Novel & Cerita Blood And Ash Series Book 6

That little girl Boma has heard it today😳 Thank God Jace was there Ashley was spilled hot liquid🥺🥺 but by who? Find out in the next chapter.... Don't forget to: VOTE COMMENT SHARE Hail 9ja!! Your Friend, Ashley ❄️ The picture above is the new cover of my book!!!!🥰🥰

The guild members' resolve held strong, and they emerged victorious once more. Finally, they reached the last floor. The atmosphere was charged with anticipation as they entered the final room. Samuel's voice crackled over the communication devices, guiding their movements. As they stepped into the room, the sight that met their eyes was chilling. Greyson stood before them, his expression a mix of arrogance and defiance. He was flanked by his remaining henchmen, their guns aimed at the guild members. "Jota," Greyson's voice was mocking, his gaze flickering over the guild members. "You've come to face me at last, be ready to die."

Prince Evan butt in. "The mountain spirit said there's a bordello in the small community beyond this forest. There, we will find a man named Orion. We can ask him about a wine called Blood of the Wise. That is what we need to please the magical healer." "But wait. Bordello?" My brows furrowed when I realized what word was used. "Oh. Sounds like a good place." Prince Evan smirked. He exactly knows what to expect in that kind of place. Probably because he's a regular or what.

Chapter Thirteen: Sister of Ash The sky had turned a deep, smoky gray, as though the heavens themselves mourned what was awakening beneath the soil. Seren stood at the edge of the crater, surrounded by the wreckage of her birthright and the screams of the cursed tree that once marked Black Hollow’s sacred heart. Her robes—dark blue with silver embroidery—fluttered with energy. She hadn’t aged past her early twenties, her presence defying time, her expression carved from stone.

Sadness. I glanced down at the letter still clutched in my hand, the paper fragile and crumpled from my grip. Slowly, I allowed a sliver of lightning to dance along its edges, watching as the parchment caught fire. The flames consumed the letter quickly, reducing it to ash in seconds, and I let the remains fall to the table in a blackened heap. Ashes. Just like everything else in this cursed palace. I stormed out of the throne room, my footsteps heavy and my thoughts darker than the night itself. The halls were quiet, too quiet, and every echo of my boots against the stone reminded me of how alone I truly was about to become.

The sight was truly pitiful, and it made me nauseous, but it was his weakening heartbeat that shook me to my core. I ran to him grasping him immediately ripping the chain around his arm, bearing the brunt of his weight. “Fuck, you’re beautiful. I must be dreaming, right? You’re not really here, are you?” “This is no dream. I’m here. I’ve come for you. Do not try to speak. Have my blood.” My fingers traced his check softly as he looked up at me with awe while I prepared to break the skin on my wrist to feed him my blood.

Her head tilts sideways in admiration as I watch her chest inflate, taking in a deep breath before placing the small bottle carefully back inside her pocket and holding her hand over it in protection. “Tonight has been… an eye-opener, to say the least. You, my succulent moon child, are far more special than I had presumed,” she notes raspily, “-I just suppose I’ll have to work a little harder for the next time we come to meet. Until then,” she tips her head downwards before departing, stepping away from the ledge of the roof and quickly out of our view, leaving only chilling waves to course down my spine in replacement of her presence. “Was that her?” Ash reaches into my mind; his voice cons

Kael steps in front of me by instinct. I move beside him. Not behind. The crack widens by a finger. Draven laughs softly from the dark beyond. “You still think choice is stronger than blood.” My hand stays over Ashen. My scar stays quiet. For the first time, I am glad it does. “No,” I say. “I think blood has been listening to the wrong men.” The door shudders. White marks flare across the stone, one after another, handprint to paw mark to spiral.

Toward. Toward Ash. Toward Cove. Toward the kid about to explode. “Mother!” Wrath shouts. “Don’t!” I hit the vines. They don’t grab me. They part. First Blood knows First Blood. Ash is on her knees. Burning. Cove is on his. Smoking. Vines connecting them. Feeding. Killing both. I drop between them. Bone knife’s in my hand. Again. Always. “Stop,” I tell them. To Cove. To Ash. To the Tree. “Both of you. Stop.”

he says quietly, “that’s where we finish this. Only if you say so.” “I’ll say so,” I answer. “When the world deserves it.” --- POV: Ashmouth --- They buried me under Solara and called it mercy. They call me Ashmouth because prophecy burned my tongue and left smoke where words should be. I don’t die. I rot. I watch. When Hollowfire meets Hollowblood without a priest between them, my chains ache. The silver cracks a hair’s width. I taste light through stone. Laugh until dust falls from the ceiling.