Seraphim Fanart Novels & Stories

This was horrible. “Then why aren't you stopping it?!” I demanded. “Because no rules are being broken.” My lips parted in disbelief. “People are taking advantage of them!” “No,” he corrected flatly. “The Seraphinas are just amplifying desire, not mind controlling anyone. In case you still don't get the concept, Seraphinas are rare female werewolves with special scents that stabilizes Lycans, especially during the heat cycle when we grow aggressive.” Oh.

Seraphine leaned in closer, causing her collar to shift slightly and revealing her fair complexion that seemed to radiate a soft, luminous glow. Elliott lowered his gaze and looked at the subtle curve visible beneath her collar, causing his breathing to hitch. He quickly looked away, focusing instead on the design sketches displayed on her phone. He greatly admired Seraphine's talent, noting that her design concepts were extremely ingenious. She was able to sketch directly on her phone with a stylus, completing her designs in one fluid, continuous stroke. He pointed to one of the sketches and suggested, "Have you thought about giving the male character a more sinister charm and a domineering

“Most people aren’t controlling Helios.” Seraphina’s smile widened slightly. “Fair point.” She gestured toward the painting beside her. A massive abstract canvas filled with chaotic colors. “Do you like art?” Elena looked at it briefly. “I prefer things that make sense.” Seraphina laughed softly. “That’s exactly why I chose this piece.” She turned fully toward Elena now. “The world rarely makes sense.” Elena studied her carefully. “So this is the third test.” Seraphina nodded. “Yes.” “And?”

The carvings had changed since their last visit—what once were whispers etched in runes were now open mouths, screaming silently. Cassian flinched. “They’re… hungrier.” Seraphina laid out the ritual components: four relics, harvested at great cost—bone from the First Flame, ashes from a dying star, blood of a true heir, and a feather from the wing of the Shadow Seraph. Each was placed at a point around the mural, forming a diamond. Vulture stood watch, arms folded, scowling at every tremble in the stone. “If this thing even blinks, I’m shooting it.”

The evening sun was hitting the floor-to-ceiling windows, catching her in profile and giving her this soft, golden glow. I stood there in the foyer and, for the first time in three years, I just... looked at her. Our group's clubs are packed with top-tier models, and the pack has plenty of high-ranking she-wolves, but they all smell like desperation—that cloying omega scent designed to bait an Alpha. It usually just gives me a headache. But Seraphina? Standing there in the light, she looked like a piece of fine art. Cold, quiet, and impossible to look away from.

She looked fierce and beautiful, a warrior queen who had tamed the wolf within. For Seraphiel, robes of midnight black, cut low across his chest, revealing the scars that still marked his skin. Silver threads traced the paths of the removed vines, turning his wounds into art. He looked like a shadow king, dark and dangerous and utterly captivating. For Elias, garments of silver and rose, delicate as his wings, almost translucent. The fabric clung to his slender form, leaving little to the imagination. He looked like a fae prince, ethereal and untouchable.

“What did you say?” A figure stepped from the shadows behind the throne. Graceful. Poised. Seraphine. Her long silver-blonde hair flowed in waves over her shoulders, her smile soft and subtle. She wore the traditional Luna robes—a gown embroidered with the Wolfe crest and lined with mating runes. Lucian staggered back a step. “You can’t be serious.” Seraphine tilted her head, amusement flickering in her icy eyes. “It’s nice to see you again, Lucian Wolfe.”

Casie closed her eyes, trying to focus on the faint impressions flowing through her connection to the Tear. Images flickered behind her eyelids, a younger Seraphina, her face unmarked by centuries of hatred, standing before what appeared to be a Council much older than the current one. The Tear pulsed with something that felt like ancient sorrow.

* She leaned over the flame— And in it, her reflection warped — showing her with a crown made of bone, eyes glowing like her mother’s, lips cracked from battle, but still smiling. Then another voice — not her mother’s. Older. Silkier. > “Do you like what you see?” She spun. A figure stood in the archway — elegant, unarmed, dressed in the Tribunal’s colors but with no sigil. Just an opal pendant. Seraphine stepped back. “You’re one of them.” The figure smiled. > “I’m one of *many.* And I’ve come not to fight. But to offer what you deserve.” “Power?”

The sinful thoughts clouded her mind, and she felt hardly satisfied. Pulling her shirt in order to ward off the heat, Seraphine spared the a man a glance before walking away. In order to remain composed, she had to first calm herself down. Her eyes then fell on a stall, and it soon catching her attention, she rushed over to it, showing an excited attitude. This appearance of Seraphine made him shake his head before following after her. Seraphine’s eyes fell on the stuffed toys on the stall which can obviously fly. They had shiny crystal eyes of various colors and were extremely pretty. Seraphine did want to get one of those as a memory, seeing how there were not anything like that back at he