Rhysand Acotar Novels & Stories

I try to sound menacing as I say his name, but no matter how I say it, it comes out as a giggle. “Razor,” the other guy says loudly, and I hear his footsteps running towards me quickly. Propping myself up on another crate, I wait for the other guy to approach me. As he comes into view, I hop off the crate and keep a wide smile on my lips. “I am sorry, but Razor is unavailable at the moment. He’s busy.” I say in my smart-ass voice. The man looks me up and down, but I don’t take my eyes off his hands. “You have got to be kidding me,” the man laughs. “You are the Lycan King’s lead assassin? Aren’t you also his secretary?”

Victoria squeezed Raven’s hand once—reassuring, steady. Then she pushed the doors open. The throne room waited beyond—vast, echoing, lit by chandeliers of blood-red crystal. King Alaric sat upon a throne of black obsidian and polished bone. His eyes—ruby like his daughter’s, but ancient, fathomless—fixed on the small necromantress in crimson. Raven felt the weight of that gaze like a physical thing. Her free hand brushed the black tome hidden in the satchel at her side.

“My daughter does not want a monster such as yourself for a mate. She told me what you are draugr.” I watched in horror as Rhazian tore through the men, drinking them dry, in his grief. He slaughtered them all before speeding back to the home of his mate. I wasn’t sure how long he had been running before he stood before her, the blood of her family and clansmen caked to his face and leathers. The look on her face confirmed that she had betrayed her mate to her father, had set him up to die. “So, it’s true?” He demanded.

One of them asks, voice high with shock. "What? That's impossible. I thought Rhys was ordered to leave New York ten years ago and never return," the other one says. A third woman pipes in. "I heard that it was Mrs. Anders who ordered Rhys and his mother to get lost because she was afraid her husband would make his mistress' son his heir." "That's crazy." One of them gasps. "And now Rhys is back? Why?" "Who knows? But what I know is that he didn't come back empty handed at all. He's the owner of Vertico."

Her dark hair was coiled up, a few damp strands curling softly against her neck. In the center of the steaming pool stood Rhys. Submerged up to his waist in the glowing turquoise water, he looked like a mythical titan rising from the depths. The warm, mineral-rich current rippled over his broad, chorded chest and arms, glistening against the dark scar tissue running down his torso. Without the burden of his heavy armor or the cold armor of his Alpha public persona, he looked dangerously vulnerable, his dark hazel-blue eyes fixed entirely on her as she approached the water’s edge.

People in the north barely talk about him too, but they are aware of him. "I was fascinated to hear about you and was more grateful that the north has you now that we are facing a crisis over the increasing number of insurgents. I was really anticipating having a conversation with you, Raenerys the Conqueror." The voice he has is a mixture of Nevil and Acheron. Even his face resembles the faces of the Lancaster siblings. No wonder; it runs in the blood.

I begged, my voice cracking with desperation, but they kept dragging me away—from the very moment that could change my life forever. “Please… let me go, let—” The words died in my throat. The doors to the pack house creaked open, and everyone turned toward them. My heart thundered against my ribs and my breathing restless from struggling as my gaze locked onto the figure standing under the moonlight. Torian Valon. The future Alpha of the Crimson Blood Pack. And then his eyes found mine. A chill rushed down my spine as his words. “Mate.”

A pair of leather shoes, long legs of black pants, and a black shirt…my gaze moved further to rest on pink lips left out under the black mask he wore. Who exactly was he? His rare gold colored eyes pierced through my being, and in that moment it felt as though I was bare. My nipples stirred under my wet dress, making things even worse than they already were. “Prince Darion,” The attendants chorused, their heads dropping, unable to look at the man as though he was a plague. Or perhaps someone of high status –pretty evident from his temperament. I clenched my jaw hard, feeling the swell on my cheeks. It still hurt from last night…if not even worse.

They all have god-like features, like the moon goddess took an extra day to make them. “You’re pretty,” he says casually as he pulls away, like he is talking about the weather. “So, you won’t get mad when I tell you not to get all hung up on Darian.” “Why?” “He is the Lycan Prince. He has duties that he has to fulfil.” Adrian pulls himself off the wall. “And he is the coldest McAlister. All he knows how to do is ruin everything in his path.”