Soren X Corvus Novels & Stories

This had been dismissed as a mere rumor but I had a source who proved otherwise. Soren Drakemere, the second son of the formidable Drakemere lineage, carried himself with an air of quiet solemnity that set him apart from his peers. Born into a family renowned for their strategic cunning and unshakable loyalty to the Blackthorn Pack, Soren bore the weight of an unusual legacy. His father, Alaric Drakemere, was a figure of legend—both revered and feared—while his older brother, Caelian, was the golden heir, the warrior who could command a room with a single glance. Soren, on the other hand, was an enigma, a man whose presence was felt rather than heard.

“He doesn’t sleep right. He carries wolfsbane in his bag. He barely talks. And in combat class today… he bled. Bad. And didn’t heal.” Soren’s expression didn’t change, but his silence deepened. That meant something. With him, stillness was dangerous. “I don’t think he’s an alpha,” I added. “I’m not even sure he’s a wolf.” Soren stood slowly, walked to the window that overlooked the southern grounds, hands behind his back. “And what do you feel about him?” “What does that have to do with anything?” I snapped. He turned halfway, one eye catching the light. “Humor me.”

Two sentries step forward immediately—tall, broad-shouldered men in dark leathers, their hands resting near the hilts of the short blades strapped to their hips. One of them squints at us. "You're not expected," he says bluntly. "We don't need an invitation," Korra replies evenly. He scowls. "State your names." I step forward slightly, planting my boots in the dirt. "Alpha Korra Xarano of the Xarano pack, Alpha Octavius Reid and Luna Kaida Xarano of the Raven Moon.” Korra states boldly, staring the men dead in the eye. At the mention of our names, the sentries stiffen. Exchange a glance.

Soren and Max , Max and Soren. I hoped it would be Soren who answered. Soren seemed nice, kind, and cool. Soren was hot, and funny. I could fall for Soren. He had full-sleeve tattoos and his clothes were nerdy-chic. He had messy brown hair and dark eyes, and a full-on hipster beard. He was a designer, too. What’s not to love?

The shadow collar on my neck tightened, a cold, possessive tether that dragged my soul toward the furnace of his energy. ​I stepped into the corridor. The air was thick with the scent of ozone and salt. With a flick of my wrist, the violet Scythe materialized. It didn't just appear; it tore through the air, humming like a live wire connected to a heart that had finally started beating again. ​I didn't feel fear. I felt a dark, intoxicating hunger.

He’s young and handsome, with dark curly hair and what must be light colored eyes because they reflect a bright amber hue when he turns to one of his companions, and my heart skips a beat. Soren, sitting on the ground with his back against a tree stump, stretches out his legs and crosses his ankles, tapping his fingers on the bottle of whiskey. “Yeah, I do. She doesn’t know about that place yet, and I’m hoping to keep it that way, but I need to go to town. I need to face her myself and get this sorted out.” My powers flicker as I gaze down at the men, at his companions who he seems to be perfectly comfortable with. Both men have silver bands on their forearms.

He wore a black trench coat, freshly returned. I exhaled deeply and leaned back in my chair. Soren went to the minibar and grabbed two square glass tumblers, then took the whiskey bottle from the shelf. “He’s a smart wolf. He’ll feel the pressure around him and leave that place. There’s no one else for him; his mate is here, and you’ve left him the coordinates. Soon he’ll arrive,” Soren said, placing both glasses on the table and pouring the amber liquid. The male handed me a glass. I took it and brought the drink to my lips.

She sat at the kitchen table, she had asked for the kitchen, not the study, which I respected because the kitchen was where honest conversations happened at Ironblood and she seemed to understand that without being told, and she told me what she knew while I made tea and listened. Cora Varda had been in contact with a wolf named Soren, a name from Isara's list, one of the five who had appeared to have no connection to Troy's network. Soren was not a political figure. He was something more specific: a pack elder from a small community in the northern hills who was known, in the circles Lena moved through, as a specialist in one particular and uncommon area of pack practice. The binding and un

Whatever this conversation is, he doesn’t want me to hear. “We have to stop it though, right?” another Alpha says, a frown upon their rather immaculate features. Their skin is what bothers me the most about them. Always so perfect and youthful. I believe it’s Grayson, with those distinguishing stormy grey eyes. “There has to be a cure.” “A cure? Unlikely,” Alden quickly reprimands. The smartest man in the room.

As he was in the doorway with the knob in his hand, he turned his head. “I'll just say this once, Saga. Don't you dare help those two families any deeper. The girl you're looking for is Hugo Supernova's prey. She is a holy blooded wolvire.” Saga gasped, his eyes staring at his father without blinking. Mrs. Adrian stood up and said, “You don't need to worry anymore because INDICENT must have helped them. Just shut up and don't get into trouble. We don't want anything to happen to you, all right?”