Dark Moon: The Blood Of Vargr Novels & Stories

As he moved over me, he reached for a small, silver blade on the edge of the dais—the only weapon allowed in this circle. With a swift, practiced motion, he sliced a shallow line across his forearm. "The blood is the seal," he rasped. He pressed his arm to my lips. The scent was intoxicating—metallic, ancient, and heavy with power. I didn't hesitate. I bit down, drinking. His blood hit my tongue like liquid starlight, a surge of memories and strength that flooded my senses. I saw the sun on a battlefield; I felt the cold of a thousand winters. Then, he handed me the blade.

The violet light hits the crimson beam of the blood moon, creating a terrifying, pulsing vortex of dark magic directly above the altar. ​The moth-fae begin to chant. It is a horrible, high-pitched clicking and hissing that makes my ears physically bleed. The glade-vein begins to aggressively shake. The bedrock of the mountain groans in agony. ​Deep within the earth, something ancient, colossal, and completely starved begins to wake up.

The world itself was dimming. The memory hit me with a cold, familiar weight. I had seen this before. During the war with Volodymir. When he had bent the heavens to his will and stolen the sun from the sky, cloaking the world in false night so his Strigoi could rise and slaughter us without fear. That same unnatural darkness was upon us now. Was it possible? Had Dragomir already awakened Volodymir? Or was Dragomir himself capable of this ancient sorcery, this theft of the sun?

The runes pulsed once, then the words began to move, rearranging into lines. Aeron whispered as they formed. "Descendant of the Moon-Goddess born, When silver bleeds, the gate is torn. When blood is bound, the old ones wake, The burden hers alone to take." "The greatest war Varos has seen, Will break to ash by arrows three." "White wolf hunted by six and struck by two, Seven Kings shall kneel before she's through." "Dark rain shall fall then she must go, To ruins before the full moon's glow."

The chamber felt alive, the stone walls seeming to breathe with malevolent intent, the moonlight twisted into something profane, drawing all who entered into its gravitational pull of darkness and power. Veyra stood at the altar's center, her raven-haired form a silhouette against the moonbeam, her blood-red eyes gleaming with fanatical ecstasy as she raised her arms, her dark robes billowing like shadows come to life, embroidered with bone motifs that seemed to writhe in the light. Her pale skin contrasted sharply with the crimson stains on her hands, fresh from the ritual's demands, the bone tattoo on her neck pulsing black like a living vein, throbbing in sync with the runes around her. F

The Blood Moon loomed overhead, casting an eerie glow over the land. Its light seemed to pulse with the weight of ancient power, the sky painted in crimson and gold as the stars disappeared beneath its shadow. Raynor stood at the edge of the Frostfang Peaks, looking out over the vast expanse of the land. The clans were scattered, divided, broken by years of bloodshed and war, but he knew—this was the moment they would either be healed or destroyed.

“You think this is over? You’ve only broken the lock. The thing beneath the Black Moon stirs, child. And it remembers your name.” Kaelira’s blood ran cold. “No,” she whispered. “The Echo was the last of it. I destroyed it.” “You destroyed its shell,” Varyn said. “But its heart — the true Black Moon — was never in this world to begin with. It’s waiting. And it’s calling you home.” Zevran stepped forward. “Then we’ll burn your god a second time.” Varyn’s expression softened, almost pitying. “You can’t fight the storm, boy. You can only drown in it.”

My name is Elora and I reside at the Blue Mountain Packhouse. I have a slim figure, long curly blonde hair which I usually wear up in a bun so it is out of my face. My eyes are a deep blue which I love. I am not a normal girl though. You see I am a shewolf, my rank at the packhouse is an omega. I don’t know my parents because they passed away when I was just a tiny baby, so I don’t have any memories of them. The only thing I have is a necklace locket from my mother. I have never taken it off because it makes me feel close to her spirit.

Blood rolled down his skin in rivulets, and each drop made the swirls in the ground glow crimson. That was when I realized that the circle wasn't drawn with red paint. But blood. His blood. “Eldarien Vrathorn, royal hybrid of the malicious red demons and the dark werewolves.” The priestess poured some steaming liquid down his back. The muscles there tensed up. “Let the blood moon possess you, and it shall relieve you.” The little quivers in his shoulders, and his clenched jaw told me everything I needed to know. He was in absolute pain.

“Come on we’re almost done with this part. Once we’re done you can sleep, but you must watch my lips. Just focus on me, okay?” “I’ll try.” She half-smiled. “Bind this soul to the dark Dwellers for one year six months. Give her the powers to see the darkness in people, banish the light.” He spoke in Demonic Dweller language. Once Drake finished the final part of his chanting, he stepped back when dark magic encircled Ivy, he smiled when the magic disappears into her. “It is done.” He said touching her face, but she didn’t open her eyes. “Rest my love, when you awaken, I promise to pleasure you.” He said picking her up and taking her to her room. The symbols he drew on her body slowly disappea