Blood On The Clocktower Character Sheet Novels & Stories

I have found her equal parts attractive and terrifying since the very moment we met. Devona draws our attention to the man lying before us as she turns to face our prisoner, her frown deepening. He is a man in simple leather armor. On his chest is a family crest, long worn thin, the paint long gone. His age is impossible to tell, his flesh looking gray and rotten, corrupted by a darkness that oozes from his pours creating a pool of malevolent ichor around him in an inky puddle. He is completely still, seemingly lifeless, slumped over in an uncomfortable position, his eyes closed. We gather around him and the edges of the spell, forming an arch-shaped wall of bodies--Arthur and Embyr to my ri

He grabbed my waist, and together we surged upward, following the pull of the silver thread. We breached the surface of the ink, gasping for air that smelled of wet parchment. We weren't in the hallway anymore. We were in a vast, circular chamber. In the center, a massive, clock like mechanism made of bone and brass turned slowly. Each "tick" of the clock was the sound of a name being crossed out in a ledger.

As a result, he fell on the ground full of open bleeding wounds. The figures stopped and one of them crouched and filled a vial with my warm blood and waited for something. Moments later, a clocked figure came out from the thick trees. He was being supported by some strange looking beasts. I couldn’t see his face or define his sex. He was draped fully into the shadow and there was no scent emitting out of him. One of the smoky entities kneeled respectfully, then handed the cloaked person the vial, and he downed it in one gulp.

MARCUS’ POV The throne room of my BloodMoon stronghold loomed vast and cold, its stone walls etched with the claw marks of past Alphas, the flickering torchlight casting shadows that danced like ghosts. I slouched in my carved obsidian throne, my crimson robe hanging open, the fabric slipping to reveal the scarred expanse of my chest, the faint glow of my curse’s mark pulsing beneath my skin. In my hand, a crystal tumbler held the whiskey Kael had brought back from his trip to Novella—a sharp, smoky burn that did little to dull the agony clawing at my heart.

After serving as the food they must take blood tonics and feed on nourishing delicacies to replenish their strength and blood. A blonde maid came over to me and a redhead went towards Cass. They both took a knife and sliced their wrists. The pleasant smell of their blood filled my nostrils and soon took over my nervous system. Some drops of blood splattered on the floor and I could feel the beast from within begging to be unleashed. Adrenaline coursed through my veins and my orbs turned darker at the immense hunger. Black veins reflected underneath my eyes and I sank my elongated fangs into the maid. The nourishing drink filled every part of my body and awoke me in a rejuvenating way. I coul

He had once been the master of this house. Now every servant stair judged him better than I ever could. We reached the bell tower before sunrise fully broke, and the old rope hung from the ceiling like a pale throat waiting for hands. The tower smelled of dust, iron, birds, and the old smoke of warnings rung too late to save anyone. At the center of the floor stood a square stone marked with a black feather burned into its surface. Daciana stopped at the edge. Conri and Bardolph stopped behind her. Neither man spoke.

For ten years, I was Vincent's blood bag and his sharpest blade. I offered my rare blood to sustain his ancient power. I offered my loyalty to secure his throne as the Vampire Lord of this territory. I thought my devotion might earn me the eternal embrace of the turning. Instead, I received the announcement of his marriage to Lilith. A princess from a powerful European vampire clan. He said it was a necessary alliance. He said my blood was still precious. But when the sanctified silver tearing through the car,he used my body as a shield, to ensure his bride remained unblemished. That's when I knew. I was never his lover. I was just a consumable resource, a blood bag to be used and discarded.

Buttons pop, pinging against the metal floor. "Drakon," I gasp. "Quiet." He strips himself. The tactical vest hits the wall with a heavy thud. The shirt follows. His chest is heaving, the wolf tattoo rippling with every breath. He is bleeding from a dozen cuts, but he doesn't care. He pushes me back against the railing that circles the interior of the tower. Below us, through the glass, the river is a sheet of fire. The orange light flickers on our skin, painting us in the colors of the apocalypse.

Caius stood in the center of the ring. He looked at me, and the sight of him stole my breath. The curse markings had reached the corner of his eye, vivid and angry against his skin in the candlelight. They were pulsing with a frantic, rhythmic heat; the acceleration the Codex had warned of. The Tethering sensed the proximity of the Bloodanchor; it knew the hand was on the latch.

The air froze instantly. The smile on Cole’s lips stiffened as he stared at me in disbelief. “W-What?” I didn’t repeat myself. I simply closed my eyes. As if he couldn’t accept what he’d just heard, Cole stepped forward and roughly grabbed my wrist. My sleeve was pulled back, revealing the large patches of shocking purple bruises beneath—dark against my pale skin. They were marks left behind by needles repeatedly piercing my veins during blood draws. Cole’s fingers began to tremble. He stared at the bruises, his voice breaking as he demanded, “Why? Sadie! Why would you do something like that? Are you crazy? Why?”