Wicked Knight Novels & Stories

A baby wailed in a burning cradle until silence swallowed it whole. Three dozen Royal Knights—the finest warriors of the southern territory—arrived on griffin-back, blades drawn, magic flaring. They lasted seven minutes. Lightning struck their beasts from the sky. The witches toyed with them. Aldrian smashed through shields and bone like a demon from the pits of forgotten hells. One knight crawled, bloodied and sobbing, toward a broken scepter of communication—but his head was torn clean off before he reached it. The forest swallowed the screams, the smoke, the cries.

“What are you citing an innocent little saint? We all saw the video and as the leader of the saints at pack Cathedral, I renounce your saintship.” “Video…” I staggered back. “WHat Video, Lyd? What….” “You ruined her life!” Knight suddenly punched a chin so powerful that he flew back into the room we came out from. Looking at Knight, he had changed. This wasn't the Knight in shiny armor who was the peace advocate between his brothers. This wasn't Knight who would never raise his voice since the two months I had been here. This was June, the monstrous wolf in Knight. Those eyes were not peaceful anymore, they looked hungry for blood. His short hair wasn't short anymore, it had grown long, that

"There's no way in hell I'm wearing that." "Are you willing to play for it?" "Play?" He turns around and goes back to the display of adult games. When he returns, he's holding something called "Hang the Cock on the Hunk." It looks like a version of Pin the Tail on the Donkey, only... well, you know. "What do you say?" he asks. His gaze is dark, wicked. "Why would I agree to that?" I say. "If I refuse to play then I don't have to risk anything."

“Yes, Carter—I know. I have known for quite some time. Your encounter with the Wicked was not chance. Neither was that mark on your arm.” The Wizard’s words sliced through the air like a blade, and for a long moment, all I could do was stare. My mouth had gone dry, my thoughts scrambled. He knew. He’d known all along. “You knew,” I finally managed to whisper, rage bubbling beneath the surface of my skin. “This whole time—you knew what he was.” The Wizard’s gaze softened, but only slightly. “I knew what he is. The Wicked is no ordinary being, Carter. His existence is bound by something much older, much deeper than dark magic alone.”

They know how whipped that giant for his husband. "Is he really the head council? 'The' Calvin Knight?" Jax is still in disbelief. "Yes, you're lucky you met him like this. If it was before, *scoffed* you probably peed in your pants already. But if you want to see him like a badass, try to be near his husband then and there you'll see how hell breaks loose." The Midnight pack shuddered at the thought. ******* ---------------- Somewhere ---------------

The heat in here itself is beginning to feel less oppressive and more sedative. I slip into a dull, drowsy haze while Darragh tells me about a knight who is disinherited because he supports the wrong king or loves the wrong woman—or both—it’s unclear, and how the knight won tournaments in a secret disguise, and he’s wounded, and another woman comes into it and is mistaken for the first woman…

In the rear, just behind the skeleton archers, 5 armored figures stood out from the rest of the undead. 4 Wight Knights and 1 Wight Knight Champion; the armor worn by the Wight Knights was similar in appearance and style to that worn by the Wight Knights who attacked the farm; And as was easy to guess, they were just as strong. 90 Skeleton Warriors, 20 Skeleton Archers, 10 Skeleton Horsemen, 4 Wight Knights, and 1 Wight Knight Champion; as a whole it was a fighting force to take into account, it might seem little, but the amount of offensive power was remarkable.

It felt possessive. "You're trembling," he noted, his voice rough. "I'm c-cold," I lied. "You're not cold," he countered, his thumb tracing the strap of my nightgown. "You're scared. Of a little noise." "A little noise killed Whiskers," I whimpered, turning my face into his neck. The stubble there grazed my cheek. "Whiskers was a cat," Damian said, his grip tightening. "You're a woman, Skylar. You're stronger than you think."

the knight muttered, "This is a misunderstanding. How about you let me go so we talk this out" "Theres nothing to talk about. And i have a clear understanding of the situation" Morgan told him, "You were captured by the yetis and i for trespassing. You should know your kind is forbidden here. You Dornish pigs" "Yeah the Dornish are pigs but im not a Dornish knight" said knight. "You're a knight right? You're dressed like one" Morgan said. "Well sort of" the knight said. Morgan sighed,"You're all the same to me. You're all scum"

As I blocked out her emotions, a voice echoed in the depths of my mind, a whisper of conscience that stirred within me like a dormant beast awakening from its slumber. "You are being wicked," Knight, my wolf, whispered, his voice tinged with reproach. "You must try to win her back, to show her that you are worthy of her love. Every girl wants to be marked with their own consent. You just made her feel like she was a worthless thing that you own." His words struck a chord within me, and i hated it. I wasn’t going to deal with Knight’s nagging today too, so I pushed him to the back of my mind too.