Blood Arrows Novels & Stories

“If Lu saw you right now, he’d be so pissed off. Alpha suits you.” I smirk. “Let’s see if I can keep people alive before you go slapping Alpha on me.” I clap his arm and go to the supply boxes. Hopefully, Bastian came through because I’ll definitely need what I’m looking for now. I went through the piles and found a long box. “There you are.” I say to myself. I open the long box to a black, shining compound bow and carbide arrows with triple blade arrow heads. I hold an arrow in front of me, twisting the shaft in my fingers. The blades flash the sunlight as they turn.

The man growled again at her baring his fangs to scare her away. But Penny kept moving forward. When she was at an arm’s length, she saw how deeply the arrows had pierced him. Two arrow heads were protruding out of his back. In the front there were some arrows that he had broken the shaft of. He was wearing an iron armor tunic and black breeches. His long shoulder length hair was soaked with sweat and blood. A scar on his right eyebrow added to his overall lethal look.

There’s already some liquid in the beaker and the color begins to change as soon as the scraping comes into contact with it. “I was right,” She says, her voice grim. “Fera-” “It’s wolfsbane,” She cuts Damien off before looking at my wound, her voice tight. “He coated the arrow’s head in wolfsbane. These arrows were always intended for you.”

They were sharp, balanced, and deadly precise, but too fine to be sold to just anyone. Prince Ulric nodded gently. “Let her see them,” he said. The vendor hurried inside, brought out a wooden box, and opened it slowly. Inside were six arrows, each with dark yew shafts polished to a deep brown, silver swallowtail heads that shone softly, and black and white fletching that marked them as masterwork. Debbie’s eyes widened with joy. Her hands moved gently over them, feeling the weight, the balance, the smoothness of the shafts.

Arrows tipped with jagged obsidian sit in a quiver. Elowen tests the bow’s weight, grinning. “This’ll punch through armor.” Cian nods. “The arrows are dipped in wolfsbane. For disorientation.” ——— We don’t make it a mile before they strike. Six soldiers burst from the trees, blades raised. Rolan meets them first, Nightfang humming as it cleaves through a sword—and the arm holding it. Elowen’s arrow takes another in the throat, the wolfsbane smoking as he chokes.

With a sharp, searing pain, an arrow lodged itself in his throat. Gurgling on his own blood, the man stared at me in disbelief. He had observed my quiver's emptiness, so the sudden appearance of the arrow perplexed him—where had it come from? I yanked the arrow out of the man's throat and shook off the remaining blood. In the night's darkness, the arrow emitted a soft, ethereal blue glow—a manifestation known to the locals as the aura arrow.

They walked around our parked car, their eyes going around, looking for us. “They fucking have silver on that arrows. Darn witches”. Riev cussed, that was when I also noticed that the tip of their arrow was different from a normal arrow. Being shot with a silver laced arrow was as good as dead. Wolfbane was better than this, because it only affects the wolf, but silver was like killing two birds with a shot.

The Great Hall erupted into chaos. "AMBUSH!" someone screamed, but I was already moving, my body reacting before my mind could catch up. I lunged for Callum as more arrows whistled through the air, their tips gleaming with something that made my wolf recoil in horror. Wolfsbane. They'd coated the arrows in wolfsbane.

Alpha Vance froze, his eyes instinctively darting toward the ridges. The morning fog suddenly parted, and out of the trees materialized another fifty outcasts—archers, their massive longbows drawn to full extension, their arrows tipped with shimmering, liquid-silver tips. Every single bow was aimed directly at the heads of the Blood-Moon enforcers on the platform. But that wasn't what made Vance's breath hitch.

The copper smell fills my nose and his weight is getting heavier, like he’s not holding himself up anymore, like all the strength has drained out of him at once. “Knox?” My voice comes out small. Broken. Wrong. I push at his shoulder, trying to see his face. He doesn’t respond. I push harder, managing to roll him onto his side, and the sound that tears out of my throat when I see his back isn’t human. Arrows. So many arrows. Maybe ten, maybe fifteen, turning his back into something out of a nightmare. Shafts sticking out at horrible angles, buried deep in muscle and bone, blood everywhere. Bright red against white snow, steaming faintly in the frozen air.