The Crow Eric Draven Novels & Stories

"Do you truly believe I intend to wait for the council to finish debating the truth in my 'emergency decree'? Every hour I wait is an hour for Rowan's loyalists to find their spines. No. By the time the council reconvenes to review what I've done tonight; the choice will already be made for them." "What choice?" "The choice to permanently purge Rowan's rotting bloodline from the history of Dravenwood," Eric whispered, leaning down until his gray eyes filled my vision. He tapped the heavy ledger with his marker. "I have the records, Adele. The measurements and doses, to empower our entire race, I have spent a decade calculating this. I am not creating a single weaponized wolf to hold a border

It was a place where the weight of the past met the promise of what was to come an intersection of power, history, and fate. And yet… word traveled fast. Whispers said the last heir of Lunari was coming. Aeryn Valecrow. I had never seen him, but I knew the stories. Raised in the Shadow wilds. A warrior without mercy. A ghost made of smoke and ash. But I didn’t believe in ghosts. Danger was another story, and I believed in danger. "Lady Kaela." A voice called to my right a soft, male voice clipped. It was Erydan, my father's second-in-command. His eyes scanned the crowd. “We were not told the Lunari would attend.”

Adam quickly put on a pair of shorts, which seemed to be just laying around, and went to stand beside Drago. “We have the ability to cloak our appearances,” he explained, “And when father wanted someone to guard you, we decided I was the best one for the job, because I am not a doctor. Dad and Marcu seemed to think you would feel more comfortable around a pot-bellied surfer, so that is how I appeared before you,” He smiled, as if his explanation was completely ordinary. “W,wait,you guys are all brothers??” Madchen gestured to the other men, including Drago.

“To where?” “To Silas.” The bond flared, sharp and bright. Elara steadied herself. “He turned me away.” “He turned away what you stand for,” Draven replied. “Not who you are.” She laughed, a bitter sound. “You sound like you’re on his side.” “I’m for balance,” Draven said. “And right now, you’re a weapon aimed at chaos.” The door creaked open. Two guards appeared: Crown guards, not pack. Their armor had no symbols.

But it was all good because I saw another version of Draven, he killed them with his hands and compensated them by sending the bodies to hell. They were reducing and I thanked my stars because all of this would soon be over and I'll check on Lucian whom we haven't even caught a whimp of his scent around. It was all going good until I saw him, another personality that looked like he emerged from a dark corner of light. His hair was silver, The root of his Irises flint purple and his height was so intimidating.

"The Elders... they lied. They manipulated everything. I didn't know what you were. I thought I was protecting the pack." "You were protecting your pride," I spat, shivering as the cold wind hit my wet skin. "You chose a crown over a soul. You don't get to say my name anymore." A low growl came from the shadows behind us. Riven emerged from the trees, his ash-silver hair matted with the blood of the creatures he had just killed. He looked like a god of war. When he saw Draven holding me, his molten gold eyes turned into slits of fire.

Something that might sound dangerous to others, but it is just another day for them. I hear Draven following close behind me. I can feel his icy gaze watching my every movement. Drae is an expert swordsman, just like my father, but stronger and faster than my dad ever was. Drae has hunted many supernatural creatures over the years and defeated them with nothing but a scratch on his body. He moves like a ninja; every breath he takes and every movement he makes is utterly silent. And he wields a sword with the precision and accuracy of a strike of lightning. If Draven wanted to, he could kill me in less than a second and there would be nothing I could do about it. Luckily for me, I am not a da

/ He laughed loudly, swinging his bat and hitting brittle objects in the fancy hotel. He is a Death Angel, his name is Draven Black. A modern-day grim reaper, wearing not a cape but a black emo suit with a pair of black wings to fly. He does not have a scythe, he has a bat for beating humans. His look is completed by black hair and an upside-down cross hung in his left ear.

Realizing too late that he’d been offering to help me up, I handed him the weapon, my hands trembling. Bones cracked and snapped behind me, drawing my attention. I turned to see Kronos shifting, his enormous form melting away to reveal Draven. He lay on the ground, naked and deathly still. Blood poured from three bullet wounds in his chest, the dark liquid staining the earth beneath him. “Draven!” I cried, rushing to his side. Warriors were already there, trying to stem the bleeding. One moved to block me, but Simon’s sharp command stopped him. “Let her through!”

Lira (POV) From my altar of chains and rot, I can see him. Draven looks like a king carved from the pages of some fever-dream fairytale—a black leather jacket wrapped tight over a crimson silk shirt and silver buckles gleaming under torchlight. His honey-brown hair is still damp, slicked back from either snow or bathwater. Clean. Impossibly clean. The kind of clean that makes the blood dried under my nails feel louder. He looks almost innocent—like he didn’t order the flaying on me last week.