Romantic Hero Novels & Stories

And then he began. "Your brothers ruled with an iron fist. Hector, the eldest, led with cruelty and brute strength. There was no strategy, only force. Humans… were cattle. Resources. Tools. Synx was the only dissenting voice." "Because of Romã," I murmured. "Romã was her chosen one. A human. And because of that, he was hated. Hector was the first to rise against them, and he was killed by Romã himself, who fought to defend Synx. A mistake."

Her heart nearly stopped. “You’re successful now,” she said. “You have everything. Why would you want the same girl you left behind?” “Because I never stopped loving her.” The room felt suddenly smaller. Dangerous. Hope was a dangerous emotion for Evelyn. “I don’t believe you,” she said. “You don’t have to,” Lincoln replied. “But I’m not giving up this time.” Her chest tightened again. Every man she had dated after Lincoln had been an attempt to replace something that could never truly be replaced.

Even a broken man who is trying to live, the striveness itself defines he can be a hero. The stranger with a crushed broken heart turned into my lifeline and made him into the man he is today. The affect is dragging a sinner from the pits of hell and raising him into my heaven, allowing him Redemption and freedom from the demons of his past. He is the hero, he is the deserved hero, and this is Mr. Alexander Hamilton's REDEMPTION. THE END ******

My daughter rushed to embrace her brother emotionally and I finally could not stop that tears as I watched my children embrace each other warmly in comfort. Knowing there is no way I can stop the dam, I moved a few steps away to stare blankly at the wall as the tears poured rapidly down my face. I felt the silent figure behind me even before he said a word. “A hero is a woman who will do anything to love and protect her kids, but a much better hero is a responsible, loyal man who will love and cherish his woman and their kids. And above all, protect and possess his woman in every sense of the word.” He enlightened softly and I waited to hear the mockery behind his voice but there was nothing

“Liam is a bully. I don’t like bullies.” “Mhm,” he rose to his feet and moved to stand near the wall of greenery. “You are a hero.” “Me?” I was astonished. “Oh, no. That’s Tarragon. She’s the hero. I’m just… me.” “No,” he turned back and offered me his hand. His palm was warm and calloused against mine and his arm strong as he lifted me to my feet. He smiled down at me and reached out to stroke a lock of my hair that had fallen free of its braid back behind my ear. “You are a hero. Every villain needs a hero, and you’re mine, Daethie. I think it’s safe for us to get out of here. What do you think?”

His hands on my back, pulling me into him. I did realize that there are two sides to my Match: the royalty and the dreamer. And I just can't have the dreamer, no matter how much I like him–because yes, I like Caelum. A lot–I also have to accept the royalty and the world he lives in. "I don't have much to give you. But I will stand by your side…you as Prince Christopher and you as Just Caelum. My Caelum," I said.

But, this wasn't the subject right now. “Do you know what is the difference between a naive fool and a hero of justice?" She clenched her fist, a fierce expression on her face. "It's their strength. The first requirement of being a hero isn’t being right. It’s being strong. That’s why the hero always wins.”

He was murmuring something I didn’t clearly heard because I fell asleep the moment I released. My cheeks heated profusely. We’re still here at the guestroom. I look at my back, at his peaceful feature while sleeping. I can’t imagine him because so soft and such a cute guy while sleeping beside me. He always has this rough and ruthless facade that’s why I always adore his soft feature every time I have a chance to. And then my father’s voice lingered my mind. “Seduce him. Romance him. Make him fall in love with you . . .”

The words struck her harder than anything else had that night. Emotion surged up inside her, overwhelming and tangled, a rush so strong she did not know whether she wanted to cry, to laugh, or to run and hide. She had wanted this for so long, had feared it just as much, and now that it was happening, she felt unbearably exposed. A wide smile spread across his face, bright enough that it seemed to change the room itself. “You’re beautiful,” he said softly, reaching a hand toward her. He did not grab for her, did not rush the moment. He rested his palm on the bed between them, an offering rather than a demand.

He was my home. He pressed his forehead to mine, his whisper a gentle murmur of words I didn’t fully comprehend but felt completely. French words that flowed from his lips like poetry. “Mon coeur… ma vie… mon âme.” My heart… my life… my soul. Every word sent a shiver through me, melted me, convinced me of a love so strong it could conquer anything. I whispered back, brokenly, trying to match him: “I am yours. Only yours. Always.”