Bathory Blood On Ice Novels & Stories

“You’ll do so well tonight” I wanted to bristle, to snap back at his arrogance, but the weight of his gaze rooted me to the floor. My pulse betrayed me, racing under his scrutiny, and I hated that a part of me craved his approval even as another part rebelled. He offered his arm. “We’re late.” ***** The Moretti mansion was a palace dipped in gold. Chandeliers glittered overhead, their light scattering across crystal glasses and polished silverware. The air smelled of expensive perfume and something darker underneath—power, violence, old blood.

Crystals amplified, elixir poured on wounds prepped, dagger poised. The Blood Moon crested overhead through the vent, red light flooding, runes blazing. Veron sliced his palm, blood dripping, then hers—shallow cut on hand, crimson welling. He pressed wounds together, merging flows, chanting low, energy crackling. Isabella gasped awake, eyes snapping open, green irises flickering gold flecks, body arching against bonds, terror raw as she scanned chains, faces, the altar. Pinned firm, she thrashed, but she was held down by hefty men, my gaze locked sorry, useless.

As I watched the car tear down the road, my heartbeat matched the speed on the screen. Then there was a loud bang. The driver jumped out to look. The footage shows two adults lying on the ground, and the victim's baby had been tossed a distant away. There was blood everywhere. It was so terrible that I almost couldn't watch. Charles and Freddie wiped at their eyes beside me. Then, unbelievably, Maeve said they weren't dead and backed the car up to run over them again. When the relatives saw that, they went completely berserk. "Charles! Freddie! I don't care who was driving. Kill them both!!

By blood remembered, By bond unbroken, By breath denied and breath reclaimed… The flames shuddered, surging violently outward as something deep within them had recognized the call. Let the frozen path dissolve. The ice beneath her feet groaned. Let the heart that waits be called back. Let the soul that lingers return to flesh. The fire roared now… no longer silent, no longer contained. It climbed higher, brighter, pressing against the ceiling, its light so intense it erased all color but blue. Iris’s hands clenched around the parchment as power rushed past her, through her, threatening to tear her voice from her lungs.

Blood. I froze.

It was very still, very lifeless, though Zephyr knew there was more to it than meets the eye. As Zephyr was readying himself, the vampire’s body emitted a noise. Its blue, skeletal hand grabbed the staff and raised it at Zephyr. In an instant, a blast of ice came at him. Zephyr quickly engaged Thunderfoot, speeding away. Where he once stood, a streak of ice could be seen as it slowly expanded upon the ground…

Like something deep beneath the foundation had started to wake, and it didn’t know whether to stretch or scream. I reached into my trunk and pulled out my satchel of ward tools: chalk, silver thread, salt-stone beads, and my notebook. This job was already messier than it looked. And it looked damn messy. But I was here now. Contract-bound. Fully paid. Ready to unravel whatever the hell kind of curse, seal, or secret was bleeding through the leyline web of this ancient vampire lair. I just hoped Lord Eternal Gloom would get around to introducing himself before something exploded.

However, before the bat could reach the height of the third floor, a white light suddenly shot out from a nearby forest and pierced through the bat's chest in an instant. Bat screamed. Blood gushed out from his chest and back, and he fell down from the air. The demonic wolf and the other demonic beasts were shocked. They only felt a black shadow flash in front of them, and the bat fell in front of them. The bat made a big pit on the ground. After struggling for a while, he became silent. There was a big hole in his chest and back. At this moment, a layer of frost had condensed around the wound. Not only that, but the blood that flowed out had also turned into a thin layer of ice sand at this

Entombed within a towering block of solid, crystalline ice behind the throne was a majestic, ancient figure—a she-wolf progenitor clad in armour of pure silver, her eyes frozen open in a stare of pure, ancient authority. As Clara stepped forward, carrying the baby, a single drop of royal hybrid blood from the infant's foot dripped onto the stone pedestal before the throne. The block of ice let out a loud, terrifying crack. A deep female voice, ancient and resonant, vibrated in their minds: ""The blood of gold and fire has returned... The throne stirs.