Rhys Bowen Series Novels & Stories

Rhys said. Pulling out the first compartment of the bedside cupboard, he drew out a gun, cocking it even as placed it at the back of his trousers, a deadly look in his eyes. I didn’t know what all of this meant but one thing I knew was that there was trouble and we needed to act fast before we were all caught up with it. “What is going on Rhys? Could this be Damon?” “I have other enemies aside from Damon and I have a feeling that this is one of them. This isn’t Damon’s MO…” he said.

He didn’t belong here—and yet, he looked like he owned the night itself. “Sorry,” he said, smiling. “Didn’t mean to eavesdrop. But Blackwood does inspire violent fantasies.” “Who are you?” “Call me Rhys.” The name didn’t ring any bells, but his smile did something dangerous to my pulse. There was mischief in his eyes. But something darker too. Something that made the hairs on my neck stand. “You shouldn’t be up here,” I said cautiously. “Neither should you,” he replied. I crossed my arms. “Are you with the press?”

The nostalgia and all my highlighted points are mostly about Rhys. "This means a lot," I said. "You know the male lead in this book; his name is Rhys, and oh god, he is the epitome of sexiness. When I came to know more about him, I was like, Sir, please step on me. His eyes, his wings, and his I could not finish my sentence when I heard a low growl erupt in Noah's throat. "Be careful when you are talking about other men while I am here," Noah threatened.

"Information gathering. That's definitely all it was. Couldn't possibly have anything to do with wanting to know if she's available." "She's clearly not available," Rhys said sharply. "She has a boyfriend who she called when she needed help. Who she described as important to her. Who apparently has been taking care of her since she was released from prison. The nature of my interest in Ravyn Hawkins is purely professional." "Papa, you're using your business voice," R observed, looking up from his game with concern. "Are you and Sir Phoenix arguing?" "We're discussing," Rhys said, immediately moderating his tone. "Adults sometimes discuss things that sound like arguing but aren't. Sir Phoenix

Xayden’s POV I watched in stunned disbelief as Rhys crossed the final line. My blood roared in my ears, a feral growl rumbling deep in my chest as he dared—dared—to lay his filthy hands on my mate. Rhys moved with brazen defiance, his hands sliding to Bolt’s waist as if he had the right, as if I wasn’t standing right here. And then he did it—he pulled Bolt to him, pressing their bodies flush together. His lips descending on Bolt’s with a reckless, fiery fervor, his boldness igniting like gasoline on an open flame.

It was a harvest. Rhys was a blur of midnight violence. He moved with a predatory fluidity that the drugged humans couldn't track. He lunged, his jaws snapping shut around a crossbowman’s torso with the sound of a dry branch snapping. Then with a spun, his claws disemboweling another raider in a spray of hot, visceral steam. Within heartbeats, the circle of black-clad men had been halved, their bodies littering the slush like discarded rags. But the cost was devastating. Every time Rhys landed, he stumbled on his poisoned foreleg. His breathing was a wet, heavy rattle, the sound of lungs scorched by the violet mist.

“I appreciate it, Jerry. I do. But Iris won’t let you near the house, not right now. And I can’t leave them unprotected. I need you to stay. For me.” There was a pause on the other end of the line, and I could tell Jerry was weighing his options. Finally, he relented. “Alright. I’ll stay. But you better come back in one piece.” I chuckled, though there was no humour in it. “I’ll try my best.” *NO POV* THE TRAITOR MEETS THE BOSS The air was thick with the stench of dampness and rot as Rhys stepped cautiously into the dark lair, his footsteps echoing against the cold stone walls. His heart pounded in his chest, but he kept his face steady, determined.

RHYS’S SECRET BARGAIN “A betrayal cloaked in sacrifice still bleeds.” Dawn cracked like shattered bone over the Iron Ridge, red and cold. The camp was silent—too silent. Lyra woke first. She reached for her blade by instinct, heart already thrumming. Something was wrong. The fires were still burning, but one tent was missing. Elara’s and so was Anya’s. And Rhys… Rhys had returned. He appeared at the base of the ridge like a ghost stepping through mist. No sound. No scent. Only the flicker of unnatural markings seared across his arms—burned deep, like chains forged into flesh.

Chapter 13: Trouble in Paradise Rhys’s P.O.V: A vicious growl tore through me as I watched Zyane about to do the unthinkable. The growl distracted Zyane enough to snap his attention towards me, but all he did was growl at me in rage before turning back towards the cowering girl he had trapped under him by force. Knowing that I was the closest one to him, I jumped up on top of one of the rocks and in one swift motion, landed right behind Zyane and sank my teeth into his shoulders to rip him off of the girl and throw Zyane away from her.

and left. Rhys hadn’t moved from the pillar. Fifty feet of empty basement between us. He was looking at the book in my hands. Looking at me. Probably processing the reality that the wreckage was public now. That strangers would read about his cruelty and his crash and his father’s secret and the hospital chair and the kitchen floor. But he wasn’t hiding from it. He was standing in the light of it. I walked toward him. Boots on concrete. The book against my ribs. His eyes on my face the entire way.