Wrath Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels & Stories

He had sandy brown hair that appeared even lighter under the glow of the gigantic chandelier. I figured he must've gotten it from their mother, because from what I'd seen of Zeb and Andreas, that shade wasn't exactly a common trait. But it suited him. It made him look calmer, less brooding. Almost approachable… almost. Brooding, after all, was encoded in their bloodstream, something every Wrath man seemed born with. Then there were Andreas and Reagan, accompanied by their four daughters, all beautiful and terrifying in their own ways. It was a full house. A chaotic one. But strangely, a warm one too.

My voice rumbled like thunder, and my promise struck deep. Something shifted. Their fear of me outweighed their fear of Reid. With a roar, they charged together, their strength combined. Reid fought like a mad beast, snarling, slashing, his dagger grazing one man’s arm. But they overwhelmed him, three men pinning him down, another ripping the dagger from his hand. He roared, spitting, writhing beneath them, his face red with rage. “Gray!” he screamed, his voice cracking, desperation bleeding through the fury. “How could you do this to me?! This is me! ME! The man who’s been by your side all these years!”

The very thing they’d been forced to fight for, like dogs scrambling for scraps under their mother’s table. He leaned down, blood dripping from his chin, his fingers closing around the invitation with a calm, final certainty. “I win,” he said quietly, lifting it up for all to see. “He can’t make it.” He turned and looked at Jaxon—his brother now slumped against the wall of the arena, one arm hanging limp, chest heaving with shallow breaths, sweat and blood soaking through his shirt. “Just look at your favorite son,” Dorian continued, his voice sharpened by exhaustion and contempt. “He’s barely breathing.”

I stood at the gates as their leader stepped forward Archon Veylor, a man once rumored to have drowned an entire Lycan pack in consecrated blood. “Damon Blackthorn,” he called, his voice calm and cold. “You have until moonrise to surrender the girl and submit to purification.” My claws lengthened. He smiled, as if daring me to strike. “I am the judgment of the gods,” he said. “And she is the vessel of a forgotten sin.” “I am the wrath of the wolves,” I replied. “And I will drown you in it.” He didn’t flinch. “So be it.” ---

I continued chanting, even as my voice shook. “Storm and shadow, heed my plea. Unshackle wrath and set it free. Let my howls tear through the night. Let my enemies quake in fright.” I groaned as my body began to transform. Pain surged through me like fire. A howl of suffering burst from my throat. My bones cracked and shifted, and I screamed in pure agony as the transformation took hold. “Lyra, what are you doing?!” Dracob’s voice rang out, filled with horror and disbelief. I saw him step forward, reaching toward me, but before he could take another step, a lightning bolt struck the ground at his feet, forcing him back.

my father’s voice interrupted my thoughts, "let us welcome the man who will help lead us into this new era. The future Alpha of the United Pack... Adrian Blackwood." The massive oak doors at the end of the hall swung wide with a bang that echoed like a gunshot. Then, he stepped in. Adrian Blackwood walked in like he owned the air in the room. He was young, probably late-twenties, but he carried a darkness that made him look a thousand years old. He was tall, built like a tank but moved with the grace of a jungle cat. He wore a black-on-black suit that probably cost more than a house, but it couldn't hide the raw, lethal power rolling off him in waves. His face was all sharp angles—a jawline