Novels by Osemen

I push Marco’s door open with one finger; it gives the smallest inch and swings inward without resistance. Of course—he lives like he’s untouchable and leaves his door unlocked in a house full of people who would slit his throat for half the crown. I step inside and close the door behind me just enough so it looks shut but won’t latch; if he comes back unexpectedly I want the sound to warn me before the smile. The room hits me with the usual mix—old wood and cigar smoke softened by expensive cologne—and nothing about it matters except what it hides. Marco keeps his place neat because neatness is control; neatness is a story he tells the world about himself, not something I came to admire.I go straight to the desk. The top drawer yields pens and envelopes and the kind of stationery that means people write letters they don’t intend to keep; I don’t waste time scanning receipts. The second drawer offers a photograph of him and my father with the practiced handshake and polite faces that

Adrian POV The rain had stopped sometime before dawn, but the air still carried the aftertaste of the storm — that thick, damp heaviness that sticks to your skin and makes the whole city feel like it’s holding its breath. The kind of quiet that isn’t peace. Just… a pause. A warning. I stood on the balcony outside my father’s old office, palms resting against cold stone, eyes tracing the fog curling around the streetlamps. Nothing moved. Not the leaves, not the shadows, not even the wind. Stillness like that wasn’t natural. Not in my world. Not anymore. Behind me, the villa murmured: guards rotating shifts, steel dragging lightly against marble, someone giving low instructions that carried just enough urgency to bother me. Everything sounded normal. Everything felt wrong. I rubbed my thumb along my father’s ring — silver, worn, heavier than it looked. That habit used to calm me. Lately, it only reminded me that I’m sitting in a seat designed to turn men into monsters. A soft

Adrian POV Yhe sense that I’m walking straight into the same darkness my father lived in… and never got out of. I move down the west wing corridor, hands in the pockets of my coat, pretending the walk is casual. It isn’t. I want eyes on Marco’s territory — the people he talks to, the ones he avoids, the ones who practically bow when he walks past. Men reveal everything when they think you’re not looking. The halls are quiet, but the quiet feels staged. A little too perfect. A little too clean. Halfway through the corridor, I stop. A man — one of Marco’s guards — slips a sealed envelope into Marco’s room. Quick, precise, practiced. Like he’s done it before. He turns to leave. He freezes when he sees me. His eyes widen just enough. “Boss,” he says, straightening instantly. I keep my hands in my pockets. “You look nervous.” He swallows. “Just delivering something.” “Open it.” His throat bobs. “It’s—it’s for Marco.” “And I’m telling you to open it.” For a second, he seems

Adrian POV)The rain had stopped hours ago, but the air still carried that damp heaviness—like the city hadn’t decided if it wanted to breathe again or drown quietly. I stood on the balcony outside my father’s old office, watching the streetlights flicker in the fog. Everything felt too still. Too polite. Too… wrong.Silence like this never meant peace. It meant someone else was moving.Behind me, the villa murmured with the low hum of guards changing shifts. A few whispered instructions. The scrape of boots against marble. Nothing unusual, and yet… something inside me stayed alert, like a blade pressed against the back of my neck.I rubbed my thumb along the silver ring on my hand—my father’s ring—and let myself think for a moment. Not plan, not react. Just think.God knows I hadn’t done enough of that lately.A soft knock broke the quiet.“Enter,” I said.Luca stepped in, one arm still in a bandage, though he pretended it didn’t hurt. His face looked older today. More tired. Maybe w

Adrian’s POV:The storm outside felt like it wanted to tear the whole damn world in half.Maybe it already did.Luca and I drove through the rain with the wipers fighting for their life. I kept thinking about Isabella—her face when I told her I doubted her. The way her eyes shook like she was holding something heavy inside. Something she didn’t want me to see.God, I hated myself for noticing.I shouldn’t care.Not anymore.Not when everything around me is falling to pieces.But I did.And that scared me more than any bullet.“Boss,” Luca said suddenly, snapping me out of my head. His voice was tight. “The trail ends here.”I looked up. We had arrived at one of the old eastern watch posts—my father’s territory back when he was younger and meaner. The whole place smelled like rust and ghosts.I stepped out of the car. The rain smacked my face, cold and sharp. Good. Maybe it would wake me up from whatever the hell was happening in my chest.Luca checked his gun. I checked mine.The buil

Adrian’s POVThe drive back from the docks felt longer than it should’ve. Rain hammered the windshield in violent sheets, each drop like a warning from the sky itself. Luca sat beside me, silent, bandaged, staring at the road as if it might rearrange itself at any moment.Something had shifted tonight.Not outside.Inside me.As the gates to the villa groaned open, the guards stepped aside quickly, eyes lowered. They felt it too. The energy. The cold. The danger.I used to walk into this place as a son.Now I walked in as a storm.I headed straight to my father’s study—the one room in the house where ghosts still lived. The leather chair faced the window, its shadow long and sharp. I stopped just inside the doorway.A memory slammed into me: Vittorio sitting there, cigar in hand, telling me that one day this room would belong to me.I hated him for being right.I stepped behind the desk, my fingers brushing the scarred wood. Luca stood by the door, waiting.“You found nothing else at

Ariel’pov: “What do you mean something’s coming?” I asked, stepping closer to Damien. He didn’t answer right away. His eyes were fixed on the sky, his jaw tight. “Damien?” He finally looked at me. “The air changed. Do you feel it?” I frowned. “It’s just wind.” “No.” He shook his head. “That’s not wind. That’s magic.” Before I could reply, a sharp sound echoed above us, it's was a loud caw. I looked up. “What was that?” “A raven,” he said quietly. “But not an ordinary one.” The black bird circled once, then landed on the railing beside us. Its eyes glowed faintly red, and tied to its leg was a small scroll sealed with a strange, dark symbol. My heart raced. “Damien, that symbol” He already

It had been days since the wedding. Days since Lily’s attempt to ruin everything. And yet, I couldn’t shake this strange feeling, like the world itself was holding its breath. My powers had grown stronger. I could feel it each time I closed my eyes, the pull beneath my skin, the whisper that wasn’t quite human. My mother’s presence lingered too, faint but warm, like sunlight breaking through fog. I didn’t understand why it was growing now, but part of me didn’t want to question it. For the first time, I felt alive. I raised my hand, focusing on the energy in my palm. It glowed faintly, weak, unsteady, but real. A small flame flickered into existence, bending to my will. I smiled slightly. “Better,” I whispered to myself. “You’re getting better.” “Not bad,” a familiar voice said behind me, deep and calm. I turned. Damien stood at the edge of the field, hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on me with that unreadable expression that made my heart race. His dark hair was tousled by the w

Ariel's Pov: A stand. The word was an armor. I could feel the wolf stir behind whatever human part of him stood between me and the world. He who had taken me into his life shouted the thought into the night, and I felt it like a drum. But I also felt something else — a small, hot ember of fear. If the elders came, they would not ask me gentle questions. They would demand that I be explained, categorized, bound. The elders loved their labels and the quiet power of knowing what to do with those who were different. Before we could make any real plan, a knock came on the front door. I held my breath. Each knock sounded like a small explosion. Marcus moved to the door, slow as a man who already knew the answer. He opened it and someone in a dark cloak stepped across the threshold. He removed his hood and the room seemed to lose a color. He was not one of my kind, not in dress or in manner. He wore the mark of the elders — a sigil I had seen in the ledger. His voice was smooth as ol

Ariel POVThe morning after felt like the world had a different heartbeat. Even the sun seemed to come up with caution, as if it, too, had been warned. I woke with the taste of metal and cedar in my mouth — a memory leftover from Damien’s cologne or from the night’s violence. My head hummed with voices that weren’t my own, with the echo of the powder scattering like flour and with Ethan’s whisper that had crawled under my skin: They buried her with a name that will call the sky.I lay there a long time, watching the light move across the ceiling. A lot of things had happened faster than I could keep up with, and my head wanted to split them into small pieces and handle them one at a time. But pieces didn’t land like that. They landed on you like rain.Damien’s hand tightened around my waist and pulled me closer when he woke. He smelled of sleep and smoke and something dangerous. His voice, when he spoke, was slow. “We have to be smart,” he said. “Marcus found threads. The elders will

Later, when the house had reinforcements and guards at every door, a soft sound at the back gate caught my ear. I stepped out to the balcony and looked at the road. A car slowed outside. A man got out, looking like any man who belonged in expensive suits — Marcus’s backup. He walked the path and then stopped. He looked toward the garden and then hurried. The man carried a paper envelope. He hesitated and then lifted the flap, as if reading the name. He started to speak — but the words died in his mouth. He staggered back as if something unseen had hit him in the chest. He clutched at his collar and fell to his knees. I rushed down the stairs. The man looked at me with a face that had emptied of something important. “It—” he gasped. “The elders… the elders sent a pulse. Something in the sky. They know.” My blood went still. The city would not be silent for long. The elders had been pinged. They had been warned

Ariel POV The house was a different place at dawn. Last night’s music was a memory in the chandeliers. The guests were gone. The rooms smelled like flowers and smoke—nice things masking the truth. I woke with my head full of echoes: the scattered dust, the way the powder had blown like ash, Lily’s face folding in fear. My heart still beat like a hunted thing. Damien lay beside me, solid and quiet. His breathing slowed and then quickened as I moved. I could feel his hand, careful as a promise, on my waist. I watched him sleep for a moment, that dangerous, soft face that belonged only to me now. He had always been darkness with a grin, but now there was something else—something like awe and something like fear. We both carried marks last night. I could feel him the way I felt a storm overhead. He kissed my forehead when he woke. “You okay?” he asked, voice low. I wanted to say yes. I wa