Romans & histoires Ravnica Novel

How was I supposed to talk to a raven and save Dominic? ************************************

AMBER POV. (Pg 13) I stretch my arms across my body as we walk through the grassy field in front of our cabin. I feel completely drained. I argued with so many wolves today that my throat is sore. You would think they would accept my decisions as their Goddess, but mistrust was definitely evident today.

Oblivion took hold of me, and a chamber of ice encased my swollen heart. ** The story continues in Book 2: The Bloodstone Vampire. Out December 1st 2020. Thank you for reading SRWW – I hope you’ve enjoyed it as much as I have!**

And River had a perfectly good mate and still went for her sister? Classy. I didn’t feel anything at first. No shock. No sympathy. Hell, not even anger. Just this strange, bitter amusement. So I smirked. Because Raven wasn’t some random girl I could write off. She wasn’t weak. She wasn’t clueless. She wasn’t mine. She was his. And now she was in my house, wearing the same broken look he left her with. I closed the folder and tapped my fingers against the edge of my desk.

“This country thrives the best when the true and dark nature of the wolves is out there. Dark magic helps our wolves to remember that they are not timid fools who play catch. Our wolves are born to crave and draw blood.” “Oh.” Aspen was appalled. If someone else walked in while Raven talked, they would have thought that she was excited because something nice was about to happen to her. But no, she was speaking about ruining the peace of the country. “You want to return chaos and doom to the country,” Aspen commented. “What? No. We have always had chaos and doom. I am just amplifying what we already have.” Raven’s hands cupped the air in front of her breasts. “I want to increase the potential

Scattered among the symbols were passages written in an unfamiliar language, the script ancient yet exquisitely refined. Raven flipped through several pages, his expression gradually darkening. Though he was an Alpha well-versed in ancient records and scholarly texts of Blood Moon, even he had to admit, the contents of Magic Array exceeded conventional understanding. He gently closed the book, eyes gleaming with contemplation. “The scholars of Blood Moon will undoubtedly be fascinated by this,” Raven remarked, his deep voice laced with a mixture of intrigue and caution. Setting the book aside, his fingers rhythmically tapped the table, an undeniable sense growing within him, this ancient rel

Ma’am… ma’am.” The voice keeps poking at the edges of my dream, irritating and sharp—completely out of place because I’m busy imagining Tairan, my new fictional obsession, doing absolutely unholy things to me in a forest made of neon lights and by unholy I mean burning my palms with melting wax and using the fire to melt it again after it solidifies, yeah he's the psycho in my book that I'm in love with. But back to the topic. No one calls him “ma’am,” so obviously something is wrong in this universe.

Chapter 77 Raven's eyes drooped slightly, exhausted but still radiating a terrifying aura, as she scanned the horizon. Axel knelt at her side, his hands holding hers. “Raven… it’s over… now,” he whispered. The calm lasted only moments. A sudden wave of dizziness pulled at Raven’s consciousness. The battlefield, the shattered walls, the dying cries all dissolved into shards of light and shadow. She fell to her knees, coughing violently as her vision swirled, and the Hollow Blade’s presence wrapped around her like a living shadow, coiling into the deepest recesses of her mind.

Under the full moon, her fur didn’t just reflect light— It seemed to hold it. White wolves weren’t common, they were legend. Power. Change. Omen. Danger. This explained Raven’s abilities. How she could heal. Her strength. My eyes flicked toward the elders, Elder Eira looked shaken and Elder Thalos looked calculating. And Eldric— Eldric was not surprised and that unsettled me more than anything. Raven didn’t look back. She lunged into the forest with raw precision, her movement fluid and devastatingly fast. Branches snapped as she tore through the trees.

The isolation that had once been about survival was now about peace. Raven sat on the porch swing, a laptop balanced on her knees as she worked on the book that had become her passion project. The working title was "Justice Served Cold: A Story of Redemption and Revenge," though she was still debating whether to publish it under her real name or maintain the fiction of Raven Steele.