Novel & Cerita Skyrim Lucien Lachance

Looking around with a puzzled expression, a hint of disappointment on his handsome face Schwartz queried, “Where’s Proserpina, mate?’ Lucien grunted non-committedly and began to walk to the exit, his men readying to accompany them. With a beaming face, Schwartz went on, keeping pace with him in his long and easy strides, 'Piers here can chant Buddhist hymns like a professional, did you know!’ He began to walk backwards, waving to the kids as he went and Lucien felt a knot of envy in his gut at the easy way his friend had worked his way into his children’s hearts. The kids were chortling as he did a couple of mock stumbles, like a clown and Lucien envied his friend the easy way he had managed

I said. A slow clap echoed from the doorway. We all spun to find Lucien leaning against the frame, his expression amused. He'd been disturbingly quiet since the resurrection ritual, keeping to himself in whatever corner of the fortress he'd claimed. "A rescue mission to a cult stronghold?" he said, his smile predatory. "How delightful. I'm coming with you." "Like hell you are," Damon growled. "I have experience with Malachar's followers," Lucien continued, ignoring Damon's objection. "I know how they think, how they operate. You'll need someone who understands their tactics."

"You mean the Geisterfell’s pack alpha? He didn’t come alone?" "The one and only. And yes, he brought along his daughter, Hera," came the confident reply. "Yes!" Atlas's laughter filled the air as he pumped his fist. "Score!" As Atlas celebrated the news, my gaze shifted to the speaker. It was Lucien, a beta from the Moonstrider Clan, a prominent figure in Nightspire. Known for his strategic prowess, he was Atlas's trusted advisor and confidant, often guiding him through crucial decisions. Lucien tilted his head slightly, a hint of disapproval flickering across his features as he observed Atlas's antics. With a shake of his head, he handed Atlas a formal shirt, then resumed his report.

His voice was low and calm as if he wasn't just yelling now. “Then what happened? Tall to me Lucian.” He takes a glance at me then looks back to the cup he plays with in his hands. “My name is Lucian D’Arcanis. Once a prince and heir to Vampire village till the disaster happened.” He pauses, his mouth slightly open as his next word seems to be stuck in his tongue. “Take a deep breath Lucian. Everything is fine.” Adhering to my words, he does as I say. He started speaking again.

Far away from the pack house, deep inside the thick forest, there was an old hut that most people had forgotten. The roof was broken in some places, the walls were covered with moss, and the air inside was damp and cold. Yet this hut was not empty. A man lived there, breathing with anger, burning with revenge. This man was Lucian—the elder brother of Damien. Lucian walked back and forth inside the hut, his heavy boots making loud sounds on the wooden floor. His face was sharp and his eyes were red, filled with years of hate. His hair was rough, his clothes torn, but his body was still strong, tall, and powerful.

Lucien turned to the crowd, “I need an explanation as to why the King of the North's messenger is being treated like a criminal in my pack.” No one answered because they didn’t know the entire story. No one expected Lillian, Lucy, and, of course, Tasha. Lucy stepped forward, “My lord... There seems to be a misunderstanding.” She began. Then narrated what Tasha had told her. Hearing this, Lucien's fingers clenched. His expression shifted between disbelief and rage. All these because of a misunderstanding?

I nod weakly, wiping the tears from my face, but the cold weight in my chest refuses to lift. Lucien shifts in his seat across from us. His towering, muscular frame fills the space, his broad chest rising and falling with slow, deliberate breaths. He reaches into his coat, pulls out his clear-lens glasses, and slides them onto his face. The glass catches the pale moonlight streaming through the window, hiding the lethal golden glare of his eyes behind an illusion of calm composure. He adjusts the frames once, his eyes locking directly onto mine through the clear lenses. "Hold your tongue and save your strength, Freya Ashwolf," Lucien says, his voice smooth, dark, and utterly unreadable. "We

Trust me, they were neat but the useless step-brothers of mine just wanted to enjoy making me work, I know, but they would surely regret what they had done. While cleaning, I got to know which of them was Luca, Lucas, and Lucien. Luca looks calm but arrogant, has sharp tongues, and sounds scary, yet most good-looking. His dark curly hair separated him from his other brothers. Lucas looks so seductive and pretty. Yet kind of rude and sensitive, he tries his best to avoid me as I could see hate in his eyes. Lucien, on the other hand, was the only human I could detect among them. He seemed Kind-hearted and intelligent, who must know a lot because all he did was read and stay silent. He attracte

I look up—and for a moment, I forget how to breathe. He’s handsome in a classic way. Golden brown hair, sharp cheekbones, a straight nose, and piercing blue eyes that sparkle with mischief. His mask is gold, matching the trim on his tailored navy coat. He grins. “You’ve been sitting here too long. Come, dance with me before I start thinking you’re avoiding me.” I raise a brow. “Avoiding someone I’ve never met? That would be impressive.” He chuckles. “Then let’s change that. I’m Lucien. Son of Lord Wexley.”

"We'll take that as a compliment. Besides, I bet you're the second youngest in our group, age wise at least." "I thought Ema—" "She's half witch, genius. And she's 47, what'd you expect?" "....Right." Suddenly, his wolf detects something funky, something rotten to drink. "Looks like I've found my first shop." Said Lucien, walking towards a wine mart which smelled heavenly to his senses. He filled his lungs with the smell of liquor, it felt as though he was intoxicated just by the smell of it. Adam and Kohl followed Lucien quietly, although Raya sighs as she expected chaos soon after.