Blood Altar Blood Magic Novels & Stories

I took Axil's palm and tapped my finger lightly against it, watching as a dot of blood appeared and trailed onto my hand, absorbing itself into my skin. I used the podium as the center base of the barrier and knelt down and placed a hand against the wooden surface, feeling my magic boiling inside of me due to the drop of Axil's blood. I allowed that magic to bubble forward as a stream of hot blood suddenly erupted from my fingertips and dove themselves into the wooden platform beneath us. "Ashes to ashes Blood to blood Surround the masses Bring forth the flood Blood rises above all Yet seeps beneath the feet Trap these bodies within the wall

Ava's voice drifts down from somewhere above me. I try to turn my head—to see what she's talking to—but I can't move. Can't do anything but lie here and burn and tear and die. They're using my blood to revive Nickolas's brother. That's what this is. That's why they had to do it like this—some dark magic ritual that requires pain and fire and sacrifice. I'm dying for nothing. And I'm dying in the most agonizing way possible. Nickolas opens his mouth to speak—

“I, Damon Winchester, Alpha of the Winchester Pack, offer my blood to the Moon. Let it sever the bond between my heart and hers if it means she will live free.” As the last word leaves my mouth, the altar flares bright. The light cuts through the night like fire. I bite into my wrist, my teeth breaking skin, and let the blood drip onto the stone. The ground trembles. The air turns heavy. Kael howls inside me, the sound tearing through my chest. “You fool! You’re killing us!” “I’m saving her,” I whisper through gritted teeth. The blood hits the altar, glowing silver, and the energy surges outward. Pain erupts through my veins...white-hot, searing. My knees buckle. My breath catches as the bon

“What will happen when people figure out that there’s magic in your blood?” I asked, my voice equally as calm as his... The alpha took a deep swig of his cigarette, blowing out the steam of smoke. It condensed in the humid summer air, carrying the scent of arsenic and nicotine towards me, making my nose itch… “Honestly, I don’t care,” Victor replied, dropping the cigarette stump and squishing it with his foot. “But if Ryan – the real one! – comes back…” He grinned, his wicked smile flashing his white canines. “Give me a hauler, will you? I want to see the two of you fight it out. Especially considering you stole his mate!”

The moment the blood touched the soil, it pulsed faintly, as though sensing the power coursing through me. With a sharp motion of my wrist, I began weaving the spell. My hand moved gracefully, tracing intricate patterns in the air above the blood. The magic felt raw and alive, a current of energy that surged through my veins as I focused my intent. A tendril of light rose from the blood, swirling upward like smoke caught in a phantom breeze. It expanded outward, reaching through the fabric of the world as if seeking Andromeda’s essence.

Drink the kin-blood. The Elder raises the obsidian knife. Not towards me. Towards his own palm. "By blood of his blood, we call the curse! By the chains of the First Alpha, we break the defiler’s hold!" He slices. Deep. Blood wells, dark as oil in the torchlight. It doesn’t drip. It flows, defying gravity, snaking towards the intricate patterns carved into the altar floor. The other Kin chant. A guttural, rhythmic sound that vibrates the hollow air, resonates in the marrow of my bones. The blood-magic circle ignites. Not fire. A sickly, pulsing crimson light.

The air inside the catacomb rapidly grew freezing cold, the breath puffing from Rebecca’s lips in white clouds as the emerald and amethyst light from the crystals began to spin around the altar in a dizzying vortex of raw magic. Maeve took Rebecca's left wrist, her movements steady and respectful. With a swift, precise motion, she drew the silver blade across the meat of Rebecca's palm. A sharp, stinging heat flared in Rebecca’s hand, and a bright, vibrant stream of mortal crimson blood began to pool in her palm, dripping down onto the intricate carvings of the black stone anchor. The moment her blood struck the ancient stone, the world simply... stopped. The chanting of the witches died ins

I floated above the altar, fingertips dripping black ichor, my voice doubled — half divine, half monstrous: “She comes clothed in ruin. Fire for skin. Teeth for gods. The womb that carried her weeps… But she will not burn.” The Alpha’s mate’s voice sliced through the smoke. “Silence this madness!” No one moved. “The Hollow-Blood has returned,” I heard myself say. “Born not of fate. Not of gods. But in the end.” The woman’s knees gave way, but the child only hummed inside her — waiting. The altar is split down the middle. The Moon sigil above veined crimson. Every candle died. I whispered the truth with the last of my breath: “She does not kneel. She burns.”

Magnus says, amused, “Is a leash. You have learned to cut it.” I glance back at the child. “At a price,” I whisper. “All crowns are bought in blood,” Magnus replies. “Even hers.” I step closer to the altar, lifting the ceremonial blade. Its edge gleams darkly, humming in response to the child’s power. The baby cries, louder now. “Don’t worry,” I croon, forcing my voice to be sweet. “This won’t kill you. Not yet.” I drag the blade lightly across my own palm, letting my blood drip into the sigils. The magic flares violently, and I gasp as another wave of power slams into me.

Somehow, all those years of ancient, dusty wisdom shot through the silver and into her, all at once. That’s when things went nuclear. Pure, blinding power shot through the altar, ripping through every dark corner. The Keeper and his little creeps screamed as the magic burned centuries of filth right out of their bones, like karma on fast-forward. Lyra yelled, “The altar! If it busts while it’s still all charged up...” Aldric’s face went grim. “Boom. Cleanses everyone for miles. If your brother’s still got any of that poison in him, he goes up with the rest.”