Hitler's Bloodline Novels & Stories

I pressed my lips together and breathed through it. "Okay," I said when I trusted my voice again. "Okay. So Cael was my biological father. A hybrid alpha. The hunters have been tracking his bloodline." I looked at Mara directly. "What does that mean? What is it about the bloodline specifically that makes them this desperate?" Mara reached to the shelf behind her and pulled down one of the bound notebooks, setting it on the table between us. She opened it to a page near the middle that had a dense handwriting, diagrams, and a sketch of what looked like a family tree with certain names underlined twice.

Coach Reynolds coughed into his fist. I almost laughed. Dad didn’t. “There were certain families Richard studied. Wolves with unusual traits.” Headmaster Peters went pale. “The four.” My father stopped breathing. Ava looked between them. “There is that number again.” I frowned. “What four?” Headmaster Peters sat down. “Four old bloodlines.” Ava stared at him. “And you didn’t think to mention this twenty minutes ago?” “I wasn’t sure it was connected.” “Dad.” “He’s right,” my father said quietly. “Nobody has cared about those bloodlines in decades.”

"The bloodline." "You smelled it the moment she crossed the line." "She's human." "She's *carrying* it." Elias turned. Same gray eyes. Same bone structure. Separated by thirty years and a devotion to purity Kael had never shared. "The Holt woman has the marker." "The same as 1893." "The same as your mother." --- Kael's hands found his pockets. The same habit as the library steps. Hiding the curl of his fingers. The need to hold something.

“It means your bloodline existed before the Vales, before the Virellis, and before the Cross family.” Evelyn stepped closer. “The original Sovereign carriers.” My heart pounded. “So I’m not the fourth bloodline.” My mother shook her head. “No.” “You said the fourth bloodline was inside me.” “It is.” “Then how?” “Because your blood contains both.” She looked at Lucien. “The original Seraphim Line and the Virelli genetic bridge.” Lucien’s face tightened. “And Gabriel?” My mother hesitated. “Gabriel was obsessed with the Seraphim Line.”

I wanted to hear every bit of information he had, so I gave him a nod to keep going. ​"The grandmother was a hybrid. The lineage exists, but her father was born with human genes and her mother was entirely human. That means the Edemas line has been watered down." ​"I’m going to cut you off right there," I interjected. "If the bloodline is so thin, why do you view Lyanna as such a massive threat?"

His eyes—brown, human, terrified now that the mask had slipped—moved toward the pendant lying several feet away, gleaming in the faint moonlight. “You’re not the target, Serena.” I froze. “What?” He smiled, blood on his teeth. “You’re the key. The experiments weren’t about creating controllable wolves. They were about creating a bloodline. A line that could survive what they were doing. A line that could carry the changes. Your mother… she was one of the first successes. And you… you inherited it.” My heart stopped. The world narrowed to those words. “What bloodline?” He looked directly at me, and for a moment there was something almost like pity. “Yours. The Vale line. That’s why they had t

And though I cut off from him, I kept myself open to links from others as I took a deep breath, then began burrowing into the memories I now stored that were never mine to begin with. And my heart grew heavier and sadder with every passing minute. Because the more I saw of what these bad actors had done, and how they’d justified it to themselves, the more I realized that what I was seeing was the heritage of my family’s bloodline for the past four generations. Including my own. I snapped my teeth more than once, but none of this could be changed now. There was an old saying my father’s critics used to throw around: When you breed for ambition, one day your own teeth will find you.

We not only invite our friends here, but also our rivals. Heaven and hell. Angels and demons. River Amber, it shouldn't have come as a surprise that my father was lyrical in that sense given his upbringing. His ancestry dates back to the beginning, commencing at the end of World War II with my grandparents; he was not just the ruler of one of the most prosperous kings in London and Russia. I am part of that bloodline. In fact, I’m the only one who can protect it anymore.

He glanced at his father, who smiled, looking pleased as he watched the dying witch. He watched his father's blazing eyes filled with rage as he ordered his soldiers to go into the woods and get more witches to get assassinated. This incident happened five years ago, but the memory laid fresh on his mind—he couldn't forget the furious look on his father's face when the guards reported the escape of the surviving witches. The King's outrage surprised him and brought a feeling of unsettledness in him, which he couldn't assert.

Underground, scattered, renamed, the seventh founding bloodline had maintained its primary inheritance through an unbroken maternal line — each generation a single female child, the concentration intact, passed forward through direct descent from mother to daughter across seventeen documented generations. She was reading this passage for the third time when she heard the vault steps. She said, without looking up: "The seventh bloodline. The last intact carrier of the original concentration. That is what I am." Rafael appeared at the foot of the stairs with two cups of tea, which he set on the corner of the table with the quiet practicality of someone who has decided that significant conversa