Blood Link Novels & Stories

Not yet. For a moment, Irwin wondered if she should even take his hand. Was this a test? Was it genuine? A thousand thoughts raced through her mind, but the bond between them pulsed stronger now, pushing her toward him. This connection, which had once felt like a curse, now hummed with a quiet promise. So, without further questioning, Irwin slowly reached for him, her hand trembling as their fingers touched.

"You're having doubts." "Angela warned about the connection it creates," I said, watching his reaction carefully. "She claimed the bond renewal would link us beyond the physical—that it would create a channel for power to flow between us." "That's... partially true," he acknowledged. "The bond allows mates to draw strength from each other. It's not one-sided." "But with my bloodline, it's different, isn't it?" I pressed. "More significant." He hesitated, then nodded. "According to the old texts, yes. The silver-blessed bloodline creates a deeper connection. A sharing of abilities to some degree."

My vision flickered and spots of black clouded my sight, but I did not know why. It could not be grief, could it? That would be too humiliating. 'Lana Branch, you really misjudged him, didn't you?'

At the blood Yohan had coughed. It was oddly black… There was only a little red in it. … “Go back?” I whispered the words sadly, “Where?”

I only had one thing left. ​I pressed the blade of the scalpel against my own palm. ​"What are you doing?" Caleb’s phantom asked, his voice wavering. ​"I'm giving him a reason to wake up." ​I sliced deep. The blood that welled up wasn't just red; it was shot through with threads of brilliant, liquid silver. I grabbed Liam’s hand and pressed my bleeding palm against his. ​The Blood-Link. I didn't just send him a message. I sent him my pain. I sent him the memory of the nursery, the feeling of Lyra’s empty bed, the raw, unadulterated fury of a mother who had lost her child.

"No." Lucien tried to sit up fully, but failed. "I've felt her through the bond. Her emotions, her intentions. She's not lying." "Bonds can be faked," Cassius said quietly. "It's rare knowledge, but possible. Ancient witch magic combined with vampire blood rituals. Create a false bond that feels real to both parties. Perfect way to infiltrate enemy ranks." Sera's head spun. Could bonds be faked? Although her grandmother's understanding was incomplete, she had never heard of it. Furthermore, most people wouldn't be aware that it was feasible if it were sufficiently uncommon.

“The marriage was just a legal formality. The pack needs to see the Rite. I need to feel the Rite.” “What rite?” I gasped, my fingers digging into the hard muscles of his back. He pulled back, looking at me with eyes that were no longer human. He reached for a small, silver blade on a nearby pedestal. “The Lien de Sang,” he whispered. “The Blood Link. It will make us one, Arielle. You will feel what I feel. You will see what I see. You will never be alone again.” He took my hand and, before I could protest, made a small, quick nick across my palm. He did the same to his own.

As if she had always belonged to them, and they to her. Kira stumbled forward, hand over her heart, eyes wide in something like awe. “What are you doing?” she breathed. Tessa opened her eyes, and they were silver-fire bright. “I didn’t mean to. It’s... happening on its own.” Marcus didn’t kneel again. But he bowed his head low, whispering like a man who had just witnessed divinity made flesh. “The Bloodlink,” he murmured. “The old rite. Lost since the Second Moonfall.”

I was a self-made man, wealthy enough to rank among the richest in the city. That was when my birth family came to me. My birth parents and the son they’d raised in my place broke down in tears as they embraced me. With their tears getting to me, I agreed to come home. I’d always thought the stories about real and fake heirs battling it out were nothing but fiction. Then, at the family gala, the son who’d taken my place turned to me and said, as if it were an innocent suggestion, “Now that you’re part of the family, you should quit your job at the Garden of Eden. “I feel sorry for the years you were forced to do that kind of work. Honestly, it breaks my heart. Now that you’re back, t

Ironic. The thought dragged a dry, humorless laugh from my throat. It echoed in the sterile silence of my office, a place that smelled of lemon polish and an underlying decay. My vision was now swimming on the edge of a crimson haze, each blink more laborious than the last. My hands trembled uncontrollably, and I curled them into fists, nails digging into my palms—useless pain that did nothing to steady me. Then it hit me: Bloodmatch. The name pressed against my consciousness like a shadow that refused to lift, a curse and a promise all at once—dangerous, illicit, irresistibly seductive.