Iron-blooded Orphans Review Novels & Stories

The enormous windows that stretched floor to ceiling on the east side of the building were draped with a delicate silvery mesh, reflecting the light from the cast iron chandelier that hung low in the centre of the room. And Irina was not finished. "Don't you get mud on my floor!" Clutching her clipboard, Sapphira watched as Irina pointed at Beta Declan's filthy boots. "Sorry, Irina." He grinned sheepishly and kissed the top of the tiny woman's head while she batted him away.

Mommy and Daddy were dead. Cobra might be dead. Tyron might be dead. I was tired. So tired of running. Maybe if I died, I would see them again. That thought made me feel sad but happy. I opened my mouth and swallowed the liquid on purpose. It burned down my throat like hot pepper. My eyes watered. My chest felt tight. The world started moving strangely. The trees leaned sideways. The red glow stretched into a long line. The men’s voices sounded far away, like they were underwater.

Werewolves. That was the Ashford legacy. She hadn’t understood it until she was old enough to read through the family’s old journals: heavy leather-bound books with cramped writing. The stories were always the same, The Ashfords hunting wolves. The Ashfords wiping out entire packs. The Ashfords fighting alphas under blood moons. Some of them even traded their blood for silver steel. That was her family’s pride. And her prison.

She couldn't accept that the amnesiac orphan she had relentlessly bullied—the one who couldn't even keep a simple bone pendant—was actually the most exalted Lycan Princess on the continent! "You're just a cripple with a failing wolf! You're a mutt! What right do you have to sit there?!" Kira pointed at me, her face completely twisted in envy. Ryker didn't even turn his head. He couldn't be bothered to look at such a lowly creature. He just coldly raised a hand and gave a signal. The two hulking Lycan guards flanking me moved instantly, appearing in front of Kira in the blink of an eye.

“Can she be trusted?” “She’s just as spoiled and pampered as their two full blooded children,” Ben scoffed. “You should’ve seen the song and dance they put on to try and make me think she was some poor victim that needed rescuing. It was amateurish at best. She needs this farce to work just as much as I do.” “Well, the Blade’s Edge Pack are known for being strong warriors, not for their acting skills,” Dutch commented. “Are you sure you don’t need any backup. We are packed and ready to come, all you have to do is say the word.”

You’ll see the blood on his hands! It’s all over you! He’s spoiling you! I press a hand to my chest, feeling the mate bond pulsing beneath my fingers. It’s warm, comforting—but suddenly, it feels like chains binding me to someone I can’t trust. I inhale sharply, the air tainted with the metallic tang of blood. Was my family right all along?

Rosy fell backwards into the bed, collapsing spread-eagled on the bed, tears already welling up in her eyes. I wonder how Luca is. She thought absentmindedly to herself. Her outstretched fingers grazed something, and she looked at it to see what it was. A book. That wasn’t there before, she thought, sitting up and retrieving the book from between the throw pillows. The book in her hands, she flipped through its yellowish pages, shocked to discover it was the children's book she had with her when she was dumped on the orphanage steps. It wasn't just a copy, it was exactly the same.

The second thing I noticed was the smell. Iron. Smoke. And… sweetness, that I couldn’t just place, more like rotting fruit. And the third thing? We weren’t alone. Figures moved in the distance, silhouettes against the skyline. The very tall towers pierced the fog, and black stone bridges stretched between them and intertwined. A dark river cut through the valley far below, and was glowing faintly red under the moonlight. “This is…” I trailed off, not sure what word to use. “Ravenhill,” Davorin said simply.

They rolled him around until he sat on the floor, his whole body trembling from head to foot. The man—if he could be called that—was filthy, his clothes shredded and caked in dirt. His skin was too pale, almost translucent in the evening glow, and veins spiderwebbed sickly beneath it. His pupils were blown wide, giving him a feral, half-crazed look. I sniffed again and sure enough, I could sense the human... but there was something else. Something twisted and rotten like death and dark magic. It made me even tenser. “What the hell is he?” muttered Jorah, one of the Gamma’s beside me.

I was going to rise up and reclaim my life despite everything I had gone through. I turned to leave, but the guards stopped me. “We're not done here.” Caelum's cold voice tore through the room. “There is something else.” The crowd stilled. “We are Ironblood, and Ironblood pay their debts,” he declared. The crowd shouted, “YES!” He nodded his head in satisfaction. “The people of Ironblood have owed a war debt to the lycan kingdom, and today, the lycan king had requested his payment or there would be war!”