Bride Of Blood Novels & Stories

Don't yield. ‎ ‎But I couldn't let her die. Not after we had just started to trust each other. ‎ ‎"I understand," I whispered. ‎ ‎"Good." Magnus signaled the guards. "Open the doors." ‎ ‎The massive oak doors of the Chapel groaned open. ‎ ‎The sound of the organ washed over us a thunderous, gothic melody that vibrated in my chest. The sanctuary was packed. Hundreds of wolves from the Bloodmoon and Iron-Claw packs filled the pews. They turned as one to watch the bride.

The darkness loomed around her as she fell. Roots whipped against her arms, binding her wrists. The air was thick with the scent of blood and damp soil. Camela felt her breath caught in her throat as she twisted, but each movement dragged her further down. “Vincent! Elias! Is anyone there…?” Her shout echoed back, swallowed by the pit. Then she heard a faint yet piercing voice carried through the roots—The First Bride “No one can hear you here, except for me. Just me,” the First Bride whispered.

The word redefine stuck with me as she reached for another scroll, one written in old witch runes. The ink shimmered faintly when she traced her fingers across it. “This one mentions a bridge,” she murmured. I moved closer. The letters rearranged themselves as she whispered a translation spell. The Bridge shall rise where the wolf and witch meet in willing blood. She will bind the worlds and bear the choice of destruction or unity. I froze. “That’s me.” Sera nodded slowly. “It has to be. The Bridge, hybrid blood, witch magic, wolf bond. You fit every word.”

More of these intruders will keep coming. What do they want from this destined bride? I ask. “They want her blood. The blood of a destined bride can make them powerful. Centuries ago, destined bride absorbed the curses of wolves and the curse became a part of their blood.” Hence, these intruders want her blood because it will give them so much power. We have to listen to her. Irish says and Lisa stares at him. “I have heard that there is a large storm coming and it is filled with wolves who are powerful than our pack. They are coming from all over the world and they will waste no time in killing when the moment they find out where she is.”

In return: a blood bride, once every hundred years. The contract was never sealed. Not until now. My fingers trembled as I flipped to the final page of Gregory’s journal. His last entry read: > “The bride must not be taken by force. The pact demands her soul, not just her blood. If she refuses, the land will rot, and the family line shall burn.” I looked up. “Alika… this was always meant to happen. But only if the bride chooses.” “But I didn’t choose any of this!” she cried.

My father's face contorted in a silent, furious mask of shock. Klaus tightened his grip on my hand, turning to face the assembled nobles. “Lavinia Quispe is our Blood Bride. But our bond is conditioned. We require her to secure the missing artifact of the Covenant—the Sanguine Heart—before the formal mark is given. Until then, she will be under our protective custody, but not our Lady.” My heart hammered against my ribs, an excruciating beat of pure, terrifying realization. This wasn't a wedding; it was a mission, a test, a trap.

the priest says. With the knife in my hand. I slice my bride's hand in such a way that it won't hurt or experience any pain. I feel the sparks when I hold her hand, and I'm sure she can feel them too. Once our blood mixed together, a slight bubble appeared around the bowl, locking our bloodline together.

But then, the bride suddenly jerked mid-air, her assault halted by something unseen. A sickening crunch echoed, and Arah froze as red spread across the bride’s white tunic. Deep bite marks gouged into her shoulder, blood welling and spilling over. The bride let out a snarl, collapsing to her knees, clawing at whatever was tearing into her. Arah squinted, barely making out the outline of a small creature. Something was there, attacking—that much was clear—but she couldn’t tell what exactly. Then came the worst part.

“Mr Blackwood, I am no murderer. I don’t know what my daughter told you, but this is all a misunderstanding.” “A misunderstanding?” Orion asked mildly. “How so?” Cain opened and closed his mouth, visibly floundering. Vera felt nothing but disgust watching him squirm. “Why don’t we schedule a meeting, Mr Blackwood—” “That would take another year, Cain,” Orion replied flatly. “I’m a very busy man.” “Mr Blackwood—” “We call on the father of the bride to come walk his daughter down the aisle,” a voice announced over the microphone. Cain froze.

Fastened the new collar around her throat. The click was soft. He pulled her into his lap. “There is one more thing.” He took her wrist—the one with the healed tattoo. “Traditional Bratva marriage. Blood bond.” He pulled a small knife from the drawer. Sterile. Sharp. Pricked his thumb. Then hers. Pressed them together. Blood mingling. “By blood, I claim you,” he said first in Russian, then English. “Forever. In this life and the next.” She repeated the words—her Russian halting but sure, learned in secret months.