Phantom Stallion Novels & Stories

Disgusted and still feeling a sensation of numbing shock, she looked back to the stage and saw Vance walk confidently to stand next to Cull with his hands tied together in front of him. “Gonna kill you, damned evil bastard,” Vance said softly of Cull. “Gonna try, and fail epically,” Cull muttered back. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he called. “Last item of the day. One healthy male. Prime age and in excellent condition. Only 25 years old so plenty of life left yet. A prime young stallion for any rider prepared to put him through his paces and break his spirit. Skilled with a sword and on horseback so a potential man-at-arms or bodyguard.”

No longer stifled by ghosts that haunted me. Timidly, I opened the stable door. Pepper kept looking at me. Deep into my soul. I smiled and held up a palm for her. She stepped forward, sniffing it a few times before bowing her head slightly. Maverick handed over the halter and I quickly tugged it over her head. Where was the hot streak now? We lead her to the opening of the stables. Soon enough, Maverick had picked his horse for the day. A black colt with tufts of fur on his hooves. Hair more graceful than my own.

“New horses. Fresh shipment came in this morning. You need to clear your head anyway. Come on, it won’t take long.” I sighed, but followed him out through the side doors and into the stables. The evening air hit me like a wave of clarity. The sun was setting, casting an amber glow over everything. Thorne waved a hand. “There. That one’s yours.” I walked up to a tall, dark grey stallion with white streaks down his face. Strong, steady, and alert. My kind of horse. “You’ve got good taste,” I said, running a hand down its neck.

There had to be at least thirty stalls total all immaculately kept with a variety of different horse breeds poking their heads through open stall doors. A coal black Arabian played with the ends of my hair while I stopped to pet a rust and cream colored Paint. But the most magnificent of all of the beasts in this barn was in the very last stall. Kingston, was an Eighteen hand Gypsy Vanner stallion, with a jet black coat and white dappling on his hind quarters. His mane and tail were snow white with his feathers matching. I stood back as Ronan opened the stall and led the massive horse out. I could tell just by looking at the two there was a long, loving history between the two of them.

She looked ahead, refusing to give him the pleasure of rattling her. Soon, they came upon the edge of the southern wall. And there, beneath the quiet spread of the ancient tree, stood two horses. One was tall and obsidian-black, eyes gleaming like coals in the dusk. Thunder, she knew. Samarth’s beast of war. But the other— Her heart leapt. Her breath caught. “Cyclone!” she cried softly, rushing toward the white stallion. His coat was the color of moonlight on snow, his mane thick and curling like a silken waterfall. He lifted his head and neighed, nostrils flaring, hooves scraping the stone as she ran to him.

The man knew how to push until everything Pandora desired hung on the word 'surrender'. “Now you’re coming home with me. Five days in the dorm is enough; the remaining two days are when you have to be with me. I won’t accept refusal, Pandora.” That was why Pandora was here. On a vast field. Watching herself in the shadow of a horse. The Thoroughbred Kingston had given her. A horse known as the most competitive breed. Its slender, strong, and agile build supported its ability to run fast, making it capable of tearing through the racecourse.

Roxanne changed quickly, her eyes shining with excitement. "You look beautiful in anything, my fair princess," Jaxon complimented her as she stepped out. He took her to the stable, where twenty horses of different breeds awaited. There was Sugarplum, a beautiful chestnut mare with a white blaze on her forehead, Noir, a sleek black stallion with a star-shaped marking on his nose, a proud Arabian named Zephyr, a gentle giant of a Shire horse named Thunder, and several others, each with their unique markings and personalities.

The stallion responded instantly, building raw velocity with every continuous stride. I leaned my upper body forward, my thighs gripping his muscular sides with deep memory, feeling the exhilarating, raw power of the beast churning beneath my seat. By the ancestors, my inner wolf had starved for this exact feeling—the pure speed, the absolute autonomy, the rush of navigating a territory at full tilt. Once Patch's athletic metrics were fully satisfied, Sebastian guided a gorgeous chestnut mare out from the primary training paddock. "Grandmother recently integrated her into the estate line," he explained, keeping his distance careful and respectful. "An exceptionally gentle temperament. Perfec

He murdered my father. I swore to destroy him. So why is he the only man I want? The night the Phantom murdered Nicholas Ashbourne's father, he made himself Nicholas's sworn enemy. Nicholas was nineteen when he watched the most important man in his life die at the hands of a stranger who wielded the wind like a weapon. Nicholas swore he would find the Phantom and make him pay. A year later, at Meadows Academy, Nicholas encounters Grey Storm—a strange, white-haired first-year with ice-blue eyes, an unsettlingly calm demeanor, and absolutely no interest in following anyone's rules. Grey refuses to fight, refuses to explain himself, and seems utterly unimpressed by Nicholas's status

, she was panting too hard and praying, while she didn’t stop running. The stallion reached him, she could hear the loud neighing of it from at a hand distance, her heart was beating out of her ribs as she screamed at the sight of it, it was a white stallion, galloping at an incredibly faster rate, that was too extraordinary for a feat to be performed. “Saaaammmmmmmmm!”, she closed her eyes, putting her hands over her head, lowering down to the ground and screamed at the top of her voice!