Blood On The Clocktower Trouble Brewing Novels & Stories

In the dark of the night. Over the quiet earth, a dark shadow was approaching unsettlingly toward Tourmaline Estate. On top of the tower of Tourmaline Estate, the guards watched the form of the floating black fog from a distance. A hint of doubt filled their eyes. "Strange, why is there such a big fog?" Just after they had muttered this to themselves, from far away came a bullet which hit one man in his left atrium. He did not even have the time to make a sound before falling to the ground.

Just like yesterday. Borham walks in holding five glasses of water. "Drink up. You must be tired." He smiled like a soldier who had won the war. Henry picked up his flask. "Thanks but we had enough water already." "Oh. My apologies. What would you like to eat?" "Nothing. It's fine. We are okay. Instead, tell us what happened outside. Why is there blood everywhere? And a hand? Why is it a vampire? Borham looked like he was done with Jonathan's nonstop questions.

He remarked, still unmoving in his position. Something about this comment seeming moderately off to Chiri, she had little time to reflect on it as they were soon caught in a tense standoff in the tower. Horus Crouse and Tristan Hurst splitting into different veins amongst the clock’s mechanisms, they gradually began to close in on the man’s location. A crackling heard in the cogs, the electricity Horus had begun to emit tinkered with the links of the chains that dangled between the different platforms and bounced from the rickety wooden boards as they approached. However, an unexpected bolt of lightning escaped from Horus’s control.

“The northern wing! The observation tower! You need to see this—now.” By the time I reached the top floor, the wind was howling through shattered windows. Frost clung to the bricks, forming jagged spikes where warmth had once held. But it wasn’t the ice that made my heart stop. It was the message. Scrawled in a mix of blood and rime, slashed across the stone arch of the tower wall: “The Frost Crown awakens. And the Blood Moon shall burn.” And below it—burned, not written—was my name.

My home was dark, the silence heavy as I poured a glass of whiskey, the burn grounding me. I grabbed a calendar from the counter, my eyes locking on tomorrow’s date, circled in red—the Blood Moon. The frat party. The night they’d try to kill her. My vision flashed again—her heart torn out, blood pooling under that cursed moon. I downed the whiskey, my hand shaking as I set the glass down.

It was a steel cable woven from trauma and survival. "I can feel you," Tate whispered, tears streaming down her face. "I can feel you both." "We're here," Mathias choked out. "We're not letting go," I promised. The grandfather clock in the hall struck eleven. One hour to midnight. We stood up. We holstered our weapons. We put the crystals in our pockets, close to our hearts. "Let's go kill a monster," I said.

I stroked some of his wilder brown curls from his forehead remembering how savage he looked when we first met. “I’m going to get you some breakfast,” I whispered into his ear, getting a sleepy grunt in reply. I wrapped a heavy coat around myself and put on my thick boots. The devastation of the tower collapse is still fresh in the freezing cold air. I weaved my way across the courtyard, around the cell block towards the servants kitchen entrance. Then I smelt something. My wolf pricked up at the scent of blood. My heart still as I looked around the wall to find truck tracks. Four bodies lay on the ground. Arlen, Sol and two Rogues, each with swirling black neck tattoos.

After a moment, he slowly poured the red wine from his glass over the top of the tower. The crimson liquid, like blood, flowed down the structure, drop by drop, landing on the sand table with a "Tick! Tick!" sound. The scarlet fluid spread gradually, staining everything around it red as if foreshadowing an imminent bloody and brutal storm.

"At least we agree on something." The ground shivered. It was not an earthquake. It was a pulse. Deep and artificial, vibrating up through the earth. From somewhere inside the mountain, a massive gear began to turn, the sound grinding through the forest like a sleeping beast waking up. Sloane went still. He pulled out his pocket watch. It was vibrating, the glass face flickering with red light. "The Sanguine Clock," he muttered. "They are using the blood they stole from you to force a Recall."

she whispered, her porcelain face chiseled with a terrible grin. "Now look at the clock." Through the sky above the copper cables a massive three-story bronze wheel, the central treasury clock of the capital, began to lower itself through the plum-colored clouds. The second hand of the clock was a thirty-foot double-edged steel guillotine that was falling toward the center of the lead registry with every tick. The time was three seconds to midnight. The steel wire inside Elara's palm gave a volcanic thump, the green numbers in her mind turning into a solid column of white zeros.