Novelas y relatos de Elizabeth Rose Bloodflame Past Life

It was a tender breeze that cradled the echoes of long-forgotten lives, each gust whispering secrets of those who once walked this hallowed ground. Her fingers lingered over a new sigil etched into her palm, its sharp lines and intricate curves stark against her skin. This mark had been born from the fierce blaze she had summoned weeks earlier—a unique flame that felt alive with potential. It wasn’t soul-fire, devoid of warmth or purpose, nor was it Hollow, a shadow of existence. No, this was something far rarer; she had chosen to call it the Silver Flame, though its true nature remained shrouded in mystery. Yet, as she took each step on this sacred soil, she felt the gentle hum resonating f

This goes deeper, maybe into a past life, if such things are possible. I sit down. “Regina, do you think we had a previous life?” She pauses for a moment. “Maybe. It would explain why you are my person and I am your dragon. It might explain why we have multiple mates and why that green dragon with those sliver eyes clawed us and drove those horrible kids away. I just think we should take it day by day. We are in a good place with the Trio. We can trust them.” I think she is right. I need to just relax, but relaxation is something I have always struggled with.

“But you, child... are you sure this is the life you choose? The mark of your fated mate can restore you, make you whole again. It can reverse the spell that binds your wolf.” “I said I don’t want to talk about him,” I replied sharply. “I don’t want to know who he is.” “Or maybe,” Elizabeth cut in, “you already do. And you don't want to end up with a low life like you.” She stepped forward, piercing her gaze at me. “You’re right,” I said, keeping my voice calm even as my heart pounded. “Who sees a good life and spits it out?” “You’re unbelievable!” she spat.

Above, the sky swirled with moons, three of them, faint, translucent, each casting a different light. “You are Moonborne,” she continued, stepping forward, her feet never quite touching the ground. “But not just of the moon. You were born of two lineages—the blood of wolves and the fire of the First Flame.” I blinked. “That’s not possible. The First Flame was lost, burned out centuries ago.” “It was hidden, not lost,” she whispered. “And now, through you, it burns again.” My mark flared under her gaze. A slow, radiant pulse from my thigh, rippling through my veins like a heartbeat I hadn’t noticed until now.

She caught herself on one elbow, gasping. She staggered to her feet, hands icy and shaking. How had no one seen her? For years, Melinda had allowed herself to believe the child was dead—killed during the war by the Lycans. But the woman in the vision… Rosalind. What had she wanted with the baby? What had she done with Zyair? Her gaze snapped to the ritual circle just as the candle flames bent inward, dragged by an wind. The fire fused into one blaze, and from it rose a single, radiant star; aive.

“Oh, little flame… I am you. I have always been here. You are of the Phoenix line. The fire was never outside of you. It was born in your bones, written in your blood. I am not your enemy. I am your power. Your truth. You deny me, and you deny yourself.” I curled forward, pain lancing down my spine, light erupting from my fingertips. The air around me shimmered, warping in waves. Everything I touched sizzled—flowers, leaves, even the stone beneath my knees. “Let me rise, Olivia,” she said again, softer this time. “Let me defend you. Let me punish them. The facility. Dorian. Evelyn. Every hand that touched you without reverence. Every mouth that spat on your name. I will cleanse it all. I wil

Zenith. “She’s not ordinary,” an elder warlock says, pulling me back to the present. “She’s descended from a sealed line.” “Impossible.” “No, not impossible, hidden. There are echoes of old blood stirring… A fragment of the True Flame.” A ripple of unease passes through the circle. I narrow my gaze. “Are you telling me she’s one of the forbidden offspring?” The silence that follows tells me they are. “She’s more than just bonded to the boy,” another murmurs. “She might be the flame that will light his kindling… the spark that makes him rise above his race.”

Some wolves looked down, unable to meet her gaze, as if ashamed of having doubted. “You were right to think so,” Elara continued. “By every measure that matters, I should have died. The power I channelled was more than my body could contain. I burned from the inside out, consumed by the very force I was trying to wield.” She paused, letting that sink in. “But I did not die. Or rather, I did, but death was not the end. In that space between existence and nothing, I met someone. The first of my bloodline. The original bearer of the First Flame. And she taught me what I had been doing wrong my entire life.”