Novel & Cerita อัศวิน

And who was the other half stuck with? “Who’s the other idiot?” she asked, her voice tight, like it might snap. Roman’s mouth quirked, not quite grinning. “That’d be me.” It landed like a fist to her gut. She stared at him—this smooth-talking climber who’d kissed Dorian’s boots while she’d scraped by on cheap noodles and cheaper dreams. Fury flared, hot and ugly, but before she could tell him to choke on it, a black Rolls-Royce purred up the path, sleek as sin. The window rolled down, and there she was—Vivienne Ashford, Dorian’s widow, Sienna’s stepmother, blonde hair piled up like royalty, wrapped in fur despite the wet.

It was because I would not buy him expensive toys or let him play on his phone without finishing his homework. The biggest reason was my refusal to allow Leia to be his mother. Even so, when I noticed the slab that was about to fall, I rushed forward without hesitation to shield him with my arms. The slab struck me on my head and left a gaping wound. But he pushed me away and grabbed Leia’s hand. He asked her with a concerned look on his face if she was scared. Williams Taylor burst in with a gas mask, and he was the first to rush over. He got hold of the only gas mask and handed it to Leia.

His presence at that time did not feel like he was present, at all. Victoria, on the other hand, had a plan, it appeared. “You know, Julia, you started it,” Victoria teased, looking away from the young man. You can just see the rage bait like the colour red, but Julia, apparently, didn't see it. “I did not mean to.” She defended. “You also know that Lana literally threw the first weapon, right?” Craig asked, joining in. “It was a calendar.” Lana said, with a tone of finality. “It flew,” Craig added helpfully. “That qualifies as a weapon.”

I could feel it clearly—life draining out of my ravaged body. When she'd had her fill, she climbed off me, satisfied. Her well-manicured fingers picked up a piece of silver from the table, then dropped it onto my face with disgust. "Useless thing," she sneered. "Bones so brittle. Can't even take a little roughhousing." The door creaked open. Vince Benedict, the brothel's manager, waddled in with his massive gut leading the way. He pinched the silver coin between his thick fingers and blew on it. Then he gave my limp leg a hard kick with his black cloth boot.

The ship screamed with the weight of the attack, bulkheads groaning, alarms wailing in time with Mae’s racing heart. Ashar fought at the front, his blade aflame, every swing a bright arc that seared through the horde. Flames clung to his body, his armor glowing molten in the heat of battle, but the creatures kept pressing, throwing themselves into the fire willingly just to smother it with their numbers. Riven soared overhead, wings battered, feathers scorched, yet he cut through the storm again and again, slamming into the enemy with bone-shaking force. He landed only long enough to slash open another creature’s throat before leaping into the air once more.

The moment I opened the door, a silver dagger lunged for my chest. “Die!” Seraphina’s eyes were wild with hatred. Kaelen grabbed her around the waist from the side, trying to stop her. "Sera, no!" "Let go of me! I want her dead!" Seraphina thrashed wildly, the dagger swinging through the air. In the struggle, the silver dagger slipped from her grasp and clattered to the floor at my feet. I bent down and picked it up.

The news reached them with the dawn. The scouts stumbled through the monastery gates just as the first light touched the peaks. Their faces were streaked with soot and frost, their breath coming in ragged bursts. One collapsed immediately; the other fell to his knees, words tumbling out between gasps. “They’re burning the valleys. The Saint’s army… they’re calling it the March.” Lucien caught the man by the shoulders. “How far?” “Half a day south. Maybe less.” The scout swallowed hard. “They’re cleansing everything. Houses, crops, people who couldn’t run fast enough. They call it purification.”

Five years was a long time. “Weasel! Get us some drinks over here!” Bandit yelled. The man behind the bar, Weasel, brought over four beers and placed them on the table. He had a large patch on his back that read, ‘Prospect’. Jake didn’t want to join the club, but he’d be involved as much as Bandit allowed it. “How’d you get the name, Wrath?” K-9 asked him. “Shivved the man that went after Rancid,” Jake said.