Blood On Satan's Claw Novels & Stories

She looked at the center of the altar, where a massive, double-headed iron crest was embedded into the stone—the same crest carved into the mask of the silver-clothed stranger. A sudden, wet splash echoed from the dark eastern edge of the basin. Klaus Mikaelson hauled his massive frame out of the black current, his iron claws tearing deep gouges into the ancient moonstone steps as he advanced toward the altar. The purple fire along his jaw had settled into a low, pulsing glare, his movements slow and mechanical as the parasite finalized its possession of his core. He raised his left hand, his claws dripping with a dark, volatile ink that sizzled against the holy stone.

It was followed by a photo. Seraphina, lounging on a lavish bed, her neck marred by a deep, fresh bite mark from Clarence, surrounded by love bites. Her skin was turning pale, the first sign of a successful turning. She gloated, rubbing their "ceremony" in my face. “Surprised? He said it’s the second time he’s ever craved someone’s blood this much. The last time was 500 years ago, with you. But he says I taste so much better.”

Pulled her in instead of pushing her out. But I can not afford to wonder about that now. Calling on my wolf, I shift the nails of my right hand into claws. The uncomfortable feeling in my fingers lasts less than a second as my wolf obeys. And without hesitation, I slice a claw across the center of my left palm, down to my wrist, where I keep the claw embedded in my skin. The blood wells up instantly. The dark red also glows faintly with that same gold coiling off my body. I curl my bleeding hand into a fist and let the blood drip onto the carved symbol at the altar’s center, where a jagged spiral is etched deep into the stone.

Time seemed to slow as the world held its breath, witnessing the clash between two extraordinary beings. The impact was swift and brutal, a collision of flesh and fury. Selena's razor-sharp claws tore through the layers of Sangre's chest with a sickening sound, leaving behind a visceral mark—a four-fingered imprint of pain and destruction. Blood spurted from the fresh wound, staining the pristine fur and mingling with the air in a crimson haze.

He charged, extending his claws to their full length as the bloodlust grew in his eyes. Fuck! He was too damn fast! I clanked the claws of his hand against mine, but his other ones pierced through my stomach. Blood filled my mouth as I felt my insides getting sliced by his primal wickedness. He withdrew his claws, causing another wave of pain to slam against every nerve in my body. The blood loss was making me weaker, but my fury only rose, hardening my muscles and enhancing my senses. I swung my claws, making a long cut across his throat, slicing his flesh along with the leather strap with the red crystal tied to it.

His claws, made of void and starlight pierced Azran clean through. He tore the seraph in half as easily as splitting mist. The scream echoed across early Heaven, a wail that birthed fear for the first time. Azran’s celestial blood sprayed across the cosmos, painting the void in hues of gold and crimson. His organs spilled out, glowing orbs of divine energy that flickered and died. The stench of blood filled the air, a sickeningly sweet scent that clung to Allistair’s form.

Nibbling and grazing the golden neck. "Then.. Don’t. Now that I can’t, but if I could I would love to die in your arms" . Callum said, losing himself in Stephen’s arms. The moon was at its peak. Full Blue moon like Stephen eyes that had turned red. He placed his lips on the pulsing vein before barring his teeth. Callum felt a sting and then all he could feel was a frenzy, a euphoria. He now knew why Stephen felt excited offering him his blood.

The mixture smoked, giving off a scent of sulfur and flowers. “KIT! THE EARTH!” Siron yelled. From the tomb corridor, Kit ran back, his hand clenched tight. “I got it!” The stone hands from the walls tried to ensnare Kit. Siron ran toward him, taking the earth from Kit’s grasp, cold, black soil imbued with malevolent energy. This was it. Voluntary blood from the bound one. Earth from the original tomb. Siron didn’t know the words. But he followed instinct, following the feeling pulsing in the symbol on his wrist.

Seeing the absolute agony in his mate's eyes, he unbuckled the iron clasps of his tactical vest and let the heavy leather armor drop to the floor with a loud thud. His broad, muscular torso was fully exposed to the harsh overhead light. His left shoulder was pristine—covered in smooth, tanned skin and the subtle outline of hard, underlying muscle. There were no scars, no tattoos, no marks. "See, mia regina?" Dominic murmured gently, stepping closer so her body was pressed against his warm, bare chest. "There is nothing there." "Not on the surface," Clara whispered, her mother's words guiding her instincts. She lifted her right hand and pressed her palm directly over his left shoulder blade.

The air crackled with anticipation as the battlefield became our shared hunting ground. Without warning, Zack lunged at me with a lightning-fast speed, his claws extended to rend and tear. Instinctively, I dodged his attack, my agility matching his own. We moved in a deadly dance, our bodies twisting and turning, each strike and parry filled with lethal intent. I swiped at Zack with my powerful claws, but he countered with a swift dodge, retaliating with a series of ferocious bites. The clash of our fangs and the sound of our growls echoed through the night, blending with the wind that whispered through the trees.