Transformers Prime Artbook Novels & Stories

From what I hear, they seem to value it very highly. When he finally stops, I also stop at a particularly thick book called Werewolves, Spires, and Shifters: Complete Edition. On the front is a picture of a menacing werewolf ready to devour a human and a human fighting a truly horrible Shifter with a strange spear. I pull it off the rest, hiding it behind me.

You don’t have a mate, Ames,’ Kral said. My wolf wants his mate. I know he does because I do, too. I prefer to let things happen naturally, though. I don’t want to push the Moon Goddess’s will. Everything in its due time. Besides, my folks were fated. It was a beautiful kind of love. I reached the studio, and Ina, the receptionist, stood. “Prince Ambrose, welcome,” she said with a flirty smile. I smiled, but I knew it didn’t reach my eyes. “Ina, I’m here to see Parker,” I said politely but seriously.

“The artifact protects me.” “Yes. The artifact.” Something like curiosity colored the Prime’s attention. “A creation tool that refuses to be unmade. It should not exist… creation should not be concentrated into such permanence. Yet here it persists.” “That’s why you attacked? To destroy the artifact?” “To restore balance. Creation grown too powerful. Your reality tilting toward chaos through unchecked growth.” The Prime’s form shifted, becoming slightly. “The artifact represents creation at its most stubborn. Most resistant to necessary entropy. It had to be unmade.”

“Why that of all the sculptures and other arts in the library?” She shrugged her shoulder. “I don’t know. I’m just drawn into it. It’s like when you enter a room and suddenly hear a faint sound of piano, the melody reaching out to you, as if summoning you closer.” A genuine smile crossed his lips. “The Prime is one of the ancient creatures in the world. They originated from this very land.” Chessa glanced at him. “You seemed to know about them. You also said they’re a fruit of sins and wars, right? Did you know who’s the artist that made them? I mean, they’re myth, aren’t they?”

"You?" "My birthday is May 6th and my favorite color is black," he answered back. "Black?" "It goes with everything," he explained defensively. I shook my head. "What is your favorite movie?" "I don't watch any," he said. "Weird," I commented. "Favorite book, then?" "The Art of War by Sun Tzu," he said. I just stared at him. "What?" He asked. "I liked you better before I knew all this about you," I said.

I blinked, my eyes sweeping across the room. The walls were covered with huge murals of Optimus Prime and Bumblebee, the colors blue and red dominating all sides of the room. On the shelves beside the bed, dozens of Transformers robots in various sizes are lined up. Some are brand new, and some look like they've been played with a lot. In the corner of the room is a small table with a blue ergonomic chair, complete with a reading lamp in the shape of Megatron's head. Most strikingly, the blanket on his bed was Transformers-patterned, with a picture of Optimus Prime looking straight at me.

I want to brush them, feel how silky they are, knowing these are all his natural beauty. But then my eyes flare and I step away from the edge of the bed. What is this? I'm the Prime Alpha, never ever have been moved by an Omega. I've never felt the push other Alphas feel towards Omegas, and that was why I was able to cause the revolution that opened the others' eyes.

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“I know it sounds batshit insane. Like the caller’s hallucinating or screwing with me. But he knew things—details no one should. And if there’s even a chance…” Lysander held up a hand, stopping me. “It doesn’t sound insane. Not entirely.” I blinked, caught off guard. “What?” He pushed off the table, walking to a bookshelf in the corner crammed with art books, sketchpads, and a few dusty tomes that looked older than the school. He pulled one out—a thick, leather-bound volume with faded gold lettering: “Mythos and Metaphor: Ancient Lore in Modern Art.” He flipped through it, landing on a page with illustrations of snarling wolves under full moons, runes etched around the borders.

I knew I'd seen him before, but I couldn't quite place him. As he reached me, I noticed the way he toward above me, his body exuding power and charm. He extended his hand and introduced himself, his voice deep and alluring. "Hello, my name is Hermes Gustavus," he said with a warm smile. The moment he mentioned his name, I realized who he was. Hermes Gustavus was a renowned art collector, with a vast collection of some of the most stunning works of art in the world. He was known for his impeccable taste, and many artists aspired to have their works showcased in his collection.