Masonic Blazing Star Novels & Stories

“Just promise me you’ll come back again.” Before I could answer, footsteps echoed through the hall. Mason, my Gamma, appeared, sweat slicking his neck. His wolf was close to the surface. I could see it in the way his eyes flashed gold. “Alpha,” he said, panting, “they’ve crossed the river. We counted at least six packs mixed in. Rogues, mercenaries… and they’re carrying a new flag.” My jaw tightened. “Show me.” Mason stepped forward, holding out a torn scrap of cloth. I took it and unfurled it. A crimson banner, painted with a moon split in half, blood dripping from its edge.

“This has to be it.” “That's where they are making the weapons that's harming our people.” I said, stomach twisting with each word. Elder Maris exhaled sharply. “Let me translate the text and symbols beneath it.” She ran her fingers over the text, her lips moving silently before she began speaking aloud. “‘Where the moon dares not shine, the flames remain eternal. To those who seek destruction’s heart, beware the storm that guards the path.’” A shiver ran down my spine.

The words were archaic, imbued with power: "Corda aetheris coniungantur, animus et corpus unum fiant. Ut potentia sit integra, et voluntas sit pura." As she chanted, Blaze's body began to glow, a soft, silver-white luminescence enveloping him. His eyes closed, his face serene yet intense. Suddenly, his eyes snapped open, now glowing a deep, ethereal purple. The limbal rings around his irises shimmered and transformed into a vibrant silver flame, flickering and dancing like living fire. The room vibrated with the sheer force of the energy being channeled.

Eventually, they manage to gain a smidgen of control and in unison they raise their heads, staring at me. I gasp when I see their sharp canines fully protruding out of their mouths and their eyes… Their eyes are stained purple. “She will never accept us,” Blaze’s friend growls in a strained tone. “The Moon Goddess has cursed us by fate, testing our loyalty to both her and our pack.”

Maybe the gods think I look pretty this way. A gasp escaped me as I turned my neck to get a better view. My fingertips brushed against a beautifully intricate design that adorned my skin. It was a crescent moon, its delicate details awash in an array of enchanting blue shades. Stars, each unique, encircled the moon like constellations painted by a celestial artist. At the edge of the crescent, a pitch-black wolf stood, head thrown back as it howled at the moon. My mate’s initials are written below the mark.

I was halfway through the stairs when his voice boomed. "Goodnight too Marvelous thanks for signing a deal with the devil." I turned back to look at him. He winked going to the opposite direction. Signing what? And sure from that night, I knew I indeed signed a deal with the devil himself. ...

someone whispered. "It’s a 'V'. For Varkane," I said, my gaze meeting Lucien’s. "From every angle, the stars realign to show who owns the light. And with a single flick of the clasp, the crescent moon sigil expands into a full-moon blast radius." The room went silent. Then, one by one, the advisors began to clap. Lucien didn't clap. He just sat there, his eyes burning with a dark, satisfied pride that felt like a brand on my soul.

The tattoo was his art, his design, and also the image of what he carried inside him every day the image he now carried on his back, that moved with him. Nikolai name was inked with intricate, beautiful calligraphy letters, while nico name was bold, broken, and bleeding into the flames. He loved his brother, but hated himself. There was a single crack in the headstone right at the top of the cross. The flames that engulfed the cross from the ground were blood red, angry shades of orange, its only goal to destroy while his name suffered its wrath.

She saw a storm. POV: Micah Mooncrest "She’s losing it, Micah. If we don't act now, the Silverfang pack will be the first thing she burns when the eclipse hits." Micah stood in the shadows of the estate’s garden, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. Beside him stood Morga, the Queen of the Raven Coven. She looked elegant and lethal, her violet eyes reflecting the pale moon. In her hand, she held a scepter topped with a jagged piece of obsidian—the same stone used to seal the Cradle.

The chair makes almost no sound against the stone floor as I push it back. “Thank you for the quiet, my lord.” He studies me for a long moment in the dim light, as if weighing something he has not yet decided whether to say aloud. “Kira.” “Yes, my lord?” “The next time you find yourself thinking of the stars, you may use the upper terrace. The one just outside these chambers. It is private at night. No one will disturb you there without cause.” The offer is larger than the simple words that carry it. I feel it settle in my chest beside the older, heavier things I have carried alone for years.