War Bringer Novels & Stories

And then coming closer, he continued his orders. "Kriss Emmett Persephone Sage- The Phoenix Azen David- Red Rain Randall Quint - Earth’s Wrath Zen Parez- Intoxicator Alaiya Miller- Glistening Snow.” He called out the name of the title holders. Enunciating loudly, “To fight this war and bring me victory at all cost!"

There was some kind of tattoo peeking out. My eyes went to his hair and they were silvery white with a braid in them, and fell to his broad shoulders. It was like he was a direct descendent of the Moon goddess; Selene. The braid indicated he was from the Warbringer Clan. It was an ancient clan which produced some of the strongest warriors our world had seen. The Lycans were part of this clan and they always kept long hair and wore braids. Each braid in their hair indicated something personal. Could be a special victory, their mate or lover, or it could be the birth of their child. Their braids were significant and he only had one in his hair and I wondered what it meant.

I laughed, teasing them. "Fuck you." I couldn't help but shake my head at their offensive mouths. "You all, too," I fired back and stepped on the gas. I took a glance at my cellphone, which was resting on the dashboard, and saw the footage that Noella had sent me. As I realized how destructive my bombs are, I grinned evilly. Very good babies. "All pigs burned and mangled alive," I informed while staring at the opponent's lifeless bodies, then looked back on the road.

My little warrior. Tonight we travel to Bastian's realm for cards. I've missed Ashrac and know his parents keep him away to give me time with my bride. The little red hellion has burrowed into my heart. Unlike a bride, he will live forever. I will never suffer the pain of losing him. I've given my bride a new set of leathers to wear tonight. They are a little less revealing with an added gauzy material that splits on the sides and enables her to fight if needed. She's in her bathing chamber changing while I impatiently wait.

“… next is the orders—” “What the hell, Millie? Your explanation is too complicated.” Lilac rolled her eyes. “You see, Emily, she met her gaze, “We have a king, which is the Alpha. Then the Beta, the elites or councils, and the orders or warriors. The orders will make sure that the borders of this state are well-guarded. They defend it from rogues—you know, a werewolf who doesn’t have a home or packs, the hunters—” “Humans…” Emily mumbled.

I didn't pull away, enjoying the warmth of his touch. One of the Stormbringers, a lean fighter with a series of intricate tattoos on his arms, managed to land a solid hit on Cleo. Our clan's warrior stumbled back, but quickly regained his footing and launched a counterattack. The crowd gasped as Cleo landed a series of swift blows, sending the Stormbringer crashing to the ground.

But Brett would feel it more. I turned and walked back toward him, where he still knelt on the floor. "Effective immediately, you are stripped of your rank as Warrior, and once the rejection ritual is completed, you're banished from this pack." Sharp gasps rang out again. "Alpha…" someone started. I glared at the pack member, and he fell silent. Brett's face had paled as he dropped to his knees. "A-Alpha, p-please, reconsider. Me, an Omega? I'm sorry…"

Her father continued, “They say the War God is mighty and powerful in a way most people will never understand. No one dares speak when he says no. No one even coughs or breathes wrong in his presence. It’s said he fought bravely in the last war. — In all of this, here is the part you need to hear — he needs you just as much as you need him.” That is the only way your destiny ends differently from your mother's. From your grandmother's." He paused. "Take the position. Climb from there. The higher you go, the closer you get to his world. He is the only one capable of helping you carry what you were born carrying. I don't want to lose you." Elena's jaw tightened. His words had found something r

a voice boomed, tthunder-heavy andrough around the edges, like it had been dragged out of a storm. The crowd parted. A warlord stepped forward, so massive he made Vane look small. He wore tribal brands like scars that never healed right. One left eye was gone, replaced by a jagged scar that looked like lightning ffrozenin skin. His cloak hung from the pelts of grey wolves, soaked in whatever power lived in the city itself. “Warlord Karn,” Vane growled, bowing his head a fraction. “I bring the King’s true bloodline. The Princess Elara.”