Theon Greyjoy Novels & Stories

The blade was stained with dry, black wolf blood, and carved along the steel was a message that made the air in Vickon’s lungs freeze: “High Alpha Vickon Blackwynd... your trueborn brother, Thorne Blackwynd, did not perish in the border war ten years ago. He lives in our dungeon at Darkmere Crossing. Lord Vaelor Grimshaw has bound Thorne’s wolf with silver chains. If Lady Zafira does not deliver her mother’s lost alchemical secret journal to the border by midnight, Thorne’s wolf will be slaughtered, and his head will be mounted upon your pack gates.”

Thanatos answered taking a sit on a fallen trunk. "Where am i?" He didn't wonder because he felt at peace with the stillness of time ending. He has been for a long while. But he needed to know for certain. "You are on the verge of death. This is the point where I carry your soul back to life!" He pulled down his hood to reveal a symbol of an inverted torch branded into the caramel skin at the back of his neck. "You have been bringing me back?" Grey asked taking a sit next to him. He was about to ask a question he spent decades asking himself but could never find an answer to.

The hooves of their horses galloping fast through the forest. • Grey knew that the man who had once gathered these men was dead and buried. His sentinels had buried Andrew months ago. How come the rogues were still showing up and why now? He did not have the time to ponder as they attacked him and he rolled to a side to avoid been cut by their brash swords. He stood up and began to defend himself. • Zing got to where Grey was and saw him fighting with the rogues. His intuition had been right and as his the warriors with him charged towards the rogues to defend their alpha, he realized that it was more than an intuition.

Reaper Swithin said, blowing his nose and taking in the air. "AAHHHHH! This Moroi blood!" Reaper Swithun Johnson is the guardian of Strigoi Grave Risen Coven. He has ginger hair and blue eyes and always wears a black dress coat with silver buttons. He is tall and lean, with a sharp jawline and a piercing gaze that can make even the bravest of souls tremble. Reaper Swithun is known for his unwavering loyalty to the coven and his fierce protection of its members. After Ace, Reaper is second in command in the coven.

Thorne, from the Sky Dragon Clan, suddenly interjected. Having felt some unusual energy when Greedy Wolf suddenly unleashed its power and understanding from Hardy's and Andre's conversation that there was a Silver Moon Sky Wolf present with an extraordinary and mysterious identity, Thorne was curious about the details.

I felt extreme exhaustion and weakness, so I fell to my knees while my attackers continued to assault me. "Oops. That's enough for now," said a man who appeared out of nowhere. "Josh Rain Montez. The only son and heir of Gavin and Rhiana Montez." I looked up at the man. He was grinning and staring at me. "You're all bloody. Sorry if my men went a bit overboard with your welcome," he said. "Who the hell are you?" "Me? I'm Grey." "Grey?" I spat out blood. "Who the hell are you? I don't even f*cking know you!"

Nine was their sacred number since it connected the nine realms that existed within Yggdrasil. “I choose Gungnir, the great spear of Odin, Angurvadal, the stream of anguish, Gram, who brought death to Fafnir, Freyr’s sword, to fight when I am weak, Dáinsleif, to inflict wounds that never heal, Lævateinn, so that my step will never falter, Skofnung, the supernatural blade, Hǫfuð, the great sword of Heimdall and lastly Mjolnir.” Malachi chose his nine gifts and the rest were returned to the vault. These gifts would be sent to his house in Seward and he knew Jessica would banish them to his study.

“Convergence, bridge of realms, you seek the blade. Prove your worth, or perish.” My wings unfurl, lunar light flaring, but the construct’s gaze pierces me, and the forge shifts. I’m no longer in the citadel—I’m in a Conclave chamber, centuries ago, Elara’s lunar mark glowing, her voice pleading. “Don’t trust Taryn,” she says, her amber-silver eyes meeting Jorah’s. “His Veilbinder pact with Voren will doom us.” Jorah’s aura, primal and steady, falters as Taryn steps from the shadows, his blade striking Elara’s heart. She falls, silver blood pooling, and Jorah roars, claws slashing, but Taryn’s shadows overwhelm him. I scream, my claws slashing air, but it’s a vision, a memory, and the constr

She pressed a hand to her chest—bound flat—and closed her eyes. There was no more Rhea. Rhea had died the moment she fled Bloodmoon, the moment she chose a path that could end with her exposed, disgraced, or worse—dragged back into Branor’s claws. Her old name was soft, gentle, spoken only in her mother’s voice. But her mother was gone. The warmth of that memory only made her colder. Now, there was only Rian Greythorn, son of Garren. A boy with nothing to lose.

"You were not meant to be queen. You were meant to be a healer." The second emerged from the storm pillar—a man composed of shadow and light in constant conflict. His skin flickered between forms, and his presence distorted the space around him like a broken mirror. "I am Tharos," he declared, "The Twin Truth, Flame’s Reckoning, The Great Undoing." He did not bow. "You were not meant to choose. You were meant to balance." The third stepped from a pillar that bled—it did not hum; it howled. The figure was tall, shrouded in smoke and bone, with antlers curling from its hooded skull. Eyes burned red beneath the veil, and its voice was fire given cruelty.