Rias Grimoire Novels & Stories

She sighed and said, “A Grimoire is a book of spells. Every witch has hers. Part of being one is that we can create different spells or potions. Sometimes grimoires are passed down from generation to generation, as it is in our family. Emma will have Queen Clarissa’s grimoire. It is very extensive, to tell the truth.” I nodded silently, wanting to continue asking, but I knew now was not the time. I saw how she closed her eyes for a few seconds. She took a deep breath and then opened them, saying, “spiriti, guida e ritrova ciò che è andato perduto. Trova l’anima perduta in moda che ritorni nel suo corpo.” — Spirits, guide and find what has been lost. Find the lost soul so that it returns to i

AMELIA The moment I got home, I grabbed my grandmother’s grimoire and began to comb through it with fervor. There had to be something in there—some ancient spell that could free Lucius. The more I searched, the more frustration gnawed at me. No matter how many pages I flipped through, I couldn’t find a single spell for releasing a human form trapped within its wolf. The only related spell I came across was the one I already knew—the one designed to free a wolf bound within its human form.

"We need my grimoire first." Trick hissed in anger. "We don't have time! Dorian could return any minute." He was right, but without my magic book, I'd never find what The Mother was looking for. And I'd never get my payback. "Two minutes," I promised, already moving toward Dorian's private rooms. Luckily, Alpha Dorian Graves was as arrogant as he was cruel. He'd kept my grimoire on his shelves like a trophy, never suspecting that the book itself was a weapon. I grabbed it, feeling the ancient leather warm to my touch, recognizing its owner.

I press my lips into a thin line and move on. The third grimoire is thicker, darker, filled with the more obscure records I’ve gathered over time, rituals and warnings, fragments of older traditions. My pulse picks up slightly as I flip through it, hoping to stumble across some half-lost truth. I even find references to cursed wolves and blood-bound shapeshifters, but still… no mention of that name. No mention of those red eyes. I lean back, exhaling hard. Just as I’m about to give up, my eyes land on a fourth book, small, unassuming, bound in dull gray hide. One I almost never open. It’s handwritten and filled with anecdotal entries from witches who lived long before my time.

It looked like something from the Yakuza—something like that in design. He turned to face me while putting on his shorts. I pouted. Did he really have to do this right in front of me? Underneath his arm, I noticed another small tattoo. "Grimaldi," I whispered to myself as I read the tattoo. I snapped back to reality. ‘Why was I watching him change? Get it together, Ari!’ I stood up from my seat, catching Pierce’s attention, as he was now only wearing his top. "I’ll heat up your food so you can eat and take your medicine." I struggled to swallow before quickly heading out of the room.

It was closed, with no title, but a symbol was tooled into its cover—the same symbol from the bone resonator: the wolf unraveling into a spiral. He approached it with a reverence that felt out of place in the violated chamber. He did not touch it. “It’s a Weaver’s Grimoire. Warded to the bloodline. He could not open it. He could not even move it.” He looked at me, his gaze intense. “It will only respond to you.”

For me. “There you are,” I breathed, stepping closer. The book pulsed under my touch like a living heart. My pulse aligned with it. My vision sharpened, then tunneled, and locked onto the pages like fate. The grimoire flipped open on its own to a page inked with a sigil of tearing shadows and spirals of glyphs that felt older than the pack, older than wolves, older than gods. A curse. One meant to unravel a Luna. To hollow her out. To break her spirit. To destroy her bond. To steal her crown.

Crash! I stood over the fractured ice once more and swung the axe with every last ounce of strength. I hadn’t removed the camera from my helmet. Immediately realizing what I was doing, Luna screeched, "Sophie, are you crazy?!" I ignored her, continuing to raise my numb arms and swing them down, mechanically repeating the motions until… Crack! With a sharp crack, the ice split completely apart, exposing the heating pipe underneath. Taking aim, I lifted the axe high—

"You are a Crescent! You are bound to this land! To me!" [Roman’s Voice]: I should lock her in the cellar. I should strip that suit off her and remind her who marked her. How dare she? How dare she bring another man’s shadow into my house? He reached for me then, a fast, predatory grab for my shoulder. I stepped back, my heels clicking sharply, and pulled a small, silver canister from my pocket. It wasn't a weapon; it was a high-frequency human deterrent; a "shriek" designed to scramble a wolf’s sensitive hearing.

"You won't last a day in the Wood of a Thousand Deaths without an amulet or some sort of enchantment. But without my wand, I can't conjure it out of thin air anymore, so we have to find my grimoire first." "Your grimoire?" "Are you hard on hearing?" Vasilisa said with an arch of her perfect eyebrow. "If I'm not mistaken, the grimoire is kept in the Hall of Sirins." "Please, don't tell me it's a great big book on a stand with funny handwriting in it and black leather cover," Cassandra said sarcastically, but Vasilisa seemed taken aback by her knowledge. "How do you know that?" she said. "Oh yes, I forgot. You're a seer."