Bloodstained Dagger Novels & Stories

he added simply. "After the drink, the Alpha grabs a blessed dagger. A blessed dagger is an old dagger chosen and well taken care of by a fairy with magic. When he cuts his own palm, he lets drops of blood spill onto the territory's soil, and the soon-to-be Alpha follows suit," he said, then laughed softly.

'It's so majestic,' I say. The blade is made of moonstone, opalescent of blues and whites and then forms into steel. I gently glide my fingertip across the blade. It's the sharpest dagger I've ever held. Blood trickles from my finger. I gasp as Micah takes my hand and sucks the blood from my finger, causing my insides to burst into song. It's as if an entire choir and orchestra are performing inside me. Blushing as he gently releases my finger from his lips. I resume inspecting the beautiful dagger. The fuller that runs down the middle of the blade is diamond-shaped and has a stunning engraving that looks like an eye, a familiar eye at that, with a hint of sable. It shimmers as I tilt it. Th

I flick the overhead light on and cross the room to the back wall to open the safe. I pull the plain mahogany box in the safe out, and glare at it in distaste. We haven’t used the items inside for a long time. I flip the box open and stare at the silver dagger and cup inside. The words for the blood binding are written on the inside of the lid in arcane Latin, but I don't need them. I remember them off by heart.

His presence was enough. Lysander stood behind me, the dark dagger in his hand, its blade pulsing with pale blue light, awake after its long sleep. The dagger had been dark since the mountain, since the first shadow fell, but now it blazed again, as if it knew that this battle was the one it had been waiting for.

My hair fell over my face, but he brushed it aside, then pressed the dagger lightly to my neck, and I felt a sharp sting. My breath hitched—that psychopath had cut me! He lifted the dagger, showing me the blood that stained it. “Secondly,” he gave a twisted smile. “You don’t stop to show victory, you kill the enemy, and draw blood.” “Get off me, Xlynor.”

A blade gleamed silver black, quickly rushing for my throat. I rolled, fury and instinct taking over my body. The dagger kissed my cheek, sending fire across my skin, but missed my jugular by a whisper. “Kale!” I screamed, though I knew he was too weak to rise. The assassin snarled, mask glinting in the torchlight, his movements sharp and precise...trained, not a common rogue. His second strike came for my heart, but I caught his wrist, claws digging deep. Blood spilled, and still he pushed, eyes glowing faintly with a red I knew too well. Ritual blood.

His silver eyes stayed locked on mine the whole time, steady and strong, like he was silently telling me that I wasn’t alone in this. Then the elder turned to me. My stomach tightened, and I swallowed hard, trying to calm the rush of nerves. My hand trembled as I stretched it out. The dagger felt icy against my skin, almost alive. When it cut into me, I gasped softly, a sting racing through me. It wasn’t deep, but it felt heavier because of what it meant. A single drop fell first, then another, and another, until my blood joined Liam’s in the goblet.

The Supreme Mother’s chanting got louder and more unnerving, the sound of her voice so close to me, befuddled my senses and confused me. As soon as our eyes met again, I felt a sharp pain run through my head and my concentration broke. The blood that had retreated back into my vessels came back out again and pooled under the dagger. She began moving away from me, still chanting, my blood right there in front of me, leaving me. She walked over to Damon and kept chanting, as she did so, something happened. The liquid blood warbling under the dagger began to react violently as it coated the pitch bladder dagger, giving it a dark red hue, what she was left holding was more like a thorny crystal

I could feel the magic swirling around me, brushing against my skin like icy fingers. She handed me a small, silver dagger, its blade gleaming in the dim light. “You’ll need to draw blood—yours, to bind the ritual. It’s the only way to open the tomb.” I stared at the dagger in my hand, its weight cold and heavy. My heart raced as I raised the blade to my palm, the sharp edge biting into my skin. Blood welled up, crimson droplets spilling onto the stone of the tomb. The ground trembled beneath my feet, and a low rumble echoed through the forest as if the earth itself was waking.

Something resembling an aged old dagger, literally a piece of glass and a hilt, gets placed in Kai’s palm. Vanya starts crying when she sees it. “Please, Alpha Kai! Anything but that wretched thing! Please, torture me daily, rip out my heart, or permit me to atone with the Blood Eagle! Just please….anything ANYTHING BUT THAT DAGGER!” /“It is called The Nephilim Dagger; Marle forged it for Xamnir using the blood of five hundred infants who were born of an angel laying with a human.”/ Tiarin whispers in my head and I nearly puke. /“Anyone stabbed with it, gets sent directly to my father, Raerin’s, Firepit without a chance at reincarnation.”/