From Blood And Ash Spice Level Novels & Stories

Just before I succumb to the darkness that pulls me, I hear it… “White hair. A gene of the moonblood line. Cursed. Prophecies surround them.” It’s a whisper in a foreign language. But somehow, I understand it. “The rest of them were killed. She’s the last of their kind, she must be killed.” And I succumb to the blackness. I don’t struggle, no, I go willingly. But just before my mind blanks, I make up my mind. When I wake up, I will leave Ashbane pack. I will run, and I will hide.

I broke them with pressure, anger and the promise that resistance would only make the end worse but Asher broke them by making them understand he had no predictable limit. He set the black case on the table and opened it carefully. The men stared. Inside were tools arranged in perfect rows. Some were ordinary enough to recognize, while others had been altered with silver edges, runes or narrow channels designed to carry herbs and poisons into the skin. Asher selected one instrument, inspected it and returned it to its place, taking his time as though choosing utensils for dinner. “I want to be clear,” Asher said pleasantly. “I don’t actually enjoy this as much as everyone claims.”

She twisted the dial, the blue flame roaring to life. We worked in tense silence. Dumping the crushed obsidian powder into the mortar, I mixed it with the red herbs. Once the water reached a rolling boil, I scraped the mixture into the pot. The water instantly turned a violent, bubbling crimson. A foul smell erupted from the stove. It smelled like sulfur, rust, and burning hair. "Oh, god," Amberly gagged, taking a step back. "That smells like actual trash." "It's not meant to taste good." Stirring the boiling liquid with a wooden spoon, the mixture thickened into a dark, muddy syrup. "The text says you have to drink it as hot as you can stand. The heat activates the blood-root."

But she feels it. Her fingers tighten around mine. She knows. Of course she knows. She always knows. I take another step. Then another. And the world tilts. Not dramatically. Not violently. Subtly. As if gravity itself has shifted allegiance. My vision blurs at the edges again. Sound distorts. The red lights multiply. Or maybe there are just more of them now. My knee buckles. I catch myself. Barely. The poison has reached too deep. The silver in my bloodstream has found something vital and wrapped itself around it with quiet inevitability.

God help her, she did. And love in a house built on ashes was the most dangerous fire of all.

Placed side by side, the two bouquets were like heaven and earth. Teasing looks were cast in my direction, as if mocking how I dared to compare myself to Rowan at all. Rowan lifted his brows smugly, his expression pleased. He glanced disdainfully at the lisianthus and said in a mock-scolding tone, "Nina, you should give Ash roses. Why'd you give him this kind of flower?" That tone of disdain was one step away from saying it was something fit only to brush off a beggar. Nina responded coolly, "It was late when we went to buy flowers after dinner yesterday. There were no roses left. This will do. He doesn't know anything about flowers anyway. He won't mind."

I taste blood. Slowly, I straighten, rolling my jaw once. Then I look back at him. And smile. "That all you've got?" I ask, voice rough but steady. His expression darkens, but the first guard steps in before he can swing again. "Enough. She's not worth it." Not worth it? I almost laugh. They shove the basin toward me. "Clean yourself up. You're not stepping foot in the academy looking like that." I glance down at the water. It's not clean. Not really. But it's better than what I've had.

Around midnight she reached the section describing Meher's gradual decline. The whispers. The forest. The growing suspicion. The fear. A knot formed in her stomach. She kept reading. Then came the murder. The rain. The clearing. Meher's final words. I have only loved you. Aisha closed the notebook abruptly. The room felt too warm. For several moments she simply sat there staring at nothing. The tragedy struck harder than she expected. Not because it was real. Because it wasn't. Somehow that made it worse. A fictional murder should not have felt devastating.

I followed my ruined corpse all the way to the mass grave. My limbs were twisted at unnatural angles, my body covered in crisscrossing bruises, my face drained of every drop of color—like a weed that had been stomped flat by a hundred boots. Soon, a pack of mangy stray dogs caught the scent of fresh meat. Their eyes glowed hungry and green in the darkness as they circled in. At first, they just tugged at the edges of my clothes. Then one bolder mutt sank its teeth into my calf and ripped off a chunk of flesh.

“A black ash? Around the whole cell? You never mentioned it to be a black ash” I sighed “yes I didn't mention what kind of ash it was because at the time I thought it wasn't relevant. And yes he poured it at every corner of the bars.” She nodded slowly, thinking. “You never mentioned it ti be black ash, the black ash is not just regular ash. That was part of the spell. Ash magic is old. Dangerous.” “What does it mean?” I asked with a raised brow. “It means I can work with it. If I get the right kind of ash, I might be able to reverse the spell.” Mira said.