Reaper Of Drifting Moon Novels & Stories

Lyla POV “Why is this taking so long?” I demanded from Reaper. Reaper’s eyes began to glow red, indicating that I needed to watch out and not anger him further. “You think what we are doing is easy Lyla?” He bit out before standing up from his chair and stalking towards me. I coward towards the wall as he gripped a handful of hair and made me look at him. His eyes were fully glowing red as his anger took over. “You need to have patience. The full moon is happening tonight. THAT, is what we need in order for everything to happen.”

The shattered moon was no longer a celestial body; it was an archipelago of bone-white rock and radioactive cobalt drifting in a chaotic, low-gravity dance. As the thousand gliders of the Union approached the debris field, they looked like autumn leaves caught in a gale. There was no air here to catch their wings, so the "Silver-Eyed" children took over, using their connection to the planet’s magnetic wake to "tug" the bronze-wood shells toward the largest lunar fragments.

Or perhaps it wasn’t blood at all—just motes of silver and black, slipping through her hands like dying stars. The Rebirth Moon hung above, its cracked surface weeping beams of white light that painted the ruins in an ethereal glow. Liora lifted her tear-streaked face toward the heavens. “Mother…” Scene 1: Iris Descends One Last Time Light split the clouds. Iris appeared—not as the goddess she had been, but as the mother she once was. Her simple white dress fluttered in a wind that carried no sound, and her silver hair drifted like threads of moonlight.

A variable that refused to be quantified. The lead Reaper lowered its rod. It stood for a moment, its blank helmet regarding the impossible anomaly before it. Then, it made a sharp, precise gesture with its free hand. The three Reapers turned in unison and, as silently as they had arrived, glided away, disappearing back into the rows of trees, leaving the path of grey statues in their wake. The humming stopped. The only sound was Elara's ragged sobs as she broke free from Kael and ran to Ronan's still, grey form.

The man had finally managed to produce a child and he wanted me to stand in a hall and applaud. "Small man," I said. "Large occasion." Gary said nothing. That was the correct response. My throne had been built on the bodies of my father and my brothers, taken in the year I turned twenty-four, held through five years of war that hadn't fully ended. I had killed more men than I could name. The packs called me The Reaper and stayed out of my borders and prayed their treaties held. The elders said Moon Godness herself had cursed me, no fated mate, no heir, no future beyond the violence I was good at.

But today, her focus was off, and she knew why. It was a Dragon Moon--just not for their kingdom. Rather, the kingdom directly to their north, Hightower, would be forced to make the sacrifice that night. Every time a Dragon Moon rolled around, Nya found it difficult to concentrate, even when it wasn’t her kingdom who would choose someone to be taken by the dragon. Just the idea that the bastard would be flying through the sky, filling the air with shrieks and fire, claiming another innocent life. Even if it wasn’t a citizen from Frindom, it was a person who would be dead soon enough, someone who was blameless, and that wasn’t right.

"Ten years ago. Kyros played it for me every night while he broke me." She drops the recorder. It shatters on the asphalt. "You sold me," she whispers. "And now I'm here to collect the refund." She snaps her fingers. BOOM-BOOM-BOOM. Floodlights slam on from the top of the projection booth. We are blinded. "Ambush!" Drakon roars, grabbing me. But they don't fire. From the shadows of the screen, from the projection booth, from the trees... they emerge. Reapers. Dozens of them.

“No. It does matter! It can ruin the whole hunt for us!” “I, Eir Moonscar, blessed by the moon goddess and lost barbarian descendant, reject you, Toke Bloodfur, the former alpha of the Vikings pack.” After what felt like hundreds of versions of the rejection, this hit me right in the stomach. Leaving me gasping for air as the pain just continued to spread through my stomach. Bones crackled behind my ribs, and Drifta howled and whimpered in my mind, echoing through my head like a burning curse.

Desperate. Good. Because I would be the storm Adolfa never saw coming. --- By nightfall, Karl returned. He carried scrolls and books, some stolen from forbidden archives. "This one," he said, placing a torn parchment before me, "mentions the Reaping Flame. Said to destroy the soul of a hybrid if done during a blood moon." I leaned forward. "Explain." "The Reaping Flame is a ritual. Ancient. Cruel. You need blood from her kin, the ashes of a murdered Alpha, and her pain willingly given. It only works if she is weakened."

A way for my pack to show off their female population. My eyes scanned the crowd but neither really saw through the mass of bodies nor heard far due to the music blaring from the speakers. The fairy lights covering the pillars and the railings were eye-catching but what stood at the spotlight was the moon. I might have forgotten it was a full moon night today. How magnificent it felt, to be under the moonlight that seeped through the clouds, falling on us from time to time. A male gestured me over, and despite my nerves, I approached him with a curtsy when I sensed the power coming from him. He smelt of gamma blood, a third in command or the warrior wolf.