A Fate Inked In Blood Fanart Novels & Stories

The memories I had deliberately buried came crashing back like a tidal wave. My face drained of all color in an instant. In my previous life, I had lived in despair under the control of this demon. Luca loved the sight of women’s blood and the sound of their painful moans. He delighted in absolute submission. Even a wife was nothing more than a toy to him. On our wedding night in my previous life, he beat me until my body was covered in wounds. When I finally managed to escape back home, I had cried and begged my father for help.

Vivian asked as she grabbed Fate's shirt. "Angels are born by death. You were an angel born by birth." "...I don't get it" "You have inherited his blood," Fate looked into her eyes and grabbed her hands away from her shirt "Your hair. That's the colour of the family of death. You are one of them" - To be continued

Her face was so focused, fearless, like failure wasn’t even a thought, that quiet moment of trying. He took the knife and its cold fire burned hot. Without pause, he dragged it across his palm. His blood wasn’t red, it was bright, liquid silver, burning with cold. The pain hit hard, squeezing his heart. He gasped, vision blurring, and slapped his bleeding hand onto the journal’s open page. The pages did not glow. They drank in the silver blood, the parchment turned black as night, then white lines burned bright, not words, but a perfect, simple image: a girl holding a small, hurt bird.

see you both together!” She added. “Ink walked round and clapped Alex on the back “anything you want to tell me brother?” He asked. His eyes twinkled, like he knew exactly what he was going to say. “I’m claiming Bella, she’s my girl, she’s my Old Lady. I love her, and she has just moved in with me.” He explained, pride showing in his face. Tina squealed. “What wonderful news! Congratulations you two!” “Thank you, T, Bella doesn’t want to wear a cut, can you tattoo her please Prez?” “Sure, where are you thinking?” “I want it on the inside of my arm, running down to my wrist. Is that ok?” I looked to Alex for his approval. “Perfect baby, everyone will see that.” He smiled down at me. I loved

Still, the admiration in his voice, that respect, was totally unexpected and caught her off guard. “Take my blood. You are very pale. I can feel your hunger beating at me.” She was so used to being hungry she barely noticed anymore if she’d gone weeks without blood. He pressed the back of her head very gently, urging her face toward his bare chest. She transferred her gaze there. He had a thick chest, with heavy, defined muscles. He wore ancient ink, the kind etched into his skin. It was difficult to tattoo an ancient. Ink didn’t stay. They rarely scarred. Fero had ink pressed into scarring on his chest, arms, shoulders and, she was certain, his back.

Scars crisscrossed his torso, each one a story of violence I wasn't sure I wanted to know. But it was the tattoo over his heart that drew my attention. Dark ink etched into his skin, forming words I couldn't quite make out. I squinted, trying to decipher the script. "Bound by blood, sealed in blood." The words sent a chill down my spine, a stark reminder of the dangerous world I had been thrust into.

My heart was shattered, and fear held me tightly. "We'll need to make an effort, Olivia," Scarlett, my inner wolf, remarked, acknowledging our destiny. "What if she's unkind and mean, wanting him and everything for herself?" I asked my wolf. "Then we'll surrender it to her. We can't oppose this. She holds a superior position, and she's his fated. We don't have a fighting chance. We must simply pray that she's kind and compassionate, or a chilly bed will be the least of our concerns, Olibia," my inner wolf said, and I shed tears. It was all overwhelming.

She bent close to the inked lines, eyes losing their surface sharpness and taking on the inward tilt Evelyn recognized as the beginning of a reading. “Moonsblood will ask a price,” Aleta said after a quiet minute. She kept her voice level, as if naming weather. “Not in blood, necessarily. But in truth. The man who called you will not accept victory if it comes too easily. He needs a story worth telling himself. You cannot change that. You can only refuse to be written in his evil script.” “We had planned for that,” Damon said.

“The first donor always bears the marks.” His blood rushes out and spreads across the surface, making the seven rugged scars on his chest glow blue. Vaughn’s rough hands drag me back. “Don’t look at his face.” But I already see it. Sharp, uneven letters boldly write “BROODMARE, THE SACRIFICE” on his heart. His blood was used as the ink for this.

Sharper this time. I swallowed. My hands were shaking. I hugged my sketchbook tighter. He exhaled through his nose. Looked at the blood on his knuckles like it had personally offended him. Then he reached into his jacket, pulled out a black bandana, and started wrapping his hand. I watched, stupidly mesmerized. “Why were you there?” I asked quietly. His eyes flicked to mine. “I was passing through.” “Twice in two days you’ve ‘passed through’ exactly where I am.”