Forged In Blood Book Novels & Stories

“Go look at your own handiwork. First and final warning, Faro, I won’t warn you again, I’ll fucking end you. Vittori men don’t force their own women, they don’t hurt them, ever.” Gage pulled the knife away, leaving a cut on Faro’s balls and turned on his heel. Faro leaned against the counter and looked down at the blood droplets on the white marble floor of his bathroom. The front of the white towel was stained red with his blood and he yanked the towel off and pressed it against his groin. What the fuck was Gage talking about? What handiwork? He had no idea what Gage was going on about but the word ‘force’ stuck with him. He’d never hurt a woman and Gage knew that. He’d seen his mother with

We need to find the key" he said. His man that just entered furrowed his eyebrows. He had no idea what was happening. "Lost blood? Key?" He thought. "How do we find the key master?" He asked. "It's no ordinary key. It's a book. That book can lead us to the girl once the power is activated. That means, once she has reached the age to be sacrifice, the book will be awoken" he said. "Oh" he murmured and lowered his gaze. Slowly, he was understanding how everything worked.

That night we each gave blood and sweat, and I knew the bond was only growing stronger. We fought for hours tirelessly, but in the end, there was a loud commanding roar, a sign of victory. I looked down at my claws that were now covered in blood, the same dripped down my chin. Bodies laid around us, mostly rogues, but some belonged to the pack, and we made quick haste to bury the dead before sunrise on my account.

By looking into a person, it sees all possible futures—what may be, what should be, and what will be if nothing is done to prevent it. “Blood of Drevik, veiled in steel and in silence—your marrow writhes with a truth that would see you burned beneath your own name. A whisper lies beneath your skin, illicit and ancient—a Scourgeborn soul fostered in flesh not its own. They call you daughter,but your birth was a veil stitched in lies. The future kneels to you, blind to the flame you carry. By your side goes the one who fetters your storm, unaware. Step with care—your house grins with knives.

“Why does it say I could burn the world down?” Angela hesitated, her lips parting—then sealing again. She turned away, pulling a dusty book from a nearby shelf and opening it with care. “Because the First Flame was a bloodline erased from history. Hunted. Feared. Hidden in plain sight… until you.” She flipped to a page where an ancient crest flickered in faded gold, a burning wolf standing atop a crescent moon.

The front cover is bound in iron-threaded leather, and boldly written on it with a black ink is… The Rulebook of the House—La Casa di Sangue (The house of blood) Established: 1997–Amended through blood and oath. The book looks scary. I have not read a single rule yet but I know I won't like what I see. The book is stained with blood and I wonder whose blood is that? Could it be someone they killed in the house? The thought makes me panic. My hands start to shake. I can't control it. And then the book falls to the ground with a loud thud.

“You think you can outwit death? That thing bound to her isn’t human anymore.” I leaned back in my chair, grinning slightly. “Neither am I.” He turned away with a curse, mumbling something about fools and blood bills. But he didn’t stop me. He never did. That was his mistake. Later that night, when the camp was quiet, I returned to the book. Its pages were made of skinfold, stretched, mumbling as I turned them. The ink shimmered like dried blood. Each line pulsed softly, alive with illegal power.

she said, reaching for the ledger. The moment her fingers touched the cover, pain lanced through her hand. She gasped, jerking back, but it was too late. Blood welled from a tiny cut on her palm, a cut that hadn't been there before, and dripped onto the ledger's cover. The book absorbed the blood like parched earth drinking rain, then it began to glow. Silvercrest runes materialized across the cover, shifting and rearranging themselves. With a soft click, the book fell open to the first page.

“When blood moon swallows the dawn’s own fire, A Soul-Forge walks, born of desperate desire. Three lights must merge—the sun, the moon, the spark— To keep the Forge from drowning in the dark. Its power can mend the broken song of old, Or, in a greedy hand, make the world grow cold. A tool of creation, a vessel of theft, On the path it chooses, all futures are left.” The library was silent. The words hung in the dusty air. “A Soul-Forge,” I said. “That’s me. ‘Born of desperate desire.’ My mother’s desire for revenge. My desire to live.” “Sun, moon, and spark,” Neal said. “Noah. Me. You. Three lights.”

"You think your parlor tricks can stop me? I've been forging steel since before you were born. I've bathed in the Ash Rivers and survived. Your magic is nothing compared to the flames I command!" She hurls a spear of pure fire directly at my chest. I don't have time to dodge. Don't have time to shield. I can only watch as death hurtles toward me. And then Kael is in front of me, taking the hit. The fire strikes him full in the chest, and I feel his agony echo through the bond. But instead of consuming him, the flames seem to be absorbed into the Bloodwraith Mark, feeding the curse. "No!" I scream, reaching for him.