The Crow Eric Draven Novels & Stories

“Okay, girls. It’s time for the movie. Everyone voted on the Crow. Are you in or out?” Amara and I nod our heads. “Oh, we’re in.” She answers. Amara and I love the Crow. There’s just something about a hot rocker guy who comes back to avenge his true love’s death that gets our heart pumping. Nevaeh whoops with excitement. “Hell, yeah, let’s do this.” Once the movies over, we stretch our limbs and pour a couple more drinks. We sit in a circle in front of the coffee table as Nevaeh explains why Mikhail looks like the star of the movie. None of us really refute her claim. Mikhail cross could be Eric Draven’s twin with his rocker vibe, dark hair, and brooding good looks.

Physically, they looked like normal human beings but if only people could see them for who they really were. “Draven Cruz has arrived.” A butler announced and I almost choked on my water as I stared up ahead to notice a male in his 20’s. His hands were covered in tattoos and I watched him walk down the staircase before standing in front of the crowd, who were now lined up in front of him in a row, including me. Though, I was standing at the very last row, where men were standing next to the ladies as well. Men bowed in respect while the ladies bobbed a curtsy, including me. I could feel my heart pounding loudly against my chest as he stood up straight in front of the whole crowd, his blue ey

And then I saw him. Draven Thorn stood at the edge of the battlefield, his eyes locked onto mine. He was tall and imposing, his dark hair falling in wild waves around his face. His presence was commanding, and even from this distance, I could feel the malevolent power that radiated from him. Our eyes met, and for a brief moment, everything else faded away.

We are a throat waiting to close. Draven Holt makes sure I see him. He stands atop a ridge of snow, broad-shouldered, dark hair bound with a leather cord, eyes like coals banked deep. Red paint slashes his cheekbones. He’s younger than Varek, hungrier, the kind of man who thinks rage alone can make him king. He lifts his arms like a priest.

Now they watched, calculating, weighing me and my child as though we were the embodiment of the unrest from the quarry. I had no intention of hiding. Retreating had never protected me before, and it would not protect Erya now. Still, I felt the pull of caution, the instinct that whispered about the consequences of being visible in the wrong place at the wrong time. A figure detached itself from the crowd, moving with measured steps that drew attention despite the attempt at subtlety. It was Draven. He stopped several paces away, leaning slightly against a post. He did not smile, though the calm in his stance communicated certainty, a reminder that he had already seen outcomes I could not yet

The air pulsed with anticipation, thick and restless. The elders arrived first, cloaked in furs, their presence heavy with ritual authority. Then came the Beta, her father, his jaw tight, his eyes avoiding hers. She tried to catch his gaze, tried to read some sliver of softness there—but he turned from her as though she were already lost. And then Draven came. The crowd parted at his approach, silence falling like snow. He was bare to the waist again, his skin streaked with scars, his muscles cut from battle. His wolf prowled beneath the surface, so near that his eyes burned gold, his steps heavy with suppressed ferality.

I smiled as I took in the beauty of the room… But then my smile slowly faded. Because I saw him— Draven. He was in ivory linen pants that were paired with a white long sleeve shirt that was crisp and clean, his shoes were brown, and his hair was well laid. He had a drink in one of his hands and the other was in his pocket as I watched him talk. Draven looked ethereal as for the first time in a while, I felt like I did when we were young. What if Elaris was right?

“There was something in his eyes, Draven. That wasn’t the Garrick we knew. The Garrick who slaughtered rebels without blinking wouldn’t hesitate. This one hesitated. He protected her.” Draven rose from his seat, setting his goblet aside with a gentle clink. His voice dropped low. “Do you think he’s not who he says he is?” “I’m saying,” Varek growled, “that we brought a serpent into our nest.” Draven walked slowly toward the tall window, looking out over the walls of Bloodthorn. The wind stirred the heavy drapes beside him. “I had my doubts,” he muttered. “But the markings... the eyes... the voice... it all felt like Garrick.”

Dark King". This girl is really interesting along with this orange-guy." They suddenly stand up from their seat when the screen showing Mizu team blackened, "Wait, why is the camera from their team suddenly turned off?" the man monitoring them perplexity shouted. In the room where Mizu was, where all of them were already asleep, a young lad in a silky white hair and black stylish mask covered his handsome face, wearing a thick dark cloak with a logo of a terrifying dragon, a crest of the East House was walking in a very light and untraceable step, and stops, looking tenderly at Mizu in the cage.

Quick to spot the points that most people would miss. Kate, 37 years old. Dressed in an oversized black hoodie and navy blue ripped jeans. Her specialty lies in technology. A white-hat hacker with impressive hacking skills. Stefan, 39 years old. Dressed in a casual white t-shirt and a sky blue shirt on top and black jeans. Also, has a unique watch on his right wrist. He is Mr. Anderson's old disciple who has cracked many important and difficult cases with him. And last but not least Mr. Gray, the same age as Mr. Anderson, 44 years old. Dressed in a black suit. He always wears formal attire. His biggest rival and friend. He and Mr. Anderson were rivals since his first day here.