Rias Grimoire Novels & Stories

His wolf eyes burned with pure intensity, one that sent shivers running down my spine. I have never been more afraid than I am at the moment. I tried to reason with him to reach the human inside the wolf, but he was too far gone. "Lyra," familiar voices call out. His brothers appeared from afar, and my vision was barely able to discern who was who. The pain in my wrist was growing as Sage dug his claws further into my wrist. "Sage!" One of them yelled. I'm not sure what happened, but the last thing that I saw was feeling a human hand pick me up after getting Sage off of me before I blacked out.

"What do you mean?" Dr. Percy walks over to a hidden compartment in the wall and retrieves a worn, leather-bound book. Its pages are yellowed with age, and strange symbols are etched into its cover. "This is the Grimoire of Shadows," he says, holding it out to Chloe. "It contains spells and rituals of immense power—power that comes at a great cost. If we are to stand any chance against the creature, we must be willing to use it." Chloe hesitates, eyeing the book warily. "You’re asking me to embrace the very thing that created that monster?"

His eyes were red, and brown. I take a cautious step back as I stare at the creature before me. I have never seen such a thing. I mean, I saw the usual wolves with white fur and gold eyes but I have never seen a wolf with these golden stripes and having the eyes of a hybrid. How the hell did this get here? Or was it Grim? No. I shake my head. I know Grim, by his scent. I know him by his scent, and I have seen him once. I know what a hybrid wolf looks like and I know for sure that he is not Jim.

“He’s still alive… for now. But you’re not here for him. Not really.” Elira turned slowly, holding something out. A book. Bound in black leather and laced with living veins of gold. The Grimoire of Binding. “The truth of our bloodline is in here. What they stole from us. What you need to see before you judge me.” Elara took it, her fingers tingling the moment she touched it. Visions stabbed through her mind—flashes of queens drowned in fire, children marked by fate, a kingdom cursed by its own magic. And at the center of it all…

Alis touched the book and blew fairy dust on it. At that moment, an otherworldly song began to play in the back of the cave, and I noticed that the flaps of the grimoire began to turn golden. I opened my mouth in disbelief, and from the grimoire gushed a silvery liquid that fell to the ground and made the smell of pure magic stronger. I looked at Alis, not understanding what was happening. “The grimoire is not just a divine object,” Aris said in disbelief. “The grimoire is a catalyst for magic; it only reacts to people linked to its creator's magic, but it's also something else.”

It was incredibly difficult to discern that went on in that century old heart of hers. I stretched out and received it from her. "That's not all," she spun around, and grabbed a book off the table. She held it out to me again, and I didn't hesitate to take it from her hand. "As promised, I have given you the Crimson heart. And that..." She pointed at the weighty book in my hand. "That's a grimoire, containing research on the blood moon oath. If you go through it diligently, you might find a way to break it without any other kind of substitutions."

Everything that had just happened — the screams, the shadow creatures, the way the crystals had suddenly come alive in a blinding glow — replayed in my head again and again like some kind of nightmare that refused to end. Corin came toward me, his face pale beneath the dirt and blood smeared across his cheek. His sword still pulsed faintly with green light — that strange crystal embedded in its hilt glowing with every breath he took. His gaze locked on me, sharp and searching, as though I’d just done something impossible. “ How did you do that?” he demanded, his voice low but rough, barely above a whisper. “ Liora… how did you activate the crystals?” I blinked, confused, still trying to stea

He wore his usual black waistcoat, sleeves rolled up, but his expression was darker, more intense. In his hands rested a thick, ancient grimoire bound in deep crimson leather. Gold runes pulsed faintly on the cover. “The Breeding Grimoire,” he said, voice low and resonant. “A medieval fertility text. It demands a full ritual enactment to neutralize its power. You will read the incantations aloud while I perform the rites. The book requires multiple offerings — deep, thorough breeding — until the magic is sated. Do not stop reading, no matter how full or overwhelmed you become.”

She opens a drawer and she takes out a small knife, which is the kind of knife I recognize from my research, ceremonial but functional, and she looks at me. "The grimoire is blood-locked," she says. "The Moreau family has kept it that way for four generations. It opens to the blood of the practitioner or the blood of the subject." "You don't have Chase's blood," I say. "I took a sample the night I examined his hand," she says. "After the garden party. When he didn't feel the cuts." I sit with that. She touches the blade to her fingertip. A drop of blood falls on the cover of the grimoire.

Death draws me towards it like we have been attached with an unbreakable string. Maybe it's just a superpower in which I get the last chance to save the person in front of me or maybe it’s a curse. Particularly a Crimson curse, as I like to call it. Through the years the number of deaths I have seen is greater than my age. You would think that death doesn't affect me anymore. You are right to think that because that is what I had thought until 5 days ago.