Novel & Cerita Samuel Hawke

he growled. The rouge in the black cloak laughs sardonically. “Oh, you can’t kill me, alpha. I’m the key to your heir’s life…” the rouge smiled wickedly, and a small bottle appeared in front of him at some point. “Does it ring a bell, alpha?” Drake and Beta Dillon look disappointed. “How dare you!” Drake growled.

Samira smiles, “Your turn, dear.” I stood up and headed to her desk. There, I was greeted by a tall, blonde-haired man. This must be Samuel Danes, I thought to myself. The girls in the elevators were right; he was incredibly handsome. He looked like a California surfer dude meets Wall Street: chiseled features and the most striking blue eyes I’ve ever seen. “Ms. Cavanaugh,” he reached out his hand, “I’m Samuel Danes. Please call me Samuel.” “Pleasure to meet you, Mr.…. I mean, Samuel,” I shook his hand.

“We should get going.” “That’s the spirit, Sam.” Katie playfully jabbed my shoulder. “It’s Samson.” They gave me a perplexed look. “Samson Roche, that’s my full name.” “Oh, I remembered the Blood Eagles called you, Samson,” Katie said. “Like the Hebrew hero, right?” Zeki asked. “Yeah.” “Wow, so the enemies knew your name before we did, huh?” Alex said in deadpan. I chuckled sheepishly, “I’ll tell you everything about that and how I got inside Hammerhorn when we have time. But you can still call me Sam if you want to.”

Samuel, seeing this, guessed somewhat in his heart. Because he had nine points of similarity in appearance with Teacher Haley. The blonde beauty approached Samuel and asked, "What are you doing here?" Samuel was being arrogant, “I had already explained." After all, as the beloved of the Capital and a prodigy, Samuel had developed an arrogant personality, to the extent that even those with no particularly distinguished status were not qualified to speak to him. The beautiful doctor explained, "He said he came to visit the great Haley. But his companion said he came to bribe the great deity."

To the right, a picture of Harou himself; In the middle, a picture of Blake with darker eyes in a deep green and hazel; and to the right, a picture of Damian, or as Harou likes to call him, Keiran. Blake nods in disbelief. "This, can't be real. This is . . . . What is this?"

Kenny's pov When the hunk of a man asked me for my name I hesitated only for a few seconds, my wolf has been screaming in my head about all four of them being my mates but I ignored her. I couldn't have a mate as I was destined to die after I kill the son of a bitch alpha. She tried to tell me something but I blocked her out, not wanting to get my hopes up of a happier life. That was why I decided to give them my name, I had nothing left to lose. "It's Kenny, Kenny McKenzie alpha of the extinct White Moon pack" I answered him with my head held high and shoulders straight. The shock and disbelief on their faces almost made me laugh, but the sadness of my words stopped that in its track, if I

“I saw you with her the other day. She said you were her chauffeur.” A flicker of amusement danced in his eyes before he masked it with a casual shrug. “Oh, that must’ve been my brother, Michael. I am Samuel. I work here as a research assistant.” Reagan frowned, skepticism clouding her expression. “Never seen you before.” Michael—Samuel—pulled out an ID card with practiced ease, handing it over with a calm, disarming smile. “Feel free to check.” Reagan studied the card, her lips forming a small “o” of surprise. The laminated badge clearly read ‘Samuel Warner, Research Assistant’. She handed it back, her demeanor softening.

The smell of cheap tobacco filled the cramped cabin. "You're shaking," I said. "I'm driving." He blew a cloud of smoke against the windshield. "My name is Samuel now. Samuel Miller. You're Daniel. Daniel Carter. Get used to it. If you slip up once, if you even think the word 'Walker,' we're dead." "I know the stakes, Caleb."

The plane touched down on Samuel’s private airstrip. The moment I stepped off, I saw him: Samuel Blackwood, standing before a pack of towering wolves. Even from dozens of yards away, I could feel the immense power rolling off him—the undeniable aura of the Alpha King. He had broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and sharp, chiseled features. His eyes were the color of ink, so deep you could fall into them. I suddenly remembered the rumors. They said he was ruthless, a killer who never blinked. And that he never took a woman to his bed.

Everything smelled of escape and ego. Silas Hawke, sharply dressed in a navy cashmere sweater and tailored slacks, sat sprawled across a reclining seat, one leg over the other, his fingers idly swirling the golden liquid in his glass. Across from him, three briefcases sat buckled into their own seats — the last remnants of the Walton Unlimited fortune. Digital wallets. Hard drives. Forged passports. Gone was the empire — but in his mind, the king still survived. He raised the flute in a mock toast to no one.