!” This time, as Draven pushes himself up from the cool grass, he's met with a completely different scent. To his left, he sees Navori lying naked beside him, which makes his heart sink.

"Did he tear your previous outfit off? You're both looking surprisingly... refreshed." I held back a blush. “You really need to get yourself a wolf," I muttered. She snorted. "I don't need some male I could cut down in his sleep." I nearly laughed—knowing Astrid, it wasn't even a joke. I'd seen her efficiency firsthand. When Nox dismissed Draven with a wave, Astrid's voice dropped to barely a whisper. "You know what that gray patch means. He's from our pack." I crossed my arms, sighing.

Naham and Roman were nervous as they clung to their mates, watching a large group of hybrids line up near Atticus. Atticus spoke to his people and promised that their forever home was almost ready. The king looked toward Naham and Roman, but both were too frightened to leave their mate's arms. Atticus smiled at Naham and Roman, and then, the next moment, Draven burst out of his body like an explosion. His long tail stretched out behind his body, and his claws sank into the ground. His eyes burned with fire, and he looked directly at Naham and Roman. The area between his scales seemed transparent, allowing one to see the fire burning inside the large beast. Smoke seeped from his body as his n

Not when Draven stood between us like the devil himself ripped straight from the stories meant to scare young pups into obedience. Except he was real. And worse, he was having fun. Elias pushed away from the altar with a snarl, folding over when his leg gave out again. Nora caught him, only barely steady on her own feet. I could see the shake in her arms, the way her flames stuttered around her fingers. She was on fumes. We all were. Draven didn’t miss it. Of course, he didn’t. “Is this the best Obscura has to offer?” he asked, striding towards them with a shake of his head. “A dragon too young to remember what she is, a crippled heir, and a mutt with more bark than bite?”

While Draven and his men thought they had won- while they celebrated under the moonlight, mocking the witches that their power had failed them, they were unaware of the misfortune that was about befalling their pack. A week after wiping out the Noctheras Clan, Draven fell ill. The sickness took everyone by surprise as that was the first time their master would fall ill to the extent that he wouldn't be able to get up from bed. Thalindra- the clan's powerful sorcerer was called on and upon divination, the cause of Draven's sickness was revealed. It was revealed that the night they attacked the Noctheras Clan, right before the head of the witches took her last breath, she had whispered a curse

The night had teeth. Nova could feel them in the air — sharp, cold, gnawing at her skin as the wind carried the scent of ash from Draven’s encampment. The moon above was swollen and pale, its light trembling as dark clouds began to creep across its surface. The eclipse was near. Draven had gathered his army on the plains that stretched beyond the forest — rogues, Hunters, outcasts from half a dozen packs. A thousand eyes gleamed in the torchlight, hungry, waiting.