Halls Of The Blood King Novels & Stories

The grand hall of the mansion was silent, the air thick with grief and disbelief. Dim candlelight flickered across the towering walls, casting eerie shadows over the marble floor. The empire had lost its king—the man who ruled with an iron fist, the man Mia had idolized, feared, and obeyed. Now, he lay lifeless before her, his once-powerful frame covered with a white sheet, stained in red.

the elder shrieked. “What happened?” Zara panicked at once as she finally stepped forward. It was clear something had gone wrong. “Blood…the king's blood.” Malphas hissed. “That bastard king is countering our ritual with his blood.” I felt like my head was about to explode. The feedback from Kael’s blood, that royal, ancient power in it ripped through the dark channel the True Bloods had opened. The stone floor beneath me became wavy and the dust and soot rained down from the ceiling as a muffled, bone-shaking sound echoed from above. The True Blood acolytes were thrown back, their chanting turning into shrieks of terror.

He was happy. Delilah smirked. Linda let out a breath of relief. For a moment, everything felt… right. But then— A sharp gasp cut through the air. I turned. The Lycan King’s eyes widened, his goblet slipping from his fingers. A dark stain spread across his robes—blood. A knife was buried deep in his chest. Gasps filled the hall as the king staggered back, choking. And then— He collapsed. Dead. Chaos erupted. Warriors scrambled, guests screamed, and people ran for the exits. The scent of blood filled the air.

"But I will not let her hurt these children. I will not let her hurt anyone else." I pulled free of his grasp and ran toward Lorna. The steps of the main hall were slick with blood—whose, I did not know. The stone was cold beneath my boots, and the gold light from the Kingslayer cast long shadows that danced on the walls. Lorna descended to meet me, her white hair floating around her face, her black eyes gleaming with hunger and hate. The crown of thorns on her head pulsed with dark light, and I felt the king's presence in it, cold and ancient and hungry.

The process where each graduand from each arm presented their skill or a mind turning project that won them a one year internship by the scouters that were invited. "Well that's because Jacob St. Laurent will be attending this one", he proffered, causing all the blood to drain out my face. "What?", I choked out, letting go of my spoon. Jacob St. Laurent was the only descendant of one of the pure blood families. The Royal pure blood family to be exact. Jacob St. Laurent without question, was the King of Vampires. And he was going to be at the selection. The selection I wasn't even remotely prepared for.

royal clan The royal apartments consisted of a series of rooms. Vladyka walked through a small hallway and opened the doors to a huge bedroom. Gesturing Ira to enter, the king grabbed two glasses, filled them with wine and handed one of them to the girl. Sitting down on a chair upholstered in red velvet, the vampire crossed his legs and took a sip of wine. Ira remained standing with a glass in her hand, without touching the treat. - I thought you were dead. - Vragenn finally stated. - And I'm glad that's not the case.

one barked. “How dare you show such disrespect to the Royal Bloodline of the Northern Vampire King!” Gabriel stared at my son, then at me—his face draining of color. “The… Northern Vampire King’s royal family?” He turned slowly toward my father, seated upon the high throne, his expression cold and impenetrable. And then—astonishingly—Gabriel laughed. “Isabella,” he said loudly, “so this is how you survived? You married some half-dead old—”

The silence that followed was absolute. Slowly, Karlo turned around. The expression on his face wasn't anger, it was a completely blank, hollow, void of pure, unadulterated carnage. The ruthless king who had built an empire on blood had finally revealed his single, fatal weakness to the world. He had tried to hide his little bird, but the hunters had smelled the gold on her gown.

At its tip, a gemstone the color of arterial blood. He stood at the center of the corridor, dead still. Dylan stopped. The girl whimpered against his chest. "Aurelian." Dylan's voice came out barely above a whisper. The blood left my hands. Aurelian Ashbourne. The Vampire King. The man who walked out of my house when I was six years old and left three bodies behind him. "It seems you're quite familiar with me." His voice was low and warped, wrapped in the same distortion as his face.