Violyn Arcane Novels & Stories

Pack’s pack, Tess—strike, guard! Vrynna emerged from a tunnel, her presence a cold void against the hollow’s heat, her violet eyes glowing with malevolent intent, her bone staff clutched in a pale hand, its tip carved with jagged runes that pulsed red, matching the altar’s hum. Her black robes flowed like liquid shadow, embroidered with bone-white runes, her platinum hair unbound, falling in sharp waves, her voice a low, venomous hiss, the air around her crackling with dark magic, the curse’s power amplifying her presence, the red glow in the ground flaring brighter, the heat intensifying, the stalactites dripping faster, their crimson liquid hissing louder, the hollow trembling.

“Binding Chaos, freeing Echo—you’ve woven a delicate thread. But the tapestry is mine.” Jessica’s spark flared, weak but defiant. “Who are you? What do you want?” The woman lowered her hood, revealing a face that was both ageless and ancient, her eyes twin pools of crimson light. Her features were sharp, almost predatory, but there was a flicker of something familiar—a shadow of her mother’s gentleness, twisted into something cruel. “I am Arachne,” she said. “The True Weaver. Your father sought to control the nexus, but he was a child playing with fire. I am the flame.”

"I apologize that the Alpha is currently occupied with pack matters; he was pulled away just before your arrival. You shall have to find my company sufficient for now. I am Arcelythe Vladimir Hyde, wife of Alpha Ynovar and Luna of the Veylor Pack. It is an honor to receive you, Herse Gavira and Gavriel Soltharic." I was struck by her poise, feeling suddenly like a travel-worn wanderer in the presence of royalty. I managed a stiff, respectful nod, trying to find my voice. "The honor is ours, Luna Arcelythe." "Oh, please, let us dispense with such formalities. You may call me Arce," she said with a light flick of her hand. She turned with a fluid, sweeping motion, her gown whispering against t

“What are Arcane Veins? Anyone care to enlighten us?” He let the question hang like bait. A single hand rose, calm and deliberate. Selene Asterhold didn’t even glance around. Her fingers held a pen mid-air, as if she could go right back to writing mid-sentence. Viorell raised his brows. “Ah. The lady from House Asterhold. Go ahead.” Selene adjusted her glasses, voice cool and composed. “Every mage is born with what’s called the Veins of Arcana—invisible energy channels that run throughout the body. They’re the pathways that control how mana flows, builds, and is released.”

A melody of ancient pain, layered with razor-sharp hope for vengeance. Selene's face went translucent. She stumbled back. Clutching her chest. "That... that song..." Riven's red eyes dilated until the iris was almost gone. He stepped toward the bed. Hand hovering near his heart. "The Forbidden Hymn of the Abyss. I haven't heard those notes since the last uprising of the Dark Covens." "Is she dying?" Jaxon shouted. Panic overriding shame. "Aurel, do something!" "Shut up!" Aurel barked. Eyes glued to the scanners. Violet light pulsing in sync with the humming. "She isn't dying. She's conducting."

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.

Besides, it wasn't like there was anyone around to scold me. Switching the wine glass I had been holding to my left hand, I raised my right up to the uncovered images that had been meticulously placed on the wall. As I lowered my fingers, centimeters away from touching the fine print, I suddenly felt the presence of something behind me. Before I could turn around and figure out what had been lurking, a deep voice, laced with a sultry french accent, matched the weight I felt hovering around me. "Can’t keep your hands off the art, can we now, Miss Daniels?"

You're a wolf Morgana. He finishes and there's an intense silence in the room now. Everyone is gazing at me, shooting holes through my skull., waiting for me to say something. "Um... Haha, well.. What??" I stutter not really knowing what to say. They're all crazy.. "It's true.." Aaron says from beside Reece. "You have to believe us. If you're all alone when you start hearing your wolf's voice you're going to think you're going crazy. You have to let us help you but most importantly you have to believe us.." Reece's mom says.

I just looked at her. “Do you want me to call Robin to confirm that?” She asked but I didn’t answer. I just took a deep breath because it’s unfair that she knows all about me. She snapped her fingers and the wine and the wine glass for two appeared on the table. She opened the wine and poured on the glasses and she gave the other one to me. She lift her glass and said, “Cheers” “What for?” I asked after I lifted the glass that she gave me. “For finding you, for finding another fallen angel” She answered and drank the wine in her glass. I drank the wine and it made me ask for more because it really tasted good and I had never tasted a wine like this one before.

Helen would still reach for her throat to stroke the keepsake, but it had been missing since Geoffrey and my father’s pack descended on us both. “How the hell do you have that?” The siren wizard tilts her head back in attempt to seduce me but it only gave me fantasy to ripping her throat out with my claws. Her hand moves over her sex, wanting to draw me in. I have faced temptation in chains at my father’s command to tame my Lycan but without that force, and with the bond of my precious mate, seeing the wizard fondle herself is more a sight of a bad play than it is an intriguing notion.