A Tale Of Blood And Snow Skyrim Novels & Stories

Soon more blood starts oozing out of his wound. "Asher!" I yell and rush to him, grabbing his wrist and opening his palm. There was a long deep cut on the side of his palm under his pinky. "What the hell did you do?" I look at his eyes and tears again start rolling down his cheeks. "Asher," I say and pull him to me, hugging him tightly. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean any of that." He lets out a sob, making my heart sink. "I'm so sorry, Snow. Please don't cry," I whisper, pulling his head to my chest and kissing his head. He only sobs more.

He is reduced to absolutely nothing before the Alpha, who shreds him apart. One more breath. The Blood Moon breathes with me. I see it reclaim its crimson light. The snow brightens into white once more. I shiver. Everything descends into darkness.

They both go down quickly, two pools of deep crimson blood spreading quickly in the snow, and I look up to see the clouds passing over the moon. It’s snowing. The flakes fall slowly at first but increase until they start to lay a thick, fluffy layer over the fallen wolves and their blood pools… and cover up my tracks. I leap forward, passing through to the other side of the clearing with the sharp pain radiating up my paw, but I ignore it as best I can and move forward.

The icy sword, which had reflected Kate’s beautiful face just a moment ago, pierced through Andrius’ chest, with the tip of the sword protruding from his back. Drip. Drip. Crimson blood dripped onto the snowy ground like broken beads, melting the snow slightly due to the faint warmth, and soon formed a pool. Snowflakes floated down, and the wind whistled.

But I must’ve drifted off in my chair, because suddenly— I was dreaming. But not like normal dreams. Not like the messy, too-bright ones where people melt into shadows and logic falls apart. This one was cold and soaked in red. I stood in the center of a snowfield. The trees around me were bare and skeletal. Everything was white… except the snow itself. It was soaked through, red to the roots. Blood pooled in unnatural patterns; circles, runes, names I didn’t want to read. I stepped forward and my boots sank deeper than they should’ve. The smell of iron burned in my throat.

Snow kicked up in sprays as bodies collided, the air thick with the scent of blood and fear. Raven moved like a shadow, her blade slicing through the chaos, her eyes glowing gold as Shadow roared within her, guiding her movements. She parried a rogue’s wild strike, driving her blade into his shoulder and kicking him back into the snow. Ragnar fought at her side, lightning crackling along his skin as he blocked and struck, each movement precise, controlled. When a rogue lunged for Raven’s unguarded side, Ragnar’s hand shot out, grabbing the wolf by the throat and slamming him into the ground with a crack that echoed through the trees.

His mouth doesn't move, but I can hear his voice, loud and clear. “Your last supper!” I spit, my eyes darting around expectantly but no one comes. He releases a low growl before lunging for me, claws swiping at the air, aimed at my chest. I turn on my heels and race down the alley, hissing in pain as his claws meet the skin on my back. “Just a few drops of your blood, and my senses feel sharpened,” He lets out a low growl, and I hear him lunge for me again.

The portcullis crashes down, its iron teeth sinking deep into frozen ground, sealing off pursuit with the weight of metal, magic and absolute determination. The snow around me is red where my Wolfguard have been, but it is not their blood staining the white. It's the blood of the allies my children brought with them rebels and witches and probably a few unfortunate guards who chose the wrong side at the wrong moment. The metallic scent of it mingles with the cold air, creating a perfume of violence and loss that makes the curse purr with satisfaction.

The battlefield loomed closer, and when I finally broke through the edge of the trees, the sight before me stopped me in my tracks. Chaos. The snow was no longer white but stained crimson, streaked with the blood of wolves, vampires, and rogues. Bodies littered the ground, their lifeless forms frozen in grotesque contortions. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the sharp stench of death. Silver snarled, her ears flattening as we scanned the battlefield. My heart pounded as I searched for Asher, but I spotted Juan’s army first. His forces were locked in a brutal struggle, their wolves clashing with Killian’s rogues.

But now, with the drastic drop in temperature, that mist solidified, turning into snowflakes made of blood. It was a shocking sight—an eerie phenomenon. The gathered warriors fell into silence, holding their breath. Even Brantley and Waylon, proud geniuses in their own right, watched intently. The battle was about to begin. "Horseback Blade!" Draven wasted no time and unleashed one of his ultimate techniques right away. At their level, there was no need for meaningless prewarning. "Ice Spear!" Umbra harnessed the crimson snow, forging a blood-colored spear of ice and hurling it forward.