Shadowhunters Parabatai Runes Novels & Stories

“So, she is part demon? One of Dante’s sprogs that slipped through the net?” “No,” Lucas leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees as a weary sigh escaped him. “Atlas and Amos don’t have wolf spirits remember? Chloe does; Hecate.” “Hecate? What kind of name is that?” “It’s the name of a Greek goddess. As far as we can tell, only the Wolfe line has a wolven spirit with a Greek name. Even Sierra and Alvaro don’t have them. So, how come she has one?” Lucas raised an eyebrow, hazel eyes darkening as the questions piled up. “I think we need to make a call.”

“The runes are our pack’s lifeblood, woven with the first Alpha’s blood to bind the land’s pure spirits. They protect us from corrupted spirits twisted by greed or ambition. Nightshade’s rituals have awakened such a force, targeting women of power.” Kiyiya nodded, her voice steady. “Each rune tells a story. Some guard, some heal, others… bind. We’ve strengthened them over generations, but they’re straining against Nightshade’s magic. You felt them, Aurora, because your spirit resonates with their power.” Marcus leaned forward, his roguish grin surfacing. “So, these runes are like magical poetry? Althea, you and Kiyiya must be poets, then.” His playful tone drew a soft laugh from Althea, her

The First Hunger, a god they unwittingly forged. "You're a parasite," I say. "You fed on their desperation." ***And you fed on me.*** It lunges. The static answers, a storm clashing with a black hole. The cavern trembles, worms bursting into sparks. The Hunter tackles me as the wolf's jaws snap shut where my throat was. "The runes!" he yells. "Use them!" I press my palm to the eclipse glyph. It burns, the static screaming as it's ripped from my veins and forged into a blade of lightning. The Hunger howls, retreating.

Before Wilbur could attack, Andrew let out a roar as his body lit up with spiritual flames and countless runes, launching an attack at Wilbur. The attack flew over, a huge shadow fist hurtling toward Wilbur's face with terrifying force.

The cold breeze made the smell of the woods fill the air. “It’s a gorgeous place,” he muttered. “Yeah, I frigging love it.” He sat up, like extracting himself from the lure of the place to turn to me again. “So what’s the plan for the next days?” “You should ask Amy. All I know is that we need to perform three cleansings over three days on you and your friend, in order to rid you guys of all your parasites without leaving an open wound. Then, you can come into the Manor, and we can perform the ritual to unchain Ku— the shadow.”

I wasn’t joking when I said I could see stars during the day. The air was cool and so was all I’ve learned about demons since yesterday, with the help of the textbook Irvin got for me in the library of course. It took me a while but I noticed and recollected that whenever the shadow appeared, a particular rune in a darker shade of black would fall along the lines of his twilight-like-fog like snowflakes. Thankfully, I had great enough eyesight to notice this and when I checked through the book, searching for this rune that I’m not quite competent enough to describe, I got some very valuable information.

A stain eliminated. Erect at the sacred altar stood two figures—Alpha Aldrin and Spenza, who was now about to be crowned as Luna. Neither of them seemed to care about Reign. Not even Spenza, her sister. She was all smiles, tying the knot with a man who had been her sister’s until minutes ago. The glee of becoming Silverwood’s Luna had blinded her that much, or so people thought. Then again, traitors were never shown even a shred of mercy, not even by those who shared their blood. That was the way of the supernatural world. One betrayal, and you were cut off as though you had never belonged.

Every time Emilia resisted him—every time she howled for war and not for him—it burned deeper. “Stop,” he rasped to the mark, pressing his palm flat over it. “Stop—stop—listen to me—” The bond did not listen. It writhed under his flesh, reacting like a living serpent. His skin split. His ribcage cracked. He fell to his knees with a roar, breath catching in torn lungs. Power spilled out from the cracks in his body like molten shadow. It coated the floor, snaking through old runes carved into the stone—runes that predated the Hollowborn, runes written in the blood of those who once tried to become gods.

He dips a quill into an inkpot that looks like a petrified heart. He scratches down Torven’s name before calling the next. A girl strides forward, pure power in her movements, her name ringing out clear: "Runa of the Shadowtail." Another scratch, and she’s off, her back straight and her future accepted. They embody everything expected of us. I do not.

Her shadow stretched across the floor — wrong, enormous, rippling with wings and teeth and something serpentine. Her voice trembled for the first time. “Please… hurry…” Her hand spasmed. “Before they decide for you.” The ground lurched violently. Under their feet, the earth cracked. Not randomly. The crack made a shape. A rune. A chosen rune. A Rune of Sacrifice. Auren recognized it instantly and screamed: “KAEL—DON’T STAND IN—” The rune flared. Kael was trapped inside its boundaries. Light roared around him like a cage snapping shut.