The Collectors Novels & Stories

The collector smiled. "You misunderstand." His eyes gleamed. "There were hundreds once." Drift crossed his arms. "So?" "This is the last one." The room went quiet. Even Drift understood that. Not because it was sacred. Because it was rare. The collector smiled again. That same awful smile. The smile of a man collecting pieces of something dying. Like mounting heads on a wall. Nero hated him instantly. The ride home was quiet for a long time. Drift broke first. "Still got paid."

Time: 10 PM Dress code: Formal(Tuxedos only) On the bottom was another P.S. - Come alone, or she dies. The Obsidian Estate. I knew that name. Everyone in the underworld knew that name. It belonged to a man, a faceless crime lord called The collector. No one knew his real name. The government had been trying to catch him for years, but he was like smoke. Always one step ahead. "This is a trap," Levi said unnecessarily. “You and the collector have bad blood after that failed deal so why would you get an invite if it isn't a trap?”

After so many years of oblivion, he was finally going to confess his feelings. Getting inside the car, he put the bouquet on the passenger seat and tuned in to a radio station. He felt giddy somehow. Like a teenager in love. ••• Nayab opened the drawer of her vanity when she came across a red velvet box, it was her wedding gift from Taimoor. Taking it out, Nayab opened the box to look at the beautiful Emerald necklace, she has hidden it in the back of the drawer, away from her eyes as it only reminds her of the broken pieces of her dreams.

The rift didn't just open; it corrupted. The violet light of the Sub-Directory was being eaten by a sprawling, geometric darkness that bled into the hangar like an ink stain on a liquid crystal display. The Collector didn't walk out of the shadows—it was the shadow. It was a shifting mass of obsidian scales and jagged, low-poly edges that seemed to lag and stutter as it moved, leaving a trail of pixelated void in its wake. [SYSTEM_IDENTIFICATION: GARBAGE_COLLECTOR_01] [OBJECTIVE: RECLAIM_UNALLOCATED_MAGIC] [TARGET_SIGHTED: ARCHITECT_01 / ALPHA_01]

“Try me. Or I’ll make sure you regret every fucking breath you’ve ever taken.” The man flinched. “Okay, okay! The boss… he’s just a middleman. He handles the… the acquisitions. The real boss, the one who runs the show, she’s known as ‘The Collector.’ Nobody sees her. Nobody knows her name.” “Acquisitions?” Marcus scoffed, stepping closer. “What the hell are you acquiring?”

Then I transition into bringing out the big guns. “Unfortunately there are too many human kidnappings to know which might be involved, but we’re working with intel from law enforcement to narrow that down as well. Hopefully with more information we can do that quicker. After getting nowhere with our interrogations we had Cataleya go in and give it a try. She was able to crack him enough to find out what it is they are after. Life essence. They are working with witches.”

He crouched down to grab a fistful of Evren’s hair and forced the omega’s head up. “You heard the Crown collectors arrived today? Wonder why the Alpha asked us to bring you to him. Hmmm, heard the pack has fallen behind on payments.” Evren stiffened. His eyes widened in fear as the implication of Darien’s words registered in his mind. The crown collectors were an emissary group that collected debts on behalf of the Lycan crown. Cold fear curled in Evren’s stomach as Darien dragged him to his feet and, without waiting for the omega to get his bearings, began pushing him in the direction of the main hall.

One hand rubbed my back in slow circles. "Breathe," he whispered. "I've got you." My face stayed buried in his neck, cheeks burning. The aftershocks still fluttered inside me. His scent filled my head. I felt small and safe and completely wrecked all at once. His phone buzzed on the counter. Once. Twice. He ignored it at first, kissing my hair. Then he glanced over, and his body went rigid. "Damien?" I pulled back enough to see his face. He picked up the phone, thumb scrolling. His jaw tightened. "The collectors. They're coming tomorrow night. Want proof the collateral is... secured."

I pretended to be curious and leaned in behind Fenelle, reaching out to touch her, which made her tremble again. When Sam heard what I said, he looked at me, then at Fenelle, and uttered something that nearly stopped both our hearts, "Honey, why don’t we let Derrick join us for a real threesome? He’ll definitely love it. We can tell him that if he wants to play this game again in the future, he has to keep it a secret. If anyone finds out, he won’t be allowed to play anymore." "What? You want Derrick to… with me? No way. What we just did was already… I won’t agree to this." Fenelle immediately refused when she heard Sam’s suggestion, pulling the blanket over herself.

Samuel met her eyes. "I know enough." The helicopters split into three directions. Instead of landing together, they surrounded the station. Professional. Calculated. Father Michael frowned. "They're herding us." Samuel nodded. "They don't want a fight." "They want prisoners." Amara looked at Eleanor. "Who are they?" Eleanor answered without hesitation. "The Collectors." The unfamiliar name hung in the air. "They don't belong to the Builder family." "They don't belong to governments." "They work only for contracts."