Crown With Blood Novels & Stories

Never wanted to be guarded like property. She wanted choices. And we keep making choices around her like we’re afraid she’ll die if she has any. My jaw clenches. I look at the token in Caelric’s fist, the etched crown and the blade-line through it, and I feel something ugly and determined settle into my bones. Whoever is behind this—whoever thinks the law is a weapon they can swing without consequence— They’ve made a mistake. They’ve touched an Ashcroft. They’ve challenged crowned bloodlines.

The man had a very dark history among us commons. It is known that the blood of royals is immortal. Meaning, once you’re a royal, wedded to a royal and sealed by blood covenant or born of a royal. You would live eternally. There was only one plant, of which its name is always only known by the King and the Chief Healer of the castle, could kill a royal. It is said its venom is slid into the hilt of a dagger and when it is very necessary, the royal would be stabbed directly in his/her heart to put an end to their lives.

Its flesh had blackened completely around the chest while veins twisted unnaturally beneath dead skin. The doctor lowered his head quickly. “Her blood reacts differently than expected.” I moved toward the largest table in the center chamber where dozens of notes and ancient texts had been scattered beside blood samples taken from previous experiments. One symbol had been circled repeatedly across the pages. A crown. The Crown of Night. Interesting how myths stopped sounding like myths once enough blood entered the story. “You knew,” a voice said carefully behind me. I looked toward Malvek standing near the laboratory entrance. Old vampire. Useless politician. Too cautious to survive what wa

It pressed and knot itself, forming and deforming at each second that passed, until with a pop, the blood transformed into a tangible object, which could be worn only by the king: a crown. It was hailed with black linings that were dancing in its curves and edges; there was also a red, minuscule ruby glinting at each black lining. With a last whisper, the priest grabbed the crown. He hurriedly put it over Vladimir’s head who crouched a little with its weight. He’s in awe as he felt the heaviness of such a small thing. “All hail to King Vladimir,” the priest shouted. The common vampires and the witnesses echoed his words.

One thing Roxanne liked and hated about being dragged into a mare's nest and a world of dementia in Blood Moon pack were the elegant and elaborate ball parties they threw, where the champions looked their best and Roxie got to feel beautiful and a princess. Just like the other girls, Roxie was dressed pretty, in a glamorously red gown that flowed to the floor, her hair was done and her makeup was nicely touched by Bloom who fortunately didn't bake her face with too much makeup, unlike the other girls who looked like they had eaten up makeup and was overly dressed.

“Like that.” Sirens screamed closer, red and blue slashing through the broken windows, lighting the walls in streaks. Sienna’s gut clenched—cops could mean help or a bigger mess. She dug the vial out, holding it up, the red inside catching the glow. Yours, Sienna. Always was. Her blood, his blood—Dorian’s twisted game, and she was neck-deep.

Thousands of loyal wolves from every allied pack stand in hushed silence as the ancient elders step forward, lifting the heavy, gleaming Eternal Silver Crown and placing it firmly upon my head. The atmosphere is charged with a profound, reverent awe that commands absolute stillness across the entire summit. The crown, forged from the purest starlight-infused metal of the first vault, hums with a familiar, comforting resonance against my brow, anchoring my spirit to the collective heartbeat of our united people.

“The kind that involves money and loyalty.” “That does not answer anything.” Adrian’s gaze held his. “They want to remind me that stepping away has consequences.” “And I am the reminder.” “Yes.” The honesty knocked the air from Jamie’s lungs. He stepped back slightly. “You said I was not collateral.” “You are not,” Adrian said firmly. “Collateral implies expendable.”

Was there truly a traitor among them, working from within the school’s walls? Suddenly, a timid voice broke through the tension, drawing all eyes to its source. It was a young girl standing near the front of the crowd, her voice barely above a whisper. “M-my name is Leona Nightingale,” she stammered, her eyes wide with fear. “I-I am part of The Averrant.” Before anyone could react, Caleb’s katana flashed in the air, and with a swift movement, he struck down Leona. Shock rippled through the crowd as her body fell to the ground, blood staining the earth beneath her.

Rumors hinted at a connection between their family and dragons, their blood carrying a mysterious poison. In that moment, she realized that fate had brought Adelstein into her path. This was her opportunity, her chance to manipulate their power for her own purpose. They would become her pawn in the game of vengeance, a means to reclaim what was taken from her. In this life, she vowed to bring swift and merciless retribution upon all those who had inflicted suffering upon her. “Greeting to the grand duke of Adelstein,” the dean greeted, flanked by the knights of Windsor. The contrast between Adelstein and Windsor was stark. The powerful presence of the Grand Duke of Adelstein overshadowed the