A Diary Of Blood Novels & Stories

“Do you perhaps know who owned this?” “No, of course not.” She waved her hand dismissing what I said. She looked at the diary again and then sighed, lowering her voice. “But that, my dear, seems to be a blood book.” I blinked. “A… blood book?” “Yes.” She folded her hands behind her back, he tone grave and quiet. “It’s a very old kind of magical artifact. Dangerous to most, useless to many. A blood book is a record that only reveals its contents to its creator or to a direct descendant of the one who made it.”

Dozens of them, stacked like sacred texts. I moved to the nearest table, shoving aside a cracked vial. My hand closed around one of the journals, the leather slick with age. I opened it. Symbols and sigils filled the pages, each one drawn in dark ink—or blood. Words I recognized from forbidden texts. Blood magic. I turned the pages, faster and faster, my eyes drinking in the madness. Experiments, incantations, diagrams of bodies cut open. But it wasn’t until I reached the center of the journal that my blood ran cold.

I grabbed a match from the mantle and struck it. “What are you doing?” Silas roared, lunging for me. I dropped the match. The gilt-edged pages, soaked in the dry rot of twenty years, caught instantly. The secrets of the Ares empire—the murders, the bribes, the “Conditioning”—erupted into a wall of orange flame. “I’m clearing the site,” I said. Silas tackled me, the weight of him slamming me into the mahogany desk. We hit the floor, a tangle of limbs and fury. I felt the detonator fly from his hand, skidding across the floor toward the vault.

The romance was being squeezed out. "The journal" Elara shouted, her bare knees hurt as she fell flat onto the asphalt to pick up the black leather book that was lying between them. The moment her fingers touched the leather, the blank white pages inside the journal did not just move they started bleeding. A lot of midnight-blue fluid came out of the journal mixed with the cold rain water and formed a swirling indigo circle around her ankles. The gold letters on the cover of the journal; THE MASTER LEDGER: VOLUME TWO ​flared with a white-hot, blinding radiation that scorched the skin of her palm, the unique, un-templated human syntax of her blood-infused veins screaming in protest against th

She's beautiful with dark hair cascading in waves, brown eyes that seem kind even in paint, a gentle smile, and delicate features. I know who this is before I read the plaque. Saskia Bloodmoon. Queen. Beloved. Beloved by whom? Not Valerian. He rejected her. I move deeper into the room and see more personal items—books on a nightstand and a half-finished embroidery hoop. And on the desk, a diary. Leather-bound and well-worn with pages yellowed with age. I shouldn't read it. This is private and sacred. My hands are opening it before I can stop myself.

"Are you hiding something from me?" Victor's breath caught slightly. "It can't be..." Almost at once he turned and strode to the study, pulling open the cabinet door. The diary hidden at the very bottom was still there. But Victor's outstretched hand suddenly stopped. On the cover was a spot of dark red that hadn't been there before, like a drop of dried blood. His pupils contracted sharply. The whole world seemed to fall silent. He slowly picked up the diary and reached to wipe away the small stain.

This time, it had me sucking in a sharp breath when I opened it and my eyes widening at the diagrams that I saw. Inside that book was various ways to kill a vampire.

Her father. Cameron Allistar White had been a soldier in the American Civil War when he was mortally wounded and left for dead. A nomadic vampire, searching for an easy meal, had begun to drain him—only to be interrupted by a clean-up crew retrieving fallen soldiers. The vampire fled before he could finish, leaving behind a man who was neither dead nor fully human. His heart still beating when the venom flooded his veins.

She opens the book and a roach crawls out. I shriek, jerking my knees to my chest. Esme raises a brow. “You’re a wolf, and you’re scared of a roach?” “What’s a wolf without a wolf?” My smile is bittersweet. “Don’t do that,” she scolds. “You wolf will return. Now, when the rumours came, I consulted the books and some friends.” I try not to let my own thoughts scare me. “What did you find?” “You know, I’ve lived through almost seven decades, and I know a bloodline that had white hair. Moonblood.”

CHLOE The house was quiet again, but not peaceful. It was Never peaceful. It was the kind of quiet that felt like it was listening, like the walls, the floors, the very air was just… waiting. Waiting for someone to break. Waiting for a truth to spill. Waiting for blood. I locked my bedroom door before I opened the diary again. Zoe’s diary. Only half of it existed now, the rest burned, edges blackened and curling, like the truth had tried to escape the flames and failed.