Drake (Book 1)

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Lyn's a beautiful ballerina with one fatal weakness: her love for Drake. With his striking blue eyes, and olive-colored skin; Drake's as baffling as the moon. Up until now, he's managed to keep a millennial old feud secret, but Lyn is determined to find answers. Boundaries have shifted, and new players step in, but power always finds a place to rest its ugly head. Yesterday, she was just a ballerina. Today, she's by Drake's side, fighting a hidden war she never wanted part of. And there will be blood... WARNING This is an adult book with graphic scenes and language.

Fantasy / Romance
Will Solomon
4.8 13 reviews
Age Rating:


And all men are from the ground, and Adam was created of earth: Ecclesiasticus 33:10

Worshiped as Deimos to the Greeks. Adamus to the Romans. He has now taken the moniker Drake. For he is from whom all others are made.


They carelessly sent them in forty at a time to break the front lines. Forty to die for beliefs that were not their own. None ever returned. Until he did…

A specter emerged from the ashes and smoke of the battlefield. As the smoke cleared, it revealed a man, weary from battle, dragging his massive war hammer along the ground. He passed the corpses of his fallen brethren lying among the piles of rubble and weapons. They had not died peacefully, and anguish covered their pale faces while stiff hands reached for the sky.

The wind howled, dust and embers floated, carrying the cries of lamented warriors. Several towers collapsed in the distance past the broken walls of a conquered fortress, booming and shaking the earth. The full moon pierced a hole through dark clouds and thunder roared. As Drake passed his comrades, enjoying their moment of solace, they rose and sauntered behind him.

Piece by piece, he removed his armor. First, his onyx colored helmet and then the straps to his chest plate. He discarded them as he walked and shared a glance with one of his brothers. The boy removed his helmet; dried blood and dirt covered his youthful appearance along with deep scars. He nodded and his striking blue eyes ignited the darkness much like Drake’s.

After battle by battle, war by war, his hatred grew...

A chill touched his heart, and he broke out in a cold sweat. Death wrapped his cloak around him, anointing him into a denizen of lamentation and destruction.

Drake came upon the altar of a ruined temple. The temple of Athena where a statue of the goddess of war oversaw the altar, now broken in two. Polemarchs, the finest officers of the Athenian army, awaited him, clad in bronze armor, blue plumes the shape of fans attached to their helmets.

The lead man stepped forward, and the others surrounded Drake and gripped their spears. He could see nothing past the wall of shields. He remained silent, the defiance in his eyes saying all he needed. Drake looked back at the corpse of his fallen brother and furrowed a brow. Then he turned to the polemarch before him, Hyperion.

Unable to control Drake, nor quench his growing animosity… The Athenians tried to banish him. Kill the very thing they had created...

Drake tossed his hammer before Hyperion, its iron clattering on the floor, resonating through the temple. A column by his side toppled and Drake’s comrades watched with faces of blank as the stones of the temple. Then he fell to his knees before Hyperion, defeated.

Hyperion unsheathed the scythe from his back, a lengthy haft made of silver connected to a golden skull. The golden skull met with a viscous blade that glowed a blood red and illuminated the inundating area. And so, he raised the great blade Acheron, forged from the depths of Tartarus to punish the wicked and swung down…

Drake was the first to defy all the city-states in Greece and survive…

The eyes of their entourage grew fervently wide as Drake rose to a knee and stopped the molten blade with his gauntlet. Though it carved and scorched his flesh, Drake’s face remained the same, stoic and unwavered. He towered over the polemarch who stood perplexed and released the scythe. Acheron glowed as Drake held it and released an ear-piercing screech, accepting its new master.

In one strike, Drake fell Hyperion and watched his body fall; a crimson cape covered his corpse. The other polemarchs stepped forward, their spears ready to impale him from every direction. Drake stood his ground as they closed in. He would fight alone if necessary. He would rather die standing than live on his knees.

And his defiance inspired others…

His adversaries shrilled in horror as one by one they were cut down from behind. Drake jerked his head behind him as his brothers used their monstrous strength to snap necks or crush helmets. As one polemarch lunged for him, he was snatched and forcefully thrown into the column behind him. Stelios swept a man from beneath his feet with a war hammer and smashed it into his gut as he fell.

A warrior attacked Drake’s blind spot, his blade only inches away. The warrior was struck in the jaw and pummeled by Pavium’s shield. Pavium, the largest and strongest, second only to Drake defeated the remaining enemies.

Pavium dispatched a reckless hoplite, breaking his spear and tossing the man overhead. Weapons clattered to the ground and rolled away from open palms, drenched in glistening blood.

Only one polemarch remained, and he crawled for safety with all his strength. His limbs crushed and face battered, he begged for mercy as Pavium grabbed him by the nape and presented him to Drake. He whimpered and cowered as Drake’s blade grazed his cheek, slicing yet cauterizing the wound simultaneously.

Drake nodded, and Pavium slammed the man into the ground, shattering his feeble vessel. The brute prostrated himself before Drake, as did the others.

A small fountain, floating with wisteria pedals rested beneath the goddess Athena. The goddess, in all her wisdom and divinity could never have foretold the events of this night. Drake waited for her to strike him down from the heavens, but such reprisal never came. He scorned the statue; a woman in long robes that wielded a shield and spear with a golden helmet.

He sliced the statue’s legs, and it plummeted to the floor in pieces. The goddess’s head rolled to his feet and his comrades gasped.

And so, he planted his scythe and roared into the endless night like that of a lion. His comrades joined him with mirthful roars as free men.


“Hey, Anna?”

Anna opened her eyes and the first thing she saw were curtains of pink wisteria hanging over her. She looked down to see a woman with snow white hair staring solemnly. She sighed and propped herself against the thick stump of the tree. Then she closed her eyes.

“Anna?” the woman repeated.

Irene stood at the base of the tree, hands resting on her hips. She wore a scorn and tapped her foot against the moss covered ground. Beside her stood a small marble fountain filled with water so clear it resembled a mirror if you looked into it. Locusts called for their mates in the distance and more Wisteria trees surrounded them in a brilliant array of purple, white, and red. A firm mountain made its home just beyond the fields to the west, shrouded by mist and its peak capped by snow.

Anna ignored her, but she could feel Irene’s gaze looming over her. Then her pearl necklace pulsated. She scoffed and turned to Irene.


Irene formed a smile. Strung around her neck rested another necklace of black pearls as dark as charcoal. She wore a thin red toga that wrapped around her neck and left her back bare. Anna’s was much the same though its color resembled the snow that covered the mountain. Her legs dangled from the tree’s branch and she brushed through her hair, that was kissed by fire. Though some would argue more like blood.

“Do you think Drake will be okay?” Irene asked, her voice as soft as a kiss.

Anna couldn’t help but grin. She looked to the white sun that basked them with its luminous rays.

“I don’t know…” She paused and jumped down. “But one thing is irrefutable. Drake wields the scythe, Acheron. He’ll find a way. He always does…”

She joined Irene at the fountain, and they leaned over to gaze into its waters. Anna stirred the water with her fingers and waited for the waters to dissipate. As the ripples cleared, they saw a man standing on the platform of a train station. Accompanying him was a woman who wore a pearl necklace much like theirs. Her hair was the color of leaves bathing in the sun…

“It won’t be easy for them,” Irene said with a frown. “That girl… Will she be able to wield Styx? The bow only chooses one who is worthy.”

Anna shook her head, her amber eyes glared. “All we can do is wait for him. Like we always have, right?”

Irene chuckled. They continued to gaze into the fountain as a fierce gale scattered wisteria around them in a beautiful storm. Stray leaflets fell into the fountain and floated in it like tiny boats. Another gale untangled Anna’s bun and her hair fell, stopping at the base of her back. She clenched her heart and a tear fell.

“Irene? If love is just a word, then why does it hurt so much when you realize it’s not there?”

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