Eso Blood On A King's Hands Novels & Stories

He was about walking past me when I held his hand. “King, I’m sorry,” I apologized. He looked at my hands. For a moment, I saw something flicker in his eyes before it shifted back to his cold self. “Get that hand off me,” he said calmly. “You can’t touch me with that same hand that has his scent ,” he shunned. “Okay, I won’t touch you, just listen to me,” I begged. “No, you should be the one listening,” King said, his hands folded together.

The atmosphere tensed up, as fear gripped all of them. Meanwhile, sitting on the throne now, is a figure, dressed in all black, with a big black cloak, on his body, the big hoodie, covering his head, making his face invisible, but anyone could tell that he is a dangerous creature. Standing up on his feet, slowly, he took his hand to his head, and held the tip of the hoodie, before letting it fall off his face, revealing the most beautiful face ever. Yes, he's beautiful, he is a man, but saying he's cute or handsome, is an understatement. His lips are the most perfect lips, which you would kill to have a taste of, his pointed nose, the most beautiful of them all, which your fingers would itch

She couldn't move. Because standing directly behind her mother's throne... shadow flaring around his tall frame... was the First King. And in his right hand, dripping with fresh, glowing blood... He was holding Lorenzo’s still-beating heart.

“I want nothing. You came seeking what’s already yours, power, legacy, freedom from his leash.” He raised a hand. Shadows stretched like claws. “Ronan,” he said. “Show him.” Ronan stepped forward, drew his blade, and without hesitation sliced open my palm. I didn’t flinch. My blood spilled onto the altar, not red, but gold streaked with crimson, pulsing faintly like it was alive. The King leaned close. “Even your blood betrays you,” he whispered. “The golden curse of your father’s line. The crimson truth of mine. Two legacies that were never meant to meet.”

Another was so he didn't waste any of Roman's blood by trying to pour it into Ezra’s mouth. Lexon roughly tapped the King's face as he called his name. “Wake up! Swallow!” Lexon commanded, and the King's throat moved as he swallowed. He took a deeper breath before licking his lips and opening his mouth, eager for more blood. As soon as the Elder's blood hit his tongue, Ezra's hand quickly reached up and grabbed Lexon's wrist, pressing it against his mouth. Lexon's eyes widened, and he took a sharp breath in as he tried to pry his arm away from the king. He clenched his jaw when Ezra's teeth sank into his wrist.

Quinn Black blood oozed out of the kings’ necks and flowed over their sons’ hands, down their chests, and into the earth. The ground bubbled and boiled like a tar pit and stinking steam rose up in the air. The kings were so corrupted, that nature itself tried to reject their blood.

Bad Marinah, I mentally chastise myself. I anxiously move my outstretched hand back to my side. His eyes follow the movement and now he's staring at my lower half. I have a decent ass but no hips to speak of and my long torso always makes me self-conscious. I turn my palm upward and notice a slight trail of blood caused from my uncoordinated fall from the stairs. King's massive hand reaches forward and without thought I place my bloody hand out. His grasp is tight, not a handshake at all. He lifts my arm and sniffs my hand before his thick, rough tongue slides out and licks the blood from my palm.

I stared at my wound, admonishing the beast within me that was howling in anger. The king extended his withered fingers, clasping his hands together and holding a bowl beneath my bleeding wound. Warm blood flowed within me, converging into a red line pouring out of the wound, then gathered in the bowl. "Ah..." The king sighed. Soon, the bowl was filled with blood. He cupped his hands, bringing it to his face. Then, he sighed like a groan, and spread my blood over every scar on his upper body. "Ha-ha... Ha-ha-ha... Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha."

The urge to throw up is intense at the moment as my brain tries to grasp knowledge of what the King is doing to himself right now. “Why would you do that?” I scream at him, but I actually screamed out of concern for him. I’m forced to look back at his wound. My lips twitch, and my brows furrow when I notice the color of his blood. It’s not red. A golden color drips from his palms, down to the tiles— it looks like ichor, golden ichor. “Your blood…” I trail. He stares quietly, his face numb of any pain. It’s almost like he can’t feel the effects of what he has done to himself.

“Something’s coming up.” Remy pulled me back. “Celeste—” I felt it. The locket burned. Twin heartbeat—Remy’s—racing. But under it, something older. Deeper. The water parted. A hand rose. Not flesh. Stone. Carved with four-point spirals. Covered in moss and chains. Then another hand. Then a crown—iron, rusted, three points bent like claws. The drowned king. His eyes opened—empty sockets glowing with reservoir light.