Yassen Gregorovich Alex Rider Novels & Stories

I have never hated the color red as much as I do now. "What are you waiting for? Do it." He whispered, looking straight into my eyes. How can someone be so cruel? Dawn, you know what to do, right? I took a deep breath and slowly raised the glass to my wrist. I can do this, just like Zach told me. Alexander smiled and motioned for me to continue. I do. With one swift motion, I slid the glass against his throat instead of my arm and shoved him away. He stumbled back to the ground while holding his hands to his bleeding neck in shock.

He definitely had enough life to walk and it was even easier for me because he could not even see me because of not enough light around. –--- ~ FLASHBACK ~ –---- He staggered towards his car and I cut him off as Thunder on the empty highway on his way home. Now even if someone saw me, it would be very difficult for them to know that I am Nicholas, a well-known professor at Silver Valley High. And now it was going to be even more fun to torture him. Seeing me — Thunder — he started backing his car out of fear, but when I climbed on his car and started hitting his roof, he tried to run away like an uncontrollable rat out of fear.

A cup of hot Earl Gray tea with the aroma of bergamot steamed slowly in front of him. Alexander Sterling, with a black shirt left half unbuttoned showing off an ancient rune tattoo on his broad chest, sat right next to Chloe. The deadly man barely touched his breakfast. His attention seemed to be permanently locked on the beautiful sculpture of the Queen's face, enjoying his own masterpiece with absolute devotion. The comfortable silence was broken when the crystal tablet in front of Chloe flashed red. An incoming video call with an SSS level security code only one person in the world has such access. Oswald Vanguard. The Grandfather. The feared ancestor of thousands of shadow organizations.

Or worse — leave me with those men with empty eyes, who didn’t seem to have the slightest hesitation in using violence. “I don’t know exactly where he is,” I began, my voice trembling. “But I know someone who might be able to find out. Someone who has access to his communication system. Not directly, but… through transactions. Through payments. Tristan is careful, but he’s not invisible. Everything he spends leaves a trail.” “Who?” “A man. His name is Gregor. He works with cryptocurrencies and financial tracking. He’s discreet. Expensive. But efficient.” I lied about the last part. Gregor was efficient, yes, but not reliable. He worked for whoever paid more. And Cassius paid a lot.

The world didn’t end quietly, it ended with Ash’s roar, a raw, animal sound from a man watching his future disappear in front of him. He forgot the spear in his shoulder, the fire in his ribs, everything except Liora falling, the broken wood in her back a cruel mark of Gregor’s madness. Gregor stood over her, his face twisted with triumph. “Darkness always wins! It claims what it’s owed!” A red haze blurred Ash’s sight, he charged, not with a knife, but with his broken body, tackling Gregor down. His hands grabbed the elder’s throat, driven by one pure instinct: to erase the source of pain.

He was never fit to run a pack. I arrived at the tombs. At first they appeared uninhabited, but once you understood the layouts of the maze like crypts, you realize that you could weave through them easily. A fire lit torch burned brightly at the entrance, and I took it making my way through the tomb. "Nikolai Rydor," an attendant's voice bounced off the walls of the tomb. "We've been expecting you." I nodded, going after her. And soon we came up upon the elders gathering.

Poorly contained. “That’s her?” “She’s…” “By the gods-” “Vale blood, no doubt.” “She doesn’t look like-” “She looks like trouble.” I smiled to myself. Rowan leaned closer, voice low. “You’re enjoying this.” “Immensely.” We reached the center of the room where the main Alpha delegation waited. Alpha Gregor of the Eastern Ridge inclined his head first - tall, silver-haired, calculated. His pack had land bordering Vale territory, and ambition dripping off him like oil.

And behind them—taller, armored, mechanical—came the ASA agents. Humans in black combat suits, their helmets glowing blue, guns humming with energy cores. One of them shouted through a speaker, “Targets located! Engage and capture! Use non-lethal on the female—repeat, non-lethal on the female!” “Oh gee, how considerate,” I muttered, ducking another shot. “They want me alive. I feel so honored.” Gregor’s wolf form tore forward in a blur of silver and blood. He hit the first Black Fang soldier so hard that the man went flying into a tree with a sickening crack. Another came at him with twin daggers—Gregor ripped his throat open with his claws.

Greg swallowed with difficulty as he wiped off the cold sweats that formed on his forehead. “If it’s Prince York, although the situation would be difficult, I will still do my job. But this man’s status really isn’t someone we can offend.” Yannick frowned. “Can’t you just tell me who is that straightforwardly?” Greg answered with a trembling voice, “The living legend, Sword Army’s chief instructor.” Smack! On the other side, the sound of the phone being dropped to the ground could be heard. After a long moment, only Yannick’s shivering voice was heard, “You’re saying, the chief instructor of the Sword Army? The chief instructor? Are you sure you’re not mistaken?”

With a ponytail of dark hair, he stood with his back, holding a motorcycle helmet in his hand and brazenly knocking the ashes of a cigarette into a very expensive vase. "Grigory Astakhov," Alyosha, who was standing beside me, answered quietly. There was a strange mixture of disapproval and approval in his voice at the same time. - Wolfhound. The leader of the mercenaries, rare scumbags. Boris Sergeevich summons him in exceptional cases. The most accurate shooter of all in the city, ”he added expressively, squinting at me. - You speak the most well-aimed ... - I noticed, involuntarily touching the wound.