A Fate Inked In Blood Fanart Novels & Stories

"They’re memories! Every Scribe who died with a grudge against the Vane family... they’ve been summoned!" Dante’s shadow-wings beat against the air, sending waves of violet force into the encroaching ink-snakes. But every time he struck them down, they simply pooled back together and rose again. "I can't kill what is already dead, Elara! You’re the one with the Ink! You have to talk to them!" "Talk to them? She’s trying to drown me!" I ducked as a whip of black ink lashed out, narrowly missing my neck.

In the minutes, Leo carries her in his arm with a bridal style, and without letting go of their kisses, they fill the air with lust and desire. …………………………………………………… Note: Dear reader, please tap & put this book into your collection. If you giving me a good review on my book, I'll be highly appreciated it. Thank you so much!

his deep, raspy voice booms through the room. My eyes brighten at this idea. I remember that moment as clear as day. Aurelian couldn’t bring Tobias back until he drank Daya and Darius’ blood mixture. “It’s worth a try!” I exclaim. “D-do you think Alpha Darius and Alpha-Luna Daya would be willing to give their blood for Artemis?” Yaya asks, now chewing her thumbnail, or what’s left of it.

Sabrina. " I hate unfairness. " I whispered, and with that, I added more force in my hand. The blade dug deeper into their skin, and, I pressed deeper, not enough to cut their throat, actually, but deeper enough to draw blood. Not too much blood, just slightly more than they had drawn from ne. And there, when I saw the crimsom red fluid dripping, a sweet smile found its way to my lips. Not all of it, but my anger was slightly satied.

The cartel’s mark for traitors—a silent accusation. Esteban snaps his fingers and the room ignites. Not orange flames. Black fire. It writhes along the walls, consuming everything it touches without casting light. It devours Dru’s worn sketchbook, her favorite grease-stained wrench, the seashell necklace I gave her. Turning them all to ash that swirls like dark snow. The smoke thickens, coiling like black vipers. Spelling out that bullshit phrase—La sangre es destino (Blood is destiny)—like some messed-up tattoo etched onto the air itself.

The icy blast would’ve made anyone else recoil, but Dante stood there, solid and unmoving, like he was made of stone. His back was a canvas of ink, just like his front. The artwork was nothing short of breathtaking. Spanning across his entire back was a massive, detailed tattoo—an angel, powerful and divine, standing within the ruins of an ancient temple. The wings spread wide across his shoulder blades, reaching toward his arms, while crumbling pillars surrounded the figure in dramatic grayscale contrast. It wasn’t just a tattoo; it was a story, a testament, a work of devotion etched forever into his flesh. It was absolutely beautiful—mesmerizing, even.

The circle around us glowed faintly, the white chalk igniting with soft, silvery light. Yuvonne closed her eyes and began to chant softly, her voice carrying in the wind. "By blood, by bond, we stand as one, A promise sworn beneath the sun. No lie shall pass, no truth undone, Bound until our task is done." As she spoke, I felt a tingling sensation spread from my wrist, traveling up my arm like warmth sinking into my bones. I glanced down and watched in astonishment as the blood on my skin shimmered, shifting and reshaping itself into an intricate symbol—a crescent moon surrounded by swirling lines. The same mark appeared on Yuvonne’s left arm.

) sighs and scratches the back of his neck. "It's my ink. Every member of the Stanzolio filiation ink unique to it's body. The emergence of this mark appears when person and their partner copulates. A partner's demise or betrayal will result in the other partner's ink disappearing. This disappearance is accoumpanied with pain like no other. Mine first emerged when I laid with Christine. She bears one as well. The importance of the family ink is something you can never comprehend. They signify something greater than love," I take in Stan's words and process the absolute fuckery that is going on.

The leaders of the stealth vanguard dropped to one knee in unison, their heads bowed before the violet flame. Kiarra stepped forward, dipping a heavy raven feather into the stone bowl. The ink inside was a swirling, viscous mixture of crushed iron-root, mountain spring water, a drop of Nalvath's ancient blood, and the shadow-essence provided by King Malakor. As she approached Lucian, the ink began to hiss, reacting to the latent alpha aura radiating from his skin.

At the center of the cover lies a raised symbol: a drop of blood, intricately detailed, as if about to trickle down the cover, appearing almost alive. The clasp of the book is a masterpiece of brutality and symbolism. Made of heavy metal, it is adorned with tiny skulls and bones, reminders of the lethal power contained within the tome. The clasp seems to demand a blood pact to be opened, with a small blade embedded, ready to make the necessary cut. When I finally open the Bloodbound Codex, I feel the temperature around me drop abruptly, as though the very air had been sucked into the book. The atmosphere becomes denser, heavier, as if the essence of the book were absorbing the vitality aroun