Haunting Dagger Novels & Stories

The sensation was as disgusting as it was painful, oil-slick and wrong under my flesh. If the dark energy reaches my heart, I’m done for. No second chances. No alpha healing was strong enough to stitch a dead core. I dragged a shining steel dagger from beneath my pillow. Its hilt was carved from moonstone and rubies, my heirloom. The only thing in this gods-forsaken house that had never lied to me.

' She replied through the link. The others were looking at each other, wondering what is happening between the two. Hazel picked up the silver dagger, that was laying a few inches on the grass beside the witch. "This is for mine and Zander's mom bitch!" Hazel knelt over the witch's mutilated body. She held the dagger over her head with both her hands. Her body lit up as she gripped the dagger. She let out a powerful scream. "AHHH!" A disc of light shot through Hazel, as she plunged the dagger into the witch's stone-cold, black heart. The fire of electricity travelled through Hazel's body and it caught the witch on fire. The witch let out the vilest sounding scream, as the fire consumed her.

Taking a deep breath, I smelt the shift in the air. Sighing with a small smirk, I glanced at all the cursed ones before my gaze settled back onto Mother. "I'm sorry to bring you all the bad news, but I'm afraid I can't let you have my blood." Reaching behind my shirt, I pulled out a small silver dagger with vine engravings on the handle. Holding the blade by my side, I stared at my mother. A few of the cursed ones growled in my direction as they noticed the knife at my side.

I frowned but took it. Hellenora: This is the dagger that was made about a century ago. It's called The Dagger of Eve. Long time ago, Cerberus territory had a female warrior. She was kind and brave. She made this dagger by her own hands. It was made to kill each and every demonic immortal. This dagger is the only way to kill Valtor. But only Ocean can use this dagger. It is enchanted, so no man would touch it. I still don't know why she enchanted it like this. As if she knew what would happen to her. She said and I looked at the dagger. It was very stunning. It was white and carved beautifully. It had its name carved on it. As the light of the sun touched it, it glowed like thousands of pear

I say quietly, fighting the urge to go suck what's left dry. I don't wait for them to say anything and run off to where I smell the blood. I see a woman braced against the side of the building and two puncture wounds on her neck. There's a vampire, her blood still smells fresh. That's when I felt a knife enter my waist from someone behind me. I turn to see a vampire, blood staining his mouth. He takes one look in my eyes and his widen in fear. "Dhampir," he says scared.

From the depths of its pages, a single phrase ignited the air around them with a fierce glow: **The Hollow hungers. The pendant on her chest pulsed in response, and suddenly, Mirabella’s dagger—a relic both cherished and feared—escaped from beneath her pillow. It spun gracefully in midair before plunging downward, its blade aimed ominously into the salt circle. With a deep shudder, a seam tore open in the atmosphere, revealing a gateway into the unknown.

At least one of us was enjoying this. Bastian slowly descended the steps of the altar. Holding something in his hand and my stomach dropped. It was a dagger, precisely the ritual dagger, it had dark metal lined with ancient runes. A crimson gemstone embedded into the hilt. The moment I saw it the goddess stirred within me, I knew it was a bad sign. That blade wasn’t ordinary. Bastian noticed my reaction and his smile sharpened. “You recognize it.” I didn’t answer. The dagger looked like the void itself had been forged into steel, it radiated hunger and it was a weapon designed for one purpose.

"But someone has done this for a reason and we need to find out that reason." "Well, there is one slight issue." Dagmar interjected. "The block has been weakened." "What do you mean by weakened?" Lucas's eyes narrowed, a darkness filling them that had the whole room shifting uncomfortably. Except for Dagmar. The old crone was a granite force, unmoving as the room seemed to darken with Lucas' mood. Icy blue eyes remained transfixed on the werewolf, hard as ever and sharper than any physical blade. Despite her weathered and worn appearance, Dagmar stood her ground, unfazed and unimpressed.

“And how I, a grieving husband, avenged her.” The room spun. “So you see,” he finished, “no one will mourn you. They will curse your name. They will spit on your grave.” The chanting reached a fevered pitch. One of the witches stepped forward, holding a dagger that caught the moonlight pouring through the opening above the altar. The blade gleamed—beautiful and terrible—as she raised it slowly. And in that moment, bound and stripped bare before monsters, I understood with terrifying clarity— This was meant to be the end.

I approached the pedestal, and there, beside the urn, was a knife I hadn’t noticed before. It was a ceremonial dagger with a shiny silver blade that had runes etched onto it. I reached for the dagger without thinking, the handle fitting perfectly in my palm. I raised my other hand, and brought the dagger down, slashing across my skin deep enough to draw blood. My blood bubbled up eagerly, dripping onto the pedestal and hissing on contact with the stone. The runes glowed brighter, almost blinding me. I didn’t even feel the pain in my hand. The dagger tumbled out of my grasp, and with both hands, I reached for the urn.