Blood On The Clocktower Trouble Brewing Novels & Stories

"The Bloodbound will rise again." The dagger's light flared once, as if answering him. And far above the ruins, in the night sky, a murder of crows took flight - screaming into the dark.

Lucius and his friends tried to resist, but they were powerless against the strength of the Royal Guards. Alex was horrified to see what happened next. Lucius and his friends were led into a dark and dank room. They were seated on an iron chair covered with wires and needles. Their hands and feet were chained so that they could not move. Then they were made to drink a red liquid that smelt of fish. Somehow this seemed to relate to what Alex had read in Damian's book, so no matter where the belief came from, Alex was sure that the drink given to Lucius and his friends was vampire blood.

He’d seen his mother with bruises enough times. In his dressing room he pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and stopped short at his bed. Blood? Why was there blood on his sheets? Faro did a sweep of his room and he walked over to his desk and bent to pick up the papers from the floor. Faro frowned as he looked at the marriage contract that now held Sihana’s signature. The blood drained from his face and his hands started to shake as he put the contract down on the table. What the hell happened last night?

The name was edged with desperation, a need to hear a reply But there was still nothing. I was being hauled into the hallway, moonlight spilled through the windows, the trail of the blood looked as black as the night itself, I was being dragged through it, my feet slipped in it, the feel of it was warm, mushy. My heart spiked when my eyes found the trail that pooled underneath the grandfather clock.

Glass rained across the carpet in glittering red shards, painted crimson by the blood moon climbing outside. “Stay down,” he snapped. Lyra pressed herself lower, pulse hammering so hard it hurt. The air smelled of old paper, smoke, and the metallic bite of danger. From the corridor came the clash of steel and the cries of guards. Someone screamed. Someone else hit the floor hard enough that she felt the vibration through the marble beneath the rug. The tower was under attack. Not from outside. From within. Cassian seemed to realize it at the same moment. His eyes narrowed toward the open doors. “There’s a traitor inside the wards.”

She tilted her chin toward the hallway and said, “See the door with the blue light over there? That’s a licensed blood donation center. It’s open twenty-four hours. Ma’am, you can sell your blood for some money.” She paused, her gaze settling back on my face, as if measuring my reaction. “Not only will it be enough to buy that box of medicine, but it might even help you chip away at whatever debt you’ve got on your credit card.” I didn’t want to sell my blood, but I wanted to survive. So, I had no choice. The needle pierced my skin, and I watched as my blood rushed through the clear plastic tube into the collection bag. The first bag filled quickly, and the machine let out a soft beep.

A sudden tremor interrupted his thoughts. The entire tower shook. Hard. The group immediately looked upward. The heartbeat returned. BOOM. Closer. Much closer. Dust drifted from the ceiling. The glowing map flickered. Outside the tower, something roared. The sound wasn't loud. It didn't need to be. The noise carried a terrible weight. A presence. A certainty. The Devourer had reached the city. Ava's hand instinctively found her weapon. Cassian's expression darkened.

He knows what we did. Declan crouched in front of me, forcing my eyes to his, his own carefully blank mask nowhere in sight now. Whatever ceasefire he’d tried to declare an hour ago had burned away completely. “Then we stop being three steps behind,” he said, low and lethal. “Where’s your father, Marco?” Marco’s eyes were fluttering shut, consciousness slipping. “Taken,” he managed. “Twenty minutes ago. Black car, no plates. They said—” His breath rattled. “They said tell her the Ghost sends his regards.”

Smoke curls into the air. A crash of my heart against my ribs. "No," I breathe. "No, no, no." The door breaks open, and one of the guards runs in. Get away at the window, he says. "What's happening?" I demand. "We're under attack," he says. "Get down." I cannot move before the glass breaks. I scream and run as the shards fall and cut my arm. The guard yells into his radio and drives me against the wall. “There is gunfire in the halls.” Someone yells in pain. I can feel the floor shaking under my feet because of the sound of explosions.

My sunset-gold fire was no longer a mantle; it had become a Strobe of Pure Panic, flashing in sync with the erratic ticking that echoed from the heights of the bone-tower. "The clock isn't measuring time, Darlene," Jackson-crow spoke. He was no longer a shadow or a boy; he was a Fractured Image of a man, his form flickering between the Gilded Vizier and the Liquidator. He pointed toward the face of the clock—a massive, circular lens of obsidian-glass where the numbers weren't digits, but the Names of the Eleven Sovereigns we had just freed.