Blood Song Books Novels & Stories

On some occasions the rare ones where I wasn’t driving I scratched the itch hard enough to draw blood, but instead of the flies, maggots and eggs I expect to fly out I was just met with a dark red and the sweet metallic scent of blood , the wound wouldn’t even I just watch it flow and dry up, before it scabs and the wound heals all in a second. That’s new, I whispered under my breath. I had seen so much supernatural things online, I knew that they were real no matter how people would think they were fake, I just felt something in me say it was all real, so nothing shocked me. What took me by surprise was the possibility that I was one of the supernatural creatures talked about in blueit circ

"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.

Zeyric muttered, finally pushing himself up onto his elbows and looking around the dark, oppressive room. The sanctum smelled intensely of old, crumbling parchment, dried Wolfsbane, metallic copper, and the sharp, ozone tang of high-tier blood magic. Tall mahogany bookshelves lined the walls, crammed with leather-bound grimoires whose spines bore no titles—only jagged, hand-carved runes meant to ward off curious eyes. In the center of the room sat a massive, claw-foot oak desk cluttered with alchemical scales, glass vials filled with shifting violet liquids, and thick, leather-bound ledgers stacked in crooked towers.

“The rest, I fake it.” I laughed. “That’s comforting.” The air got cooler as we moved toward the back. The books here looked older, the gold on their spines faded. “This section’s different,” he said, his voice dropping. “It’s about the Moon Goddess. The old stories. The real ones.” My eyes landed on one thick book. Sovereign Blood: The Unbroken Line. My hand pulled back before I even touched it. Lucian saw. “You know that word.” “Sovereign,” I whispered. The word felt too heavy for this quiet place. “It’s your rank.”

She opens the book and a roach crawls out. I shriek, jerking my knees to my chest. Esme raises a brow. “You’re a wolf, and you’re scared of a roach?” “What’s a wolf without a wolf?” My smile is bittersweet. “Don’t do that,” she scolds. “You wolf will return. Now, when the rumours came, I consulted the books and some friends.” I try not to let my own thoughts scare me. “What did you find?” “You know, I’ve lived through almost seven decades, and I know a bloodline that had white hair. Moonblood.”

“Isn’t fate just so damn cute?” Lyka sighed, “You are powerful, each of you and you need to discover it. To expand it.” “But enough to defeat him?” Art snickered. “Yes, enough to destroy him. We will talk about it later. Before that you can read this book.” Shalom handed them a thick, leather bound book. In the cover, was a handwritten word. Bloodsongs. In wild red. ____

Histories, myths, philosophies—every book was a whisper of the past. Ashara’s gaze stopped on a particular section on the far wall, its books older, darker in design, and faintly ominous. Something about the curling silver script caught her attention. One of the titles read: Nocturnae Vitae: The Legacy of the Blood Born. Her breath hitched. “Vampires?” she murmured, tilting her head.

She skims through the dusty, yellow papers while I observe her Rin silence. When she finds the page she was searching for she gestures for me to come over. “I think she was attacked by one of the Band of Blood. They are known for having received gifts from the Sun God himself. If I am correct the fog still festers in her blood. You marking her didn’t exactly help, it weakened her already fragile state. We need to clean her blood thoroughly, until there is nothing left of the fog.” She says.

The rest of the world could have burned down, and in here, it would still smell like old paper and ink. Perfect. I’d pulled three entire stacks of books around me, a fortress of leather bindings and worn pages: histories of werewolves, dense texts on Lycans, thin, brittle pamphlets about old bloodlines, even obscure case studies of wolfless wolves and the rare, desperate stories of those who’d somehow triggered their first shift late in life. None of it helped.

Finally, she found the one she was looking for. Layla managed to grab the book and add it to her stack in her arms when her eyes caught sight of something. A book stood out among the rest. It was bound with dark brown leather and had brandished designs on the spine. The title read - Malleus Vampiro: A Treatise on Vampires. Placing her other books on the floor, Layla pulled the leather-bound book from its home amongst the others and opened it. As her eyes skimmed the pages, she caught a couple of words; SHADOW STALKERS, BLOODSUCKER, PHANTOMS.