Craven From Blood And Ash Novels & Stories

Damon appeared at my shoulder without my hearing him approach, a skill he'd apparently never lost despite everything else that had changed between us. "That's the Ashfall delegation," he said quietly, nodding toward the largest group, a dozen wolves, disciplined, moving in a formation that looked more military than diplomatic. At the center of them, unmistakably, a man who could only be Corvin. Even from this distance he carried himself like someone who'd never once doubted his own authority in a room, older than I'd pictured, silver threading through dark hair, moving with the unhurried patience of a man who'd learned long ago that rushing rarely won anything worth having. My chest went tig

The whole garage was as quiet as a grave. The fifth day, I went to find Crane. "Has he come by?" I asked. Crane glanced at me and pushed the ointment across without answering my question. "You look terrible," he said. "Has he come by?" Crane was quiet a moment. "He came. Three days ago. Asked if there was any way to get a pureblood noble's heart's blood. I told him that's not something money can buy, that the family crest last time was already a stroke of incredible luck. He listened, then left."

“But Alpha Raven can.” And I drove my claws straight through his chest. His breath hitched, blood spilling from his mouth. He looked down, eyes wide in disbelief. “Raven…” “Burn in hell,” I said, my voice shaking with rage and pain. The light from my claws spread through his body like fire. Damien screamed—a horrible, broken sound that filled the cave. His body began to crack, golden light leaking from the wounds. Then, with one final burst, he shattered—his ashes scattering into the air, glowing faintly before fading into nothing.

And who was the other half stuck with? “Who’s the other idiot?” she asked, her voice tight, like it might snap. Roman’s mouth quirked, not quite grinning. “That’d be me.” It landed like a fist to her gut. She stared at him—this smooth-talking climber who’d kissed Dorian’s boots while she’d scraped by on cheap noodles and cheaper dreams. Fury flared, hot and ugly, but before she could tell him to choke on it, a black Rolls-Royce purred up the path, sleek as sin. The window rolled down, and there she was—Vivienne Ashford, Dorian’s widow, Sienna’s stepmother, blonde hair piled up like royalty, wrapped in fur despite the wet.

A man with graying hair, strong shoulders, and the kind of heavy presence that made the wolves from earlier make sense. “Dominic Voss,” Calvin said. “Head of Hawthorne House.” He gave a curt nod, eyes never leaving me. Dominic had been one of the wolves. I knew it instinctively. “She’s the one,” he said. “The scan confirms it,” Pamela added quietly. “What scan? What are you all talking about?” I demanded. “What does it say?” Ashleigh glanced at the others, then looked at me with something closer to awe. “Your blood holds a genetic marker we thought extinct. You’re descended from the Aurelian line.”

Craven told her with an evil smile. “Let me go.” Majesta screamed at him. “Oh no, you have no idea how long I have waited to have you. To taste your blood and bring you over to our way of life. I don’t care what you want at this point; I will not lose you again.” Craven knew what he wanted to do. “Why in God’s name would you want to drink my blood?” Majesta asked, not understanding what he truly wanted. “Oh, my dear, you really are under too far. Should I let you see some of your life?” Craven gave hints of her old life.

I smirked, knowing I'd pulled her right in with the hook. She sat up straight. “Well? What are you waiting for? Spill it before something else spills.” Unintentionally, I froze up. The scene of my death flashed through my mind once again. How much blood of mine spilled when my head kissed the edge of that table? “Grace? Where'd you run off to?” Susan snapped her fingers in front of me, pulling me out of my reverie. I blinked twice, coming into focus. “Huh? Sorry, I'm sorry. “

Banners snapped in the sudden wind. And then I saw it. The shadow. Huge. Black as midnight. A wolf unlike any other tore through the mist, its eyes glowing blood-red. Its fur shimmered with runes that burned across its body like fire carved into flesh. Recognition ripped through me. My knees nearly buckled. Draven. Alpha of the Bloodfang Pack. The same monster who had killed Riven. His howl split the air, deep and guttural, carrying with it the promise of blood. Wolves answered

Raven stood tall, despite the pressure threatening to drop her to her knees. “I am Raven, Alpha Queen of Blackclaw. Daughter of Ashen Grace. Born of blood and fire.” The chamber hummed louder, the stone basin glowing gold and red. “Then speak, child of shadow and flame. What do you seek?” She swallowed once, then said it clearly: “The traitor. The one who hides behind false loyalty.” The liquid rippled—then flashed with a vision. A figure cloaked in silver, standing over an old map. A hand placing ashroot in a satchel.

"The moment you leave, your pack finishes what my father started." He moved to the basin in the corner, washing the dried blood from his skin without a rush, like a man settling a ledger before speaking. When he turned back, his eyes held the particular quiet of someone who had already run every calculation. "My pack obeys me," he said, crossing the room. "But you are a problem I didn't account for, Asha Ravenshade." He opened the small chest beside the bed and withdrew a pair of cuffs that shimmered like compressed moonlight, delicate enough to look decorative and wrong enough to make my witch-blood flinch on sight.