Damien Bloodmarch Novels & Stories

Damien. I sit and pick at my food, watching the city below. Humans drive home from work, crowd into buses, laugh on sidewalks. They have problems—bills, bosses, relationships—but none of them know what it feels like to have your soul ripped in half in front of a room full of people. Lucky. The study door opens. Damien steps out, jacket off now, white shirt rolled up at the sleeves. There’s ink on one of his forearms—a dark, intricate design that disappears under the cuff.

I looked at the city once more, suffocated by all the shit in my life. Maddox was becoming a worse enemy than I realized, and I still felt guilty for killing his brother. That plan backfired in my face because I assumed Maddox would cave. When he didn’t, I had to make Miles’s wife a widow. I was a fucking monster. Damien stepped onto the patio in a long-sleeved shirt and a jacket. “It’s fucking freezing. Why are you sitting out here like that?” He fell into the chair opposite me, helping himself to the booze on the table. “Trying to catch a cold?”

Damian walked straight toward them. “Damian—wait!” Eli started to rise. Damian didn’t turn. “Eli. Trust me.” His voice carried through the corridor—deep, calm, and lethal. Eli froze. The drones opened fire. And Damian moved like a storm unleashed. He wasn’t evading the shots—not exactly. He anticipated them, weaving between the bursts of plasma, striking the drones with precision and violence. A swift kick shattered one; he spun and slammed another into the floor, crushing its metal shell under his boot. Sparks rained around him, lighting his silhouette in flashes of electric blue.

I kept my hands folded in my lap as we drove, wondering what I had gotten myself into by agreeing to this. Inside the car, it was quiet for a long time. I finally broke the silence. “Tell me about your family.” Damien’s expression changed right away. “There’s not much to tell.” “I doubt that,” I said. After a pause, he started talking. “My father remarried after my mother died. Victoria is my stepmother. She likes control.” I smiled a little. “That’s your warning?” “No.” He glanced at me briefly. “This is. Answer only what you’re asked. Don’t volunteer information.”

“Go ahead. Kill me. End it. But you will never escape what I am. You are my blood. My legacy. You carry the same darkness I do.” Damien’s finger tightened on the trigger. His eyes were wild, the obsession and love that had driven him for so long now mixed with pure hatred. I could see the war inside him. The boy who had lost his mother fighting the man who wanted to destroy everything. For a moment I thought he would do it. I thought he would pull the trigger and end Victor’s life right there in the delivery suite. But he did not.

A promise of retribution burning in those golden depths, refusing to yield even an inch. Damian straightened, wiping casually the blood on his coat as if he'd merely swatted a fly. He turned away from Caspian with a dismissive tsk, his eyes lighting up with false warmth as he approached me. The rogues parted slightly, disruptors tracking my every breath, but Damian waved them off with a lazy flick of his fingers. He stopped mere feet away, close enough that I could smell the faint metallic tang of Caspian's blood on him.

Noah, Scarlett, and Jane were still standing by the side, readying themselves to fight. I stood up from the ground, just in time for Damien to jump at me, holding my shoulders roughly and sinking his large fangs into them, sucking out my blood. I only wince at the pain, staring deep into his eyes as he looked up, blood dripping out of them. My blood.

🌹 Damien 🌹 The underground safehouse was dimly lit, the harsh fluorescent lights flickering intermittently as the team settled into a rare moment of calm. The air was thick with exhaustion, the weight of their near-constant battle settling heavily on each member of the group. Damien leaned against a table, eyes closed, taking in the muffled sounds of distant gunfire and the steady hum of the bunker’s generators. It had been a long day—too long. The chaos of the mission still lingered in his mind, but for the first time in days, the team had found a brief window to breathe. They were alive. For now, that was enough.

Damien and his men follow the blood trace straight up to where Arrya was kept at first. " Boss" one of his men called after seeing the last stop of the blood trace. Damien walked towards the tree and bent down, touching the blood. He stood up looking around. It was morning and the sun was shining already so the woods were very bright. “look everywhere, find where the person might be," Damien said before walking towards the waterfall, at the damp soil, he saw four different boot prints. This must be the man who injured that person Damien stood up and walked towards the tree where the blood stain was, he followed the bootprint until he saw the wooden house.

I could feel it in my bones. The door creaked open slowly, and my breath caught in my throat when I saw Damien standing there. His clothes were soaked in blood, and his face was twisted with a ferocity that sent a chill down my spine. He looked like a monster, his eyes wild, his movements jerky, like he was barely hanging on to his sanity. I froze, my heart dropping into my stomach. “Damien?” I whispered, my voice barely audible. He didn’t respond, didn’t even acknowledge me. He walked past me, his body stiff, as if he couldn’t bear to be near anyone. His eyes were glazed over, lost, like he was trapped in some nightmare.