Blood Of Cuchulainn Novels & Stories

Alice whispered, her voice trembling. Elara hesitated, her fingers brushing the pendant at her throat, her eyes distant with a sadness that made Alice’s chest ache. “Because I’ve been where you are,” she said, her voice low, almost a whisper. “Torn between worlds, between hearts.” She stepped closer, her hand hovering near Alice’s, not touching but close enough to feel the warmth. “I was born under a blood moon, Alice. My mother was a healer, my father a rogue wolf. They thought they could live between worlds, but the packs came for them. Crimson Moon burned our village when I was twelve, left me with nothing but this.” She held up her palm, revealing a faint scar, jagged like a claw mark. “

I was stabbed so many times that I lost count. Right before I blacked out, I heard my sister-in-law, Maeve Cohen, laugh manically at me. "Honestly, I'm not any worse than you in looks or education. Why did you get to marry the handsome, rich brother? He's long gone, and after you’re dead, all you have will be mine!" I died unwillingly under her triumphant laughter. Maybe fate took pity on how unfair everything was. I was given one more chance.

This is a trap. Grrrrr... A low growl sounded from all directions. Dozens of pairs of glowing red eyes emerged from the darkness, surrounding them. Grave Hounds. Revira backed away slowly, hugging Ardan tightly. "Don’t be afraid, son." The largest Grave Hound stepped forward. It sniffed the air, its eyes fixed on Ardan. The faint scent of Moon Blood was highly tempting to it. "Go away!" Revira yelled. The Grave Hound leader roared, then leaped to attack.

“You’re not worthy of wearing a single thread of hers.” Chloe screamed, panic flooding her face. “Why are you doing this? Gabriel, we’re about to complete the Blood Bond! I’m your Blood Queen!” “She’s not coming back,” Chloe blurted out, desperation twisting her words. “She left the Coven with that little bastard. There are so many Outcast Vampires on the road—she’s probably already dead, torn apart somewhere and forgotten!” “Shut up.” His hand closed around her throat in a flash, lifting her off the ground.

The air in the maintenance tunnels beneath the Cradle didn’t just smell like damp earth and electrical grease; it tasted like copper. It was the taste of a looming storm, the metallic tang that precedes a lightning strike. I knelt in the shadows of the primary junction, my back pressed against a cooling pipe that thrummed with a rhythmic, mechanical heartbeat. My fingers were steady as I checked the action on my rifle, but my pulse was a different story. It was a jagged, frantic staccato that had nothing to do with the mission and everything to do with the woman currently climbing through the guts of the building above me.

Raising my left elbow above my head, I throw my weight behind it, connecting the knuckle of the bone square in his jaw. I shove my right gun into my back holster as he stumbles back a few feet, shaking his head with shock, and I rush towards him, skidding across the gravel, and shredding my fucking kneecaps to pieces. When I get close enough to him, I leap up onto my feet, raising my fist above my head and connect it with the butt of his chin. His feet leave the ground and I wrap my hand around his neck, slamming his back onto the hard ground with a thud, and I know that must’ve hurt like a royal bitch when his face contorts into a frown. Groaning, he tries to get back up, and I press my foo

Her skin seemed colder. Her lips were a bit blue and appeared to be a bit of blood inside her nostrils. My body shook with fear. Widened eyes refused to unseen the view. My heart leaped into my throat as I shrunk back and stood there voiceless. "She died seventy years ago, but even today, her blood flows out of her vein proves this place is cursed." His words throbbed inside me. I left with nothing but a numb body when he explained further.

hisses the packmaster. CopperTongue slams his spiked shield in the warrior’s face as she stands up, unaware of the violence aimed at her. The stunned warrior snatches for a weapon, but her darts only spill to the ground with her blood. He then clenches his macuahuitl with every fiber of his strength, his rage and frustration, and brings the club’s embedded obsidian blades down caving in the hunter’s skull. He knows the death will not be quick; as the fallen warrior loses the sensation of life in her body, the pain simply radiating stronger from the blows of her murderer, till there is none to feel it. The leaves around him are painted in dark slashes of lifeblood. He pants, struggling to eve