Era Of Althea Grimoires Novels & Stories

I eased the door open and slipped inside. --- Hidden in a shadowed arch down the hall, Irene watched, a slow smirk gracing her lips. Her eyes lingered on the sleeping guard. “Well done, Kyra,” she murmured, almost too quiet to hear. --- Inside the room, Lucian lay still as death, his skin pale and glistening with a faint sheen of sweat. The sight tightened my chest. “Please let this work,” I whispered into the heavy silence. I sank onto the edge of the bed and pulled out the spell book, its pages seeming to pulse beneath my touch. Flipping to the middle, I found it—an incantation for poisoned werewolves, the letters sharp and dark.

It was as if a great dark power and that of light had fused. “What did you see exactly?” Grim asked, curiosity eating at his bones. “Something that even I don't understand. It's not possible. Light and Dark can't mix this well. Wow, the legends are true.” Rose just stared at the sorceress, her face a mix of confusion and annoyance. She looked between Grim and the Sorceress. “What legend are you talking about?” The Sorceress sighed, returning to her seated, meditative pose. “Thousands of years ago, there was this legendary female sorcerer named Althrea.”

My eyes scanned about, trying to find Alpha Kelvin in the rustle and trouble of whirling darkness. "Who's calling my name? Mother Elara…!" Elara, recovering immediately from the blow, caught hold of my arm. "Hold tight, Aria! That's the Alpha's summons. Something huge is going to happen." Her grip was strong, reassuring, pulling me back behind her. The few other, weaker pack members that Elara had been trying to shield huddled together, their eyes wide with fear and desperate hope. Another growl, deeper and more resonant than the rogues', shook the ground. It was the growl of a great Alpha, warning and challenge.

After that She was never seen again. Where Ehpheba's body was kept and how to undo what was done, was in the Grimoire. There was a spell that Alice and Joan couldn't understand. The Grimoire contained many more things, that had been a mystery to many people, including instructions on how to create magical objects like talismans and amulets, how to perform magical spells, charms, and divination, and how to summon or invoke supernatural entities such as angels, spirits, deities, and demons.

I was hoping to find the Grimoire here, to make our search easier. I meticulously searched every nook and cranny of the room, finally focusing on the space under the bed. There, hidden yet seemingly placed with purpose, was something extraordinary. "I found it!" I exclaimed in triumph. There, neatly tucked away, was the book - the magical Grimoire. It seemed as if Rafe had deliberately left it for me to find. Thinking back, I remembered the moment Rafe witnessed Aline's death, how it had destabilized him. I understood that his reaction was significantly influenced by the Alpha Oath he had previously taken, a powerful bond that deeply affected him.

I press my lips into a thin line and move on. The third grimoire is thicker, darker, filled with the more obscure records I’ve gathered over time, rituals and warnings, fragments of older traditions. My pulse picks up slightly as I flip through it, hoping to stumble across some half-lost truth. I even find references to cursed wolves and blood-bound shapeshifters, but still… no mention of that name. No mention of those red eyes. I lean back, exhaling hard. Just as I’m about to give up, my eyes land on a fourth book, small, unassuming, bound in dull gray hide. One I almost never open. It’s handwritten and filled with anecdotal entries from witches who lived long before my time.

With forbidden knowledge. It was almost indecently thrilling. I pulled the nearest volume toward me and opened it. The pages were brittle, edges browned with age. The script was cramped but surprisingly elegant, some sections in fading ink, others in more recent, sharper strokes where later scribes had added notes. I scanned headings. “Pact of the Seven Rivers—Alpha Thorne of Redclaw and the Water‑Binder Witches.” “Blood Price of the Crescent War.” “On the Folly of Binding Wolves to Moon Sorcerers.”

Inside, the air felt colder. Thicker. Like every book here breathed a little on its own. Some were chained shut with silver locks. Some had covers made from materials I didn’t want to guess at—scales, bone, darkened velvet. Alaric reached for one specific volume. Thick. Heavy. Black leather with a sigil embossed on the front: a circle surrounding a cracked mirror. “This,” he said quietly, “is the kingdom’s only known complete record on necromancy.”

“I see. You know, with all these you've told me, I admire your pack even more.” “I'm glad you do, Luna, Melissa. Here, these are the grimoires.” As soon as I laid eyes on them, I went wide in surprise. There's no doubt that I've been desperate to see what exactly it looks like, and now that I've seen what it looks like, I'm excited. “There are a lot of them here.” “Yes, it's part of the treasures that are rare.” “He's right. Not all Witches are opportune to own a grimoire,” Witch Alana added.

Then she hung up. Bella tried to call Mira back, but Mira ignored her call. She was so focused on her frustration that she didn't realize that someone had spotted her. A hand grabbed her and pulled her out of the corner, and she felt herself being held by a man who towered over her. "Who the fuck are you?" he demanded. Bella looked up at him, taking in his tall, dark-haired frame and his perfect features. But his face was marred by a deep claw mark on the left side. It was obvious that he was part of the Bloodcrest pack.