Teenage Mercenary Novels & Stories

Soon, everything would fall into place. A few minutes later, the door opened again, and the mercenary walked in. He was exactly what I expected: Tall, broad-shouldered, with a burly frame that filled the doorway. His clothes were simple, rugged, and stained with the dirt of many roads. A thick scar ran down the side of his face, disappearing into a tangle of unkempt hair. His eyes were cold and calculating, the eyes of a man who had seen and done things that would make most people shudder.

“You do not repeat that name to anyone unless you want this school to lose its mind.” I swallowed. “So, the rumors are true.” His mouth twisted. “More than you want to know.” “What is he?” I asked. Voss exhaled slowly, like the very weight of that question sat heavy on his lungs. “A mercenary. A butcher. A ghost even alphas and covens pretend doesn’t exist. He only shows his face before something catastrophic. Wards falling. Towns burning. Blood on the snow.” My gut clenched. Hard. “And the glaive?” I asked. “Dragonsteel’s not exactly easy to find.”

“Who are you?” The man stopped near the bottom of the stairs. “Director Adrian Mercer.” Mercer. The name meant nothing to me. But Lucien physically flinched. And Cameron ... Cameron went still in a way that made my wolf uneasy. Not because he recognized the man. Because he recognized the title. Director. Not Commander. Not Council member. Not even a general or something like that. He was something above standard military structure. Mercer folded his hands behind his back almost casually. “I oversaw the Blackridge behavioral adaptation initiative during the border wars.”

Yet he crossed the distance within seconds with another human being as added weight. ‘Another human being?’ She’d caught the servants’ idle talk of rumors and prominent figures during the wars—of how some of them had surpassed the realm of humans and were deemed monsters clad in human skin. ‘He’s a monster.’ His other companions were down for the count, but they must be monsters in their own right as well. Sylvia shivered, remembering the name of the mercenaries who stood out in the war—the Mercy Mercenaries—a group of elites on par with the kingdom’s best.

A filthy upkept male teenager came out from hiding and looked at the three of us cautiously. “Since when do mercenaries have children?” Anton commented and I shrugged. “The boy is a rogue, and more than likely getting paid with food for his service. Come here, young one, and give him the message,” Gideon growled with impatience while pointing his thumb at me. Seeing the emaciated boy my heart pained me. “How can a child be a rogue? Wouldn't another pack adopt him,” I asked Gideon. “Not if he or his mother was banished,” he replied as the young man held out a scrap of paper to me.

Then they would know why he'd been dubbed The Destroyer. Before he let his emotions overtake him, Brand's tactical training kicked in. He did not have the Berserker in him like his brother. He was a single shifter among an entire clan of warriors here. Biding his time until he could gather his bearings before punishing them for their insult was the more logical choice. His jaw tightened as he sought to control his anger.

Clarisse said, cutting Zane. "Everyone will die? But what can I possibly do? I'm sure I'm reincarnated here as a 'merchant'. I can't do anything," Zane worryingly said. "Although, I don't want to experience death once again. That's why I'm trying to turn a new leaf here." "The two of us are here. We're your right hands," Lucia said, clearing a little bit of confusion on Zane's head. Zane, out of anger, stomps the ground and is frustrated. He says, "GOD! Stupid idiot life! I'm a son and I'm a millionaire for fucks sake!"

No parents, no friends but I used to be a well known there as I used to participate is fighting competition. There were lots of fighting competitions in that town unlike this place that only Soldier do fighting competition. So here, if one would want to join the fighting competition, you must be a member of the Military first then you can have access to any competition like such. But the place I came from Thomas, there were lots of fighting competitions, I mean lots. Competition for kids, range five to twelve age Competition for young teens range thirteen to eighteen. Competition for youth range nineteen to twenty five.

Five years ago, Alpha Ethan rejected me for my curves and my pack ranking. I built a new life and a thriving business. Now, my brother is dying, and the only thing that can save him is a healer I can't afford. Ethan comes with a desperate deal: to carry his heir, and he pays for the cure. I signed the contract with just a deal in mind. To keep me safe during a brutal territory war, I’m hidden away at the Iron Vipers compound, under the personal protection of Jax Mercer. Jax is a half-breed outlaw president known to be brutal and uninterested. Now, as the stakes are raised I’m placed between two men who don’t take no for an answer.

He says in a taunting tone as I stared at him flatly. Yeah! Meet my best friend Mercer Hayes. The human embodiment of bad decisions, unnecessary commentary and chaos wrapped inside six-foot-three of tattoos and expensive hockey equipment. We’ve known each other since we were fourteen. Back when we were two angry Canadian teenagers getting into fights during junior league games and nearly giving our coaches heart attacks weekly. Mercer was the first person who ever punched me hard enough to earn my respect and somehow after that we just… stuck. Now he’s the Reapers’ starting right wing, alternate captain, the media favorite and unfortunately still the one person on this earth capable of readi