Rhysand Wings Novels & Stories

"Fuck!" Andreas swore, gritting his teeth when his eyes met Alexandra's. Shaking the crawling pillagers off him, he sprouted wings and flying up, took two lycans with him. Crushing their hands and feet partially in anger and in a bid to end their thrashing, which just resulted in one of them biting into his thigh-which he ignored-he flew over to Adrastos. Dropping the more violent lycan and watching it's hands flail before it's skull cracked open against a rock, he turned to face Adrastos.

Even the claws, depicted with sharp precision, seemed ready to rend stone or flesh with equal ease. The dragon's wings were a masterpiece of artistry, spanning wide across Phoenix's back. The wings were composed of leathery membranes stretched between elongated bones. Veins and ridges crisscrossed the membranes, giving them an appearance that suggested aerodynamic efficiency. As Astrid's gaze trailed down from Phoenix's back to his forearm, she discovered another piece of art etched into his skin. A Celtic knot design graced his arm, its elaborate twists and turns captivating her attention like a labyrinth of ancient lore.

The heavens bent beneath their flight, each wings broad as temple banners, their membranes veined with hieroglyphic gold that shimmered in the stormlight, each movement painting the air with forgotten hymns. The eldest soared at the highest point of the barrier, his greyish-black scales glimmering like black diamond dust strewn across midnight. The light caught on every ridge, fracturing into silver shards that glittered around him like a crown of stars. His horns curved backward in smooth, regal arcs, tipped with gold, and his eyes burned like molten steel, cold and unyielding. When his wings spread, the undersides flashed with intricate patterns of silver hieroglyphs, each one pulsing fain

Zachary glanced at me. Instead of getting mad, he scrutinized me apathetically. Wynnie, who was beside him, suddenly said, "Mr. Lowe, Yas has shown talent as a pilot since she was young. She got her license when she was 18. At 22, she has already outperformed many experienced pilots. She's made it this far through her own efforts." Wynnie's voice was as gentle as her smile in the photo from 20 years ago.

He grabbed his phone and barked at Bernard, "Drag Wanda back here right now. I want her at Jilly and Harvey's engagement party, and she'd better congratulate them in person!" After that, Dad dove headfirst into planning the engagement, micromanaging every little thing himself. Bernard, who was supposed to get in touch with me, called nonstop for three days, but all he got was nothing. Even when he tried to track me down, the only thing he dug up was my last connecting flight. It was like I'd just disappeared off the face of the earth. Everything about me stopped cold the day I left home. Bernard began sweating bullets and could barely spit it out to Dad. "M-Mr. Swain, Wanda's… I think she's

“Nikolaidis. But his egg donor, as he put it, is a Frost. I’ve met some of them. Darius, Elijah, Forrest… and their wife Riko. Though I doubt you’d know them. They’re kind of private.” His eyebrows shot up. “Are you kidding? I went to Ravenwood with them.” My jaw nearly dropped. “Wait—seriously?” “Yup. Played basketball with Forrest. I was close with Darius and Elijah, too, at least back then. Riko came in during senior year. We didn’t hang out as much, but she was sharp. Quiet at first, but definitely the glue that held those three together. They called the brothers the Princes of Ravenwood.”

Fur didn't sprout—instead, something darker unfurled. Pain lanced her back as protrusions burst from her shoulder blades, not feathers or scales, but jagged bone wings, veined with pulsing violet light. They spanned wide, casting shadows over the training circle, the tips sharp enough to slice stone. She cried out, the sound shifting to a guttural howl that echoed off the rocks. Malachi froze, awe slackening his features for the first time. Rogues gathered at the edges, murmurs rippling through them. Lyra rose unsteadily, her body a hybrid horror—human form intact but for the wings, claws extending from her fingers, eyes blazing violet.

I whisper, the tears I’ve been holding back finally stinging my eyes. “Yes it is and you know it.” Rhysand leans down, his face inches from mine. His silver eyes are dark, focused, and utterly ruthless. “Look at you. You’re brilliant, you’re beautiful, and you’re standing out there begging for scraps of attention from a man who is literally dreaming of another woman while he stands next to you. It’s pitiful.” He reaches out, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw, his touch making my skin hum. “I genuinely hate seeing you like this. You’re a lioness acting like a house cat.”

I have never seen such beautiful wings in my entire life. His crimson-red wings are described as metallic with each feather sharp like a precision blade. Each feather/blade has the top part crimson with the hairs or fibres sticking out of the sides, while the end of the blade itself is black. I really envy him. Why does he have to have such beautiful wings? Why is mine not like his? I cried in my mind and again looked up at him. He was waiting for me to go up. So I spread my wings too and flew up to complete the rest of the fight.

He looked almost unreal, with his new body and more matured look. His father almost drilled a hole in my face, squinting his eyes and when he took a step closer, Cyrus stretched a hand- blocking him. His mouth moved in an inaudible whisper and Vlad took a step back. His wings suddenly spread out, much larger than Cyrus's and a beautiful silver color that was almost blinding. He took off with one powerful flap, shooting into the sky. I shielded my eyes from the dust, turning my face away with a hand over my eyes. I waited a few seconds before I looked again.