Bloodlines Books Novels & Stories

"Accounts of what?" He looked at her for a long moment before he answered. "Bloodlines. Lost ones, mostly. Lineages the world stopped tracking, either because they died out or because they were — hidden." He pulled one of the texts from the shelf — not gently, but not roughly, the way you handle something familiar and precious and troubling all at once. "Why this shelf? Out of all the shelves in this library, why did you stop here?"

That bloodline. Alice? She was a threat to that. She left him, but not quietly. She fled to Dominic Grey. A name whispered like a death sentence. No one challenged Dominic. Not even Christopher. Not when he had the black market, and the loyalty of entire cartels. A notorious scavenging felon willing to gut someone alive who accidentally stares at him. Alice gave birth to a girl, Jewel Grey. It was Dominic’s. But Christopher insanely wanted Alice. So instead of fighting to win her back, Christopher settled for what was left.

Ever since she arrived at Blackthorn, it hadn’t appeared and she would have preferred it that way, but now, she feared it won’t always be like that anymore. On her arm, she saw the lines again, like vines twisting and circling. It moved on its own and it had a glow of its own—a faint one. She raised her arm and watched it closely, not understanding what it was and why it chose her out of the billions of people alive. Or could it be that she wasn’t the only one? Like how she discovered that there are vampires and wolves in the school, could there be more out there? Even from her other school?

I then let out a soft sigh of relief as I knew that they would not approve and would try to talk me out of what I was thinking of doing. I haven’t had any real rest since I lost Romeo during the war with the S.D.E, with having and looking after our twins, Brandyn and Georgina, the dream-walking to get me close to him once more, the protection of the future Queen and finally the fight I had with the two Beta’s the spell I’m about to do is going to drain me to near death, if not past it. However; with just the glimpses of the females I had as I passed I know that most of them wouldn’t survive much longer without a helping healing hand. I close my eyes and visualize my Bloodlines Book of Power,

“Now.” In the living room Damian had pulled out a whiteboard. Like this was some kind of war room. “Obasi wants the company,” Damian said. “He swapped babies twenty-eight years ago. Me and… someone else.” Marcus went completely still. “DNA test tomorrow,” Damian continued. “All of us. And the baby when it’s born.” Zara’s stomach flipped. “You think—” “I think Obasi wouldn’t be this desperate unless the bloodline was wrong,” Damian said.

It was strictly forbidden by the pack rules for any werewolf to remain in their tents during the morning work hours. _But who cares? The rules were meant for others, not me._ My name is Samantha Emberwood. I was born half-werewolf, half-nymph, under a special lineage of wolf known as Purebred. Unlike others of my kind who have the ability to transform and communicate directly with their wolves, Purebreds possess the ability to separate from their inner wolf, creating a special bond that grants us control and mastery over their abilities. In the entire Dawn Runner pack, I'm the only one born with the Purebred Bloodline. Rumor has it that I inherited my abilities from my birth mother. But the

My son was coming apart in my arms in the dark, and the only map out of it had been drawn by the man who wanted him dead. The silver was splitting Luca's skin faster than I could hold the doors. I had my forehead pressed to his, pouring everything I'd learned in three days of training into the threads of his blood, and it wasn't enough — I could feel the three bloodlines tearing at each other, each one wanting to be the only one, and the small body between them losing the war.

Slowly, I turned my head to look at Dante. He was still leaning against the table, his hand pressed against his bleeding side, looking at me with this profound, agonizing pity. He didn't look like a killer anymore. He looked like the man who had pulled a terrified toddler out of a cage and spent the next fourteen years letting her hate him just so she could keep her memories of her parents clean. I looked at my hands, the knuckles bruised from hitting his chest on the stairs. I looked at the files on the floor. For the first time in my life, the world was completely black and white, and I had absolutely no idea who the real villain was anymore.

I thought of the world that was currently waking up to a silence it didn’t understand. But as I felt that tiny, second heartbeat pulse against my palm, I didn’t feel like a fugitive. I didn’t feel like a victim of a global conspiracy. I felt like an Architect. The first book was about the blood. It was about the betrayal and the breaking of the old world. It was about the trauma of the glass and the roar of the mountain. But the second book? The one we were starting right now, in this quiet French valley? That book was going to be about the Home.

Another impossible ability. Another piece finally fitting together. The book continued. Page after page. Bloodline after bloodline. Wind. Stone. Water. Metal. Dream walking. Nature affinity. Empathic bonds. Some gifts had become common. Others had almost disappeared. Then... A section marked with faded black ink appeared. Lost Bloodlines Chaos immediately leaned closer. "I don't remember those." Neither did Order. The first entry made my heart skip. Space Shifters The page described an extinct—or supposedly extinct—bloodline capable of folding reality itself.