Scoundrel Sans Novels & Stories

A smell that was enough to make me gag. “Never. He’s mine. All mine. And once I’m through with each of you I’ll be sure to mark and claim him as my own. The wolf without a scent and untapped potential will be mine, all mine” echoes the voice. A shiver now running along my body. My eyes still locked upon the scene. My mind racing with more questions than it did answers. Untapped potential? Wolf without a scent? What does he mean? Just who is he? Feral growls soon erupting into the air as wolves and Lycan alike all move to fight. The sound of wolves now pouncing on top of the other while sinking their teeth and claws into the other was enough to make me sick.

I rubbed my chin. “Damn Boss! Do we have any leads yet?” Tyson was eager for a good hunt. I swear if I did not know any better, I would say he was a bloodhound, not a wolf. “I did get a description of the scars on Karen and Tate. I’ll get a full description and personal details when I go meet with Alpha Mason.” I lean forward, elbows on my desk. “You’re personally handling this one?” Marcus is fishing. I can feel it. If Tyson was a bloodhound, Marcus was Sherlock Holmes himself.

So far it went a little like this… Soren. Score: 879. Hair, smile, tats, tongue bar, artistic, funny, nice chest, good hugs. Cool shoes. Dimples. Nerdy-chic. I opened my overnight bag and pulled out my satin slip. Tongue bar. That was worth at least a hundred points on its own. Max. Score: 001. Good wine picker. Scrap that. Max. Score: 002. Good wine picker. Scary hot. Is scary hot even a thing? I pictured Max’s looming muscular frame, his hard jaw. Chiselled from steel and softened to perfection with goat’s milk and the tears of young virgins. That’s how I imagined him. Yes, scary hot was a thing.

"If she truly is a tribrid, that would explain so much." Vincent says. "Like what?" "Like why several mercenaries were hired to kill her." "Wait.. what? Mercenaries? How do you know for sure?" "All mercenaries are either rogue-born or ex-pack warriors. They are rogues for hire that have no moral ground. They will accept any contract. The only thing they ever care about is money. We were able to identify them through their strong wild scent. It's a smell most rogues have, however, Mercenaries are typically more subtle, as it allows them to enter a pack without being detected."

She mumbled. Damien chuckled, taking a swig from the wine bottle in front of him. He stood up, walking behind her. Turning back, he leaned in, hovering over from her behind. " This is why I said we need to team up. If we had, that wouldn't have happened." He muttered, amusingly. Damien smelled of tobacco and wine, a sharp contrast to Gerald's expensive cologne. Scarlett grimaced, hating that he was right. Shifting uncomfortably on her seat, she turned to him.

He'd stripped his outerwear and rolled up his shirtsleeves, but there was no mistaking his striking presence. "Papa." The girl straightened, pushing out of her seat as the man reached her side. The man lowered himself into the vacant chair, staring at Matthew from eyes darker than onyx. An unsightly scar stretched from his left eyebrow to below his right eye. Despite his average height, the man emanated a powerful brooding air, and the deep lines and wrinkles in his rough, bristled face didn't make him look less intimidating. They only served to give him a strong, well-fortified appearance.

I scolded myself inwardly at my need to know everything about her with immediate effect. Taking a deep breath, and masking my face with a deep frown, I turned open the first page, and there lay a picture of her, walking alone and under it was her name boldly typed “Elena Gilberto”. I found myself repeatedly muttering her name, until my eyes slowly shifted to Duello, who had a confused look on his face as regards my reaction, and that was when my frown deepened. You are more than this Vincent, stop making a fool out of yourself in front of your employee! I scolded myself yet again, and sighed exhaustedly.

After they tried hard to sense the man's Internal Breath, they looked even more surprised because there was no fluctuation of Internal Breath from the man. They had thought that the man was a mysterious and powerful expert, but now, they felt it hard to tell the man's power. "Boy, who are you?" Cancer asked again. Chu Xun remained silent. "Fu*k! How dare you, a silly boy who came from nowhere, put on airs in front of us?" Scorpio, standing behind Cancer, spoke up. He had an evil aura and a huge scorpion tattoo, with the scorpion's head on his chest and scorpion's tail wound around his neck. The tattoo looked chilling.

I shut the door with a flick of my wrist, turned the lock, and shut out the prying eyes. "Don Romano, I'm Elena," I announced. "Here's a token from the Deluca family." The wheelchair turned slowly to face me. Even prepared, I caught my breath for a split second at the sight. His face was a study in contrasts. The left side was chiseled perfection, but the right was hidden behind a silver mask, with burn scars creeping out like red, twisted centipedes. It was truly a horrifying sight, a mix of the divine and the monstrous.

He looked so scary and sexy being a mad man. I rubbed my bruised wrist, my heart still pounding from the encounter. "He asked if I was your wife, and then he asked if I remembered everything. What does he mean, Eavon? And why are you so angry?" I waited for his response as I fixed myself from those freaking marathons. He didn't answer, just ran a hand through his hair, his frustration a physical thing. He turned red and his eyes—it was filled with emotions I cannot explain. "He's... my brother. My younger brother, in fact. His name is Julian."