Burning Blade Rituals Novels & Stories

“We gotta burn it out.” “How?” I ask, shadows flaring, ready to fight. “Light and shadow,” he says, voice steady. “Like the echo ritual.” “Then let’s do it,” I say, shadows merging with his light. “You good?” “Barely,” he says, laughing, light flaring. “But I got you.” “Damn right,” I say, kissing him deep, our bond like a wildfire. “You’re my world.” “And you’re mine—forever,” he says, light flaring, and we start the ritual, blade glowing, our powers blending, burning the shard to ash.

I moved close to a tree and watched from behind it. The men began to walk around the fire, their chants and hums rising. It hit me then, what I was witnessing, a ritual. A strange one, I had never seen any like this. All the history books I had read, on ancient creatures, rituals and bloodlines. This was strange. The aura that came of it was unsettling, this wasn't ordinary. Suddenly, they all stopped in their steps, they stretched their hands, one by one and with a dagger that was passed around, they cut themselves.

The Swift River artifact lay in the center of the circle, its surface etched with runes that seemed to move in the flickering candlelight. Carefully, reverently, I pricked my finger with the ceremonial blade I'd inherited from my grandmother—a rogue witch who'd taught me the old ways before her death. The blade was ancient silver, stained black with the blood of countless rituals, and it bit into my flesh with eager hunger. Crimson drops fell onto the runes carved into the stone floor centuries ago, each one hissing and steaming as it hit the ancient symbols. The stone seemed to drink the blood hungrily, the carved lines glowing faintly with absorbed power.

He pressed down painfully hard, my face smashing against the dirt ground. "You have sinned, Stephanie," Drake explained calmly despite my screams. "You have the devil within which we must and will extract." "No!" I screamed at the top of my lungs as I watched Ace approach with the stick. He knelt down beside me as his eyes stared down upon me. "Ace please," I cried. "Please listen to me. Don't do this. We can ... " "Lay down your punishment, Ace!" Drake demanded in his monotone voice.

I deserve it. I can only hope that this ritual will be equally as painful. I watch blankly as the witch cuts some of my hair and puts it into a bowl. She cuts my wrist and lets my blood drip into the bowl. She walks over to Reid and cuts his wrist as well, letting his blood drop into the bowl as well. She takes out a few herbs from her pocket and pours some into the bowl. She continues to speak in a foreign language, and I watch as the mixture in the bowl is set ablaze. It burns for a few seconds, and then the fire seizes.

Aria refused to let fear decide her daughter’s story. One night, beside a quiet fire, Rowan spoke. “There’s an old rite,” he said slowly. “Older than any Luna, older than our oldest chants. Not meant for children—but for those who’d bleed to protect them.” “What does it require?” Aria asked, voice steady. “Flame. Bone. Willingness. Pain,” he said, then hesitated. “And survival isn’t promised.” Aria didn’t blink. “Tell me where.”

It required a rare celestial bloom, watered by moonfire, and the blood of his fated mate—mine—offered under the lunar eclipse. Tonight was that night. We stood beneath the moon’s blood-red light, the sacred circle carved into the earth around us. Austin stood at the center, his power anchoring the ritual. Rose, our daughter, stood beside him, her eyes wide with wonder and worry. I stepped into the circle, my heart racing, a silver blade in my hand. With a deep breath, I sliced my palm and let the blood fall into the chalice, whispering Zander’s name with every drop.

"Death is the easy path, Luna Coralina. The sacrifice required is the death of your secrets. You must offer your blood to the basin, and he must do the same. You will enter the Shared Memory. You will see the truth of the lineage you claim, and the man you have bound to your soul." ​The ritual is performed in the center of the camp, under the gaze of a thousand silent witnesses. We sit cross-legged on a bed of pine needles, facing each other. The stone basin sits between us. ​Clyde takes the dagger he gave me—the bone-hilted blade of his mother. Without flinching, he draws the edge across his palm. The blood is thick and dark, dripping into the salt water. I take the blade from him, my hand

“The Flame is not tamed with words. It is not persuaded by vows. It yields only to blood and fire.” Crystal’s heart lurched. She swallowed hard but lifted her chin. “Then let it yield.” The priestess gaze flicked to Ryder, daring him to protest, but Ryder’s jaw stayed tight. Aelira stirred within Crystal, her wolf’s voice a low growl. We are ready. We were born for this. Crystal nodded faintly, steadying her breath. The first cut came sharp and clean across her palm. Blood welled, bright red against her pale skin. The priestess pressed her bleeding hand against the runed stone at the circle’s heart, and the symbols carved there flared to life, glowing fiery orange.

“What you’ve done before was pleasure. This will be a ritual. A binding. Her body, her magic, her mates and it must all align at once, or the fire will consume her from within.” One of us wasn’t here already and that made this almost impossible. “Is there a temporary solution?” I asked. “The only temporary relief before the ritual is for one of her mates to absorb her body’s fire when it rises,” “That’s easy,” Heath said. “Either of us can do it,” he gestured between the two of us. “I’m afraid that won’t work, my prince,” the physician responded. “It has to be the mate borne of the blood moon.” My stomach turned to stone.