Rhysand Wings Novels & Stories

The sounds he made as he devoured me were wet, guttural, animal noises that vibrated through my most sensitive flesh. Then the air grew heavy, hot, stifling. I glanced down through my tears and saw—scales. Black, bronze, and gold, shimmering like metal in firelight, rippling across Rhydan's shoulders, his arms, his cheekbones. His eyes, when they flicked up to meet mine, held slit pupils, tight and predatory. And his tongue... It was giving me two sources of sensation, working in tandem—one circling my entrance, the other flicking ruthlessly against my bud.

“At the end. Right before you collapsed. From your back came… I don’t even know how to describe it. Shadows that solidified. Two large, dark extensions that spread out behind you like raven wings. Black, sharp-tipped. They lasted a few seconds, then dissolved when you lost consciousness.” Wings. The word hung between us like something neither of us knew how to touch. Black wings. Raven wings. Coming out of my back. “Is that true?” I asked the voice inside. “The wings? Yes. They’re new. Pretty, right? I think they’re growing. Your Lycán’s blood feeds us well.” *Growing?* “What else is going to grow? Horns? A tail?” “Don’t be dramatic. The wings are functional. The claws are functional. Everyt

He’d already had a bath. His hair was still a little damp, his thick fringe falling messily across his forehead. He wore a navy pajama set covered in tiny cars even though the sun hadn’t fully gone down yet, and one of his clogs was on properly while the other barely clung to his feet. Rhysand’s face, if he still believed dinosaur-shaped soap had feelings. He ran down two steps. “Walk.” He slowed down dramatically for exactly two steps, then started running again and crashed into my legs in a full-body hug.

ELYSIA’S POV The room felt colder after he left. Not in a physical sense; the fire still crackled in the hearth, warm and steady. But something had shifted when the door closed behind him. The air felt heavier, emptier. I sat on the edge of the bed, gripping the furs, trying to steady my breathing as I stared at the closed door, as if it might open again at any moment. But it didn’t. He was here. The Alpha King was here—Alpha King Rhaegar. He had caught me just as I was about to collapse.

Like something inside her had decided: No survivors. One Winged creature launched toward the sky, trying to flee over the roofs. Nyra followed. She rose, golden wings cutting the air like blades, and caught up in seconds. She slammed into it mid-flight. They tumbled. Nyra recovered first, always first, wings snapping open to stabilise her, and she drove the fleeing creature downward with her body like a spear. They crashed onto a roof. Tiles exploded. The Winged creature screamed. Nyra ripped its throat out. Black blood sprayed across broken tiles.

The sword light and sword radiance were instantly swallowed up. "What the hell is this?" The male cultivator couldn't help but let out a loud roar when he felt the golden-red light emanating a shuddering aura. At this moment, his eyes narrowed. In the center of the exploded rubble, something seemed to be stretching out in the scorching light that was almost impossible to look straight at. At the same time, they heard a cry. Swoosh swoosh! The raging flames instantly transformed into a pair of huge wings. The whistling flames were the noble feathers on the wings.

Wolves stood panting, bloodied and confused. Veyra turned toward the ridge that overlooked the clearing. There, outlined against the burning sky, stood a figure. At first, she thought it was a trick of the light—a nightmare conjured by her exhausted mind. But the bond between them recognized him instantly, with a jolt of pure, soul-deep terror. Nyros. He was no longer the wolf she remembered. No longer anything she could call mortal. Wings unfurled from his back, vast and leathery, stitched from shadow and bone. Horns of moonbone curled from his temples, gleaming like deadly crowns. His body was both beautiful and horrifying, a mockery of everything the gods had ever made.

I didn’t want to leave her side, but I knew Ramses was right. I leaped into the air letting my wings unfurl behind me. A dusting of rose gold flakes fell behind me along with pieces of my torn shirt, as I flew up and joined my brothers. All four of us surrounded this man, who I just now realized had sprouted wings made from flames.

"Please open the door!" There was no answer. The hallway remained silent except for my ragged breathing. "Rhysand, please! I'm begging you, just talk to me!" I banged harder, my fists aching. "I didn't do anything! I swear it! Please just open the door!" After what felt like an eternity, the door finally swung open. Rhysand stood there, eyes bloodshot, hair disheveled, his face a mask of rage and exhaustion. "What part of 'leave me alone' do you not understand?" he bellowed, his voice echoing down the hallway.

I was unsure if it would be towards him, or away. “Mate.” I heard her say. Her eyes lite up, her wings appearing from her back. The sight of her was blinding. Her blue dress shimmered as her wings stood tall behind her shoulders. Her wings began to grow longer. They were now brushing the back of her calf. Renard came walking over at light speed. He took her hand in his raising it in the air. His wings appeared mimicking Helga’s. There was a tornado of colors swirling around them. Her blue and his red, not blending together as mine and my men. The colors died down, accepting each other.