Throne Of The Fallen Vk Novels & Stories

Asher POV ​My name is Asher Steele. I am 29 years old; I am the Alpha of Crimson Blood Pack. I have the largest pack in the country. I don’t tolerate mistakes or half-ass shit. I run a tight ship and everyone in this pack knows it. ​“Alpha?” My Bata and best friend say as he knocks and pocks his head in with a scared look on his face. “Yes?” I say while looking up at him. “You know that mission you posted 4 days ago? Well let me say that whoever did it completed it and is already home and here’s your report and the victims are back and said that the girl was a badass and something along the lines of wanting you to go to her pack and thank her for saving them..” he says while trying to hide h

After a long, trembling moment, I forced my hand to open. My claws retracted, sliding free of Throne’s neck with a wet, sickening sound. His body collapsed at my feet like dead weight, hitting the stone floor hard. He coughed, gagging, blood spilling from his lips, staining his robes. My own hand dripped with his blood—warm, sticky, crimson painting my palm, a reminder of what I’d just done.

The floor beneath them began moving. Everyone stepped back. The center of the vault opened. A circular platform rose from below. On it stood a black chair. It looked ancient. But beneath it were glowing screens and biometric scanners. Ava stared. "That's the throne?" Victor nodded. "The original Black Rose throne." Daniel laughed bitterly. "You actually built a throne?" Victor smiled. "Power needs a seat." Ava shook her head. "This is insane." Victor looked at her. "Sit." "No."

I raised the golf club and viciously swung it at her favourite crystal ornament. At that same moment, my stomach had a sudden, bad cramp. I blacked out from the pain and lost my footing. Whitney called out my name in a panic, "Harvey!" That was the last sound I heard before I fell unconscious. … When I opened my eyes, I was already in the hospital. Whitney was sitting beside my bed, holding a medical report. There was a swirl of mixed emotions in her expression. The anxiety in her eyes dissolved when she noticed I was awake.

“S…s…six years ago. It was June.” Henrik noticed the sunlight reflecting brightly off something next to the body and picked it up. It was a small glass vial that was marked ‘Cloaking Potion’ with very faded ink, and at the bottom was an alchemist’s monogram bearing the initials R.W. It appeared that Gamma Sam went to great lengths to ensure this body was never found, and Dane was determined to know the reason why. Henrik and Wei were left to bury the remains again, but this time in a much deeper hole than the one that was easily uncovered. Dane took off his clothes, threw them in his backpack with the fabric scrap and potion, and shifted to his powerful dark brown wolf Stig.

In his hands, he held a crown. Not gold. Not bone. But dust. Crumbling. Ancient. And filled with power that shouldn’t exist anymore. Liora’s heart stuttered. Because she knew that crown. Not from dreams. But from the forbidden vaults beneath the Sanctuary. It was the Crown of Dust, forged from the ashes of failed gods. Worn only once before, by a king who tried to rewrite death itself. That king’s name? Valen Thorne. And he had died. A thousand years ago. But now, He stood on her land. Alive. Wearing that cursed crown. “Impossible,” Myra whispered.

As she pressed her obsidian ring against the page, the Vance and Vane bloodlines finally merged into a single, unbreakable sovereign authority. "The Archive is insolvent, the Thorne board is liquidated, and the debt is paid in full!" Verina’s voice was a solid, terrifyingly calm resonance that echoed through the library’s foundations, her words acting as a master-override that sent a massive, concussive wave of golden energy through the building. The girl from the tank shrieked one final time before her obsidian frame dissolved into a cloud of harmless, violet vapor, and the Archive’s radiant white eyes finally flickered out, leaving the chamber in a peaceful, absolute darkness.

"If I die in this room today, my story doesn't end here. Thalia’s pack will rip through your borders. Julian and Vivienne will turn your secrets against you. And half of your own guard that believes in Aro's vision will tear this throne room down from the inside. Go ahead. Start your civil war. Paint these walls with your coven’s ash. But know that you will be the first one to burn in it." The Shattered Throne Caius stood frozen, his chest heaving as he stared at the fragile human girl who had just laid out the blueprint for his empire's downfall. He looked at Aro, searching for a sign of a lie, but Aro only gave a slow, warning nod. He looked back at his own guards, noticing how many of the

My skin was practically translucent now, my veins branching out like black spiderwebs. Images began to surface in the mirror. The mirror showed a battle on the clan borders, two years past. As the clan's top assassin, Cassian had infiltrated the Fallen's lair alone. But it was an ambush. In the vision, he was covered in blood. A Fallen’s claws had torn open his throat, severing the carotid artery. Black venom was creeping into his veins. It was Fallen necro-venom. Left untreated, the victim would devolve into a mindless Ghoul within three days.

Damon walked in without looking at me while I sat frozen, wondering what would happen to me. All of the elders greeted the lycan king, and as soon as everyone was quiet, Elder Merek stood up and said, "The offense is betrayal of the crown, and the punishment rests with the king.” Damon took a distant, icy step forward and his voice echoed down the hall as he spoke, "I gave Isabel a place among us; she was trusted, sheltered, and elevated above her rank, but she repaid it with disgrace." His words were so hurtful that I winced. Is this how he really saw me? I thought to myself. His refusal to look at me, as though I didn't exist, was worse than the accusations.