Lethal Vows Book Novels & Stories

The kind you only feel for someone you actually love. I understood, in that moment, looking at her, that whatever Renata Cassano was guilty of, whatever she’d built and buried and protected with a phone call twenty minutes ago, she had not been lying about one thing. She loved him. Whatever this was, it wasn’t villainy performed for its own sake. It was fear, curdled into something monstrous by nineteen years of practice, and she had just watched the one person she’d spent her whole life protecting nearly die because of the exact silence she’d kept.

Zayden’s tear-stricken face appeared in my mind as soon as I closed my eyes, even my weird whisper friend repeated its message about him. “Blood! Death! Venom!” As I was free, I walked out of my room prepared a cup of black coffee, and then pondered over this whisper and Zayden’s current condition. It crossed my mind, “Blood, death and venom. Isn’t it an interpretation of blood vow? Like, someone offered his/her blood to Devil and exchanged it for Zayden’s death, and venom in her body? Oh my goodness! Why didn’t I think of it before?”

Lady Senna and the armored man flanked him like twin pillars of judgment, their expressions carved from ice. “This is your final trial,” Lady Senna said. Her voice carried through the hollow space, echoing strangely off the stripped walls. It wasn’t loud — it didn’t need to be. It was heavy, each word falling like a stone into my gut. “It is not a test of skill. Or courage. Or power. It is a binding.” My mouth tasted like ash. I tried to swallow, but it stuck in my throat. “You will each step forward,” she went on, her eyes sweeping over us. “You will place your hand upon the book and speak your vow of loyalty. Of service. Of self. And this book will take your words and make them truth.”

I confess to her as I continue to stare at her. Me confessing is something I have never said aloud to anyone, not even to myself as I stare back at my reflection in the mirror every morning. They should have killed me. They should never have let me live knowing that the Volkov blood thrums violently through my veins that thrives on vengeance and violence. Artemis aka Wolf Volkov is at fault for why I'm allowed to live another day and roam the streets leaving a path of devastation in my wake. She trembles at the sound of my voice. Gloriously weak on the cold, punishing ground, her dreams of torment claim more and more of her as her words grow quiet.

“We did what had to be done. Would you leave your mate to die? Would you?” The five men looked a little ashamed, but the first one jutted his chin out stubbornly. “We should’ve honored our vow. Javi made a call, and we don’t believe it was the right one.” Hot anger surged through me like molten rock. I stepped forward, sick of listening to these spineless men, these cowards, tear into Leo and Javi. I slammed my hand down on the table to shut them up. “Your vow?” I growled, locking eyes with the one who’d spoken. “Which vow was that? The one where you were slaves to the royals? The one where they had you out kidnapping, murdering, and torturing innocent people? Or was it the one where you sma

“We need to stop them. Now.” John nodded, heart pounding. “But first, we must understand everything in this book.” As they pored over the ancient text, the chanting grew closer, reverberating through the stone walls like a drumbeat of doom. With time running out and the Hollow stirring, John and Sarah must decode the vow’s origin before the ritual reaches its devastating climax. John’s fingers trembled as he flipped through the brittle pages, each word heavy with meaning, each passage darker than the last. The blood vow wasn’t just a curse it was a binding promise made in desperation, sealing away a power so destructive that entire kingdoms fell beneath its shadow.

"By the blood that flows from the womb of betrayal, By the ashes of the women we buried unseen, I vow to the Order of the Crimson Shadow, To keep my heart from the touch of a woman. To drink no affection, nor taste the wine of desire. To build no home, plant no seed, For love is weakness, and weakness, death. As my father vowed, so I vow…” A slash across my palm. Blood dripped onto the altar. Then fire erupted from the cracks in the ground, and the robes began to burn. The torches screamed. The altar bled. I woke up choking, my chest soaked in sweat, my breath ragged. The room was spinning. The sheets of the bed where I laid were tangled, soaked. My skin felt like it was crawling. Like the v

They had murdered that future without remorse but this time, I would not be weak. I rose slowly, wiping my face. The seductive aura wrapped around me like armor. My wolf stood strong beside my resolve. “I am Seraphina Voss,” I said aloud, voice steady and powerful. “I died once. I will not die again. I will make them suffer as I suffered. Slowly. Thoroughly. Until they beg for the mercy they never showed me.” The vow settled deep in my bones . I continued researching late into the afternoon, financial reports, society pages, pack gossip forums. Damien Blackthorn was everywhere. Feared. Respected. Desired. A man who took what he wanted and destroyed what he couldn’t control. Perfect target.

“You spell it like leash.” Threads pour from Oathkeeper’s palm—clauses knotted to cut. Heat surges in me; my tongue reaches for curses I don’t respect. The pulse hits soft, close. The cords hesitate. I shove my flame where it has wanted to go since the first page turned: Into the book. Ink blisters and screams. POV: Oathkeeper Vows do not scream. Vows obey. I have kept the Ledger since God thought obedience was how kindness stood up straight. I bleed bonds from wrists to paper for those who forget.

They were marching straight toward the elite world that had spawned them, armed with secrets, lies, and a shared hunger for vengeance. When they finally broke apart, breathless and flush with adrenaline, Theodore reached over and grabbed his discarded coffee mug, raising it in a silent toast toward the dark window overlooking the rain-soaked streets. "To the Bellweather family," Theodore said, his eyes glittering with cold promise. "May their charity be exceedingly generous." Adrian picked up his own glass, clinking it against Theodore’s with a sharp, echoing ring that cut through the silence of the loft. "And may they never see us coming."