Rhysand Romane & Geschichten

Chris asks while he releases her hands. "Who is Raphael?" Ana asks referring to the girls. "Raphael isn't home," Alexandra says almost immediately, Karis glances at her. "But I called, he said he's home. I called him a few minutes ago!" Chris argues. "And I just told you he isn't in!" Alexandra retorts sounding rude. "Please, ignore her childish approach, someone will go check if he is in!" Ana says almost immediately. Not missing an eye roll from Alexandra. "I will be waiting!" Krys responds. Meanwhile, Ana turns to Karis direction. She is about to say something. But is beat to it.

he replied, his gaze drifting towards the doorway where Granny Yeneva and Grandpa Jordan had disappeared with the children. Rockan, sensing his brother's unease, “I’m just trying to look after—” “Save it,” Tyris responded in a snap. Tyris' eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he regarded his brother. "Save it, Rockan," he repeated, the words dripping with disdain. "We both know why I'm so angry - because you had the audacity to claim and mark Denera as your own."

Arthur pulls out another old box, but this one isn’t as in as good of condition as the last one. “Hello, everyone. I am Rondell, Rondell Morrisfield,” Rondell says. The room went dead silent; you could have heard a pin drop. I could see that Tianya and Kylynn wanted to say something, but they were struck silent for once. I had the urge to pull out my phone and record this moment because I knew them not being able to find something to say was a moment few and far between. I felt Everly smack my thigh and raised my eyebrow at her. I have a feeling she knew exactly what I was thinking.

However, my entire being seems to have melted in the wind when I saw the one in front of me. It was a tall, lean man with pale skin, black hair, and the most startling grey eyes. His irises are the color of diffused storm clouds, and they look just as threatening. When he meets my gaze, a cold chill zaps my spine. It’s Rhysand, and his features keep shifting, changing, but I can still see who and what he is at the core of it all. He looks less monstrous and more handsome this time, but there’s no denying that behind those eyes, there’s nothing. He has no soul, no heart, no sympathy.

Laryn stood up and wiped the blood from his face. "He's scrappy," he said to the other two dragons. I was slower to get up this time, but finally managed to gain my feet. "You next," I nodded to Sarn. "Hell no," he said. "I don't look good in red; that's Bastian's color." He gave me an ear to ear grin and stepped forward with his hand out. "I'm Sarn. What's your name?" I looked from his hand to the grin on his face. I took his offered hand and we shook. "I'm Tahr, of the royal silver dynasty."

I walked towards the recruit and he lowered his eyes to the ground as soon as he saw me approaching. “At ease” I ordered, And he dropped his hands as he looked at me, then back at Connor. “What did you say your name was?” I asked him “Name is Rhys, Your Majesty,” He said as I growled, nodding my head. “Rank?” I asked him. I could smell that alpha blood in him as I came closer. How the hell did Connor miss something like this? “I am a rogue” he lowered his head, stuttering as he said that. He lowered his head again as I smirked, nodding my head.

Way worse. I’d seen how his men treated us already. If this is how the soldiers acted, kicking girls around and calling us bitches and sluts, then their king had to be ten times meaner. Rumors said he was immortal and nothing under the sun could kill him. What chance did I have against that? At least with a regular alpha there was a tiny sliver, maybe one percent, that I could fight back, maybe even kill him in his sleep if I got lucky. But the king? No. I’d rather take my chances with one of his hunters than end up alone in a room with that monster.

He was dead serious. He was actually, seriously proposing that I—Myra Rossi, the girl who still had fucking stuffed animals (no offense to Mr. Dragon) on her bed—was going to marry Zyran Theon. The man whose gaze could freeze hell over. The man who had visited our house for years and had never once strung more than two words together in my direction. The man whose very silence felt like a physical dismissal, making me feel like a stranger in my own home, fucking non-existent.

The prince of the rouges growled. Drake was panting, gasping for air. He closes his eyes, feeling the presence of the beating heart. As he opened his eyes, it was blood red. He wore the devil's eye. It was cold, dark, mysterious, and dangerous. The prince of the rouges steps backward, trembling. He didn't try to struggle off the chain; he just wore his dangerous lopsided grin.