Story Lord Novels & Stories

“We’re just getting started on your punishment, little maid,” Lord Edmund murmured, his voice dark velvet as he caressed my tear-streaked cheek with false gentleness. I knew better than to trust that softness. His eyes were calculating, hungry, like a wolf that had finally cornered its prey after weeks of teasing. He wiped the dried tears from my eyes with his thumb, never breaking eye contact. Then his fingers moved skillfully to his neck, loosening his tie with deliberate slowness. The silk moved with ease as he pulled it free.

"It's one of my favorites." Brock stared at the title. "Lady Jade's Wild Lord." The author was L. R. Gloucester. He'd once adored novels, but his father had sold nearly all of them. "Thank you," he said, holding the book reverently. "I'm afraid I am still at a loss as to your name. Which one of Rosalind's brothers are you?" Joanna came another step closer, almost within arm's reach. "How do you know about us?" he asked, his eyes searching the room for something he could use to bind her hands together. The only thing he saw was the dark-blue ribbon in her hair and the lovely sash around her waist. But how to go about it

"Who is her mother anyway? Is she with the Czar, too?" "No, Lady Jerisavlja is one of those who are against the Czar," the girl said. "I have heard that he is going to march into the Middle World and enslave your kind, too. Vasilisa is the last powerful sorceress in the World Beyond that can stop him." Ruslan sighed in hopelessness. He wished he could be of any help, but now he was trapped in this dungeon and had no way to prevent the apocalypse from happening. Ruslan sank down to the floor again, but when he slipped his hand into his pocket, he found his good old Swiss Knife. His eyes widened and his heart bloomed with hope. Maybe there was still a way out.

A Wolve Winner only needed one beautiful beast to work her powers. I’d already Claimed Moon. It struck me as I tapped my foot against the straw floor of Wild Hall (because hey, I was nervous about meeting the Soon to be king of the Lords), that this second soon to be king was Tribute, sacrifice, and toy.

"You think you can defeat me? You are nothing but ants, scurrying around at my feet." Aric gritted his teeth, his hand tightening around his sword hilt. He knew that they had to defeat the Dark Lord, no matter the cost. With a fierce battle cry, Aric charged towards the stronghold, his fellow soldiers following close behind. The battle was fierce, with the Dark Lord and his warriors fighting with all their might. But in the end, it was Aric who emerged victorious. With one final blow, he struck down the Dark Lord, sending him tumbling from the walls of the stronghold.

That is how stories survive long after the last word is written. And if you're not ready to leave this world behind just yet, Good news🔥☺️. There's more where this came from. Continue the journey with my other books: My Lord Alpha — For those who love power, dominance, and a love that defies every rule of the Lore. MoonChild; The Rise of the Lycans — For those who crave a world where darkness runs wild and destiny cannot be outrun. Kiss Me Before the Sky Falls — For those who believe that the most intense love stories are the ones racing against time.

He jerked off his body and almost fell off from his horse, roaming eyes around him. 'Who said that?' he thought. The Commander of his army, Panther, was fighting close to him, growls of bloodlust for the enemies coming from his mouth. His red eyes were enough to scare someone normal, his roars were more violent, the swinging of his sword was proving that he was a living monster in the mankind. "It is me," the voice whispered again. Moriah sighed with frustration, though the voice seemed familiar as if he heard that mysterious voice before. "I am the Lord of Life."

It was thick, huge and it gave him headache as he read more and more about their guy – Ahriman or Théoden or whatever hell he was called. “The well of wisdom – or what they call it, it refuses them humans the true vision to look beyond the shadows; the tales of darkness. Myth, they call, sing and talk, but none believes the truth of the myth. Some sees, but denies. He is real, real as the nightmares. Twice the century the sorcerer lives, one in his sleep, and the second in awakening, in battles.” Art finished the opening of the book.

“Against what, Callan? These rogues wield dark magic that devours even our strongest warriors. Wolves fall before they shift. Warriors die without touching their enemy. How do we fight a power we do not understand?” The room darkened with fear. My father glanced at me and nodded. I stood. Dozens of eyes turned. Some curious, some doubtful, and some already whispering. “My name,” I said quietly, “is Liora Redhart. The long-lost heir of Moonblood pack.” The room rippled with disbelief, until Alpha Callan stepped beside me in confirmation. But I wasn’t finished. “I am also the only surviving wolf of the Moonveil Kingdom.” The murmurs exploded, shock rolling like thunder.

Behind her, she felt it before she heard him. Heat. Power. Breath. And then—voice. “You are not ready to leave.” His voice was low, almost quiet, but the sound of it vibrated through the walls like it was born from the mountain itself. She turned slowly, her body trembling. The Warlord stood at the end of the corridor. He wore only a long black robe, open and hanging loose around his hips, revealing the breadth of his scarred, scaled chest. His bare feet were silent against the stone. He looked more myth than man—effortless, commanding, as calm as if he’d been expecting her.