Romans & histoires Craven From Blood And Ash

Luca’s throat went dry. Fuck. He should turn around. Walk out. Pretend he never saw this—Ash vulnerable, Ash undone, Ash not sneering at him from across a soundboard or flipping him off after a set. But then those bleary, dark eyes lifted, locking onto him with the hazy focus of the drunk and the defiant. A slurred curse spilled from Ash’s lips, something vicious and half-formed, probably about Luca’s music, or his smile, or the way he breathed—but the venom lacked its usual bite. It was sluggish, thick with whiskey and something else. Something that made Luca’s pulse kick up, his fingers flexing at his sides.

I hated that he noticed. He chuckled low. “Good. ’Cause there’s blood coming, brother. You either pick up your cut or get cut out.” I turned to him then, eyes cold. “You ever think maybe blood isn’t the answer?” He leaned in close, voice a whisper meant to sting. “This is the club, Ash. Blood’s always the answer here.” Before I could reply, Griff’s office door slammed open and he stepped out with fire in his eyes and a paper clutched in his hand.

"Alpha Crane of the Iron Fang pack. They are small but aggressive. Crane has a personal grudge against the Blue Moon pack so Damien would have had no trouble recruiting him." I nodded. "Crane is reckless. He will want to lead the charge. Damien will let him think he is important and then use him as cannon fodder." Asher's eyebrows lifted slightly. "You read people well." "I spent four years reading the wrong person. I learned from my mistakes" I said. Something flickered across his face. Not pity. I would have hated pity. It was more like recognition. The look of someone who understood what it meant to learn things the hard way.

A sickening squelch cuts off the rest of his sentence and I suddenly gasp at the sight of the arrow head jutting out of his throat, his blood already dripping to the floor. What the hell just happened? “Hello my love.” That voice. The murdered slaver falls to the ground and right then, I see him standing over the slaver's corpse. Lord Draven. One of the high Lords of Nyxris and my secret lover for months now. He is finally here for me. Before I speak, one of the other slavers lunges at Draven but he quickly grabs the man by the throat and slams him into the ground with a sickening ‘crack’ sound telling me he just broke the man's neck.

He thought of all the evil conversations his mother had against him and his rage increased. “How does it feel to have your plan work against you?” he asked her as she was writhing in pain. “If you ask me, I’ll say it’s exciting.” “B-but…I’m your mother,” his mother said as she gasped for breath. Cassian clenched his jaw and said, “You are no mother to me.” And with that, he felt a pang of hunger and somehow, his instinct told him he needed to feed. Blinded by rage, he plunged his teeth into her neck and sucked out blood. He didn’t know how long he kept feeding, but long enough for his father to hit his head with an iron. His head collided with the hard surface and he felt a stinging pain at

“Did you see who did this?” Corvin shook his head slowly, looking broken, voice trembling in all the right places. “It was chaos. I smelled wolf blood—strong, familiar, but I couldn’t see the face. I thought…” He glanced at Draven, eyes full of false sorrow. “I thought it was him.” The accusation hit like a blow. Draven’s wolf snapped inside him, a furious roar echoing through his chest. He forced it down, barely. His voice came out rough, dangerous. “You’re lying.”

Evelyn fights alongside Rufus, their teamwork seamless as they fend off the advancing wolves. Cain is holding his own as well, his larger frame giving him an edge against two opponents at once. But the Ravenclaw pack isn’t just strong—they’re relentless. For every wolf we bring down, another seems to take its place, their numbers seemingly endless. The battle shifts when a powerful howl cuts through the air. It’s a sound that commands attention, silencing the chaos for a brief moment. Asher. He strides into the chamber, still in his human form, his presence alone enough to make the room feel colder. His sharp features are twisted into a cruel smirk, and his eyes glint with malice as he surve

The cover was worn, the pages yellowed with age, but the script inside was surprisingly legible. She flipped through it, her breath catching as she read the first few lines: "To those who follow, beware. The Blood King walks a path of shadows, tethered to the Crimson Fated by fate and fire. Their union will either save us or doom us all." Aria’s heart raced as she scanned further. The entries spoke of Lucian Draevan, the Blood King—a name she recognized from old hunter lore. He was a vampire lord from centuries past, known for his ruthlessness and enigmatic disappearance after a great war.

More ritual than decay. Chris doesn’t say anything at first. He picks the mask up with both hands like it’s something divine, or cursed. The weight in the air shifts. “I know this,” he says quietly. He brushes dirt away with his thumb, revealing a faint emblem near the base. A wolf’s skull wreathed in flame, just barely legible. “This is from the Ashclaw bloodline.” My stomach knots. “I thought they were wiped out generations ago.” “They were. At least, that’s what the histories say.”