Soulstice Briar Novels & Stories

Stained faintly with blood. Elara stumbled back, her candle falling from her grip. It sputtered against the stone. She gagged on the stench rising from the seal, sulfur and charred bone. “Gods—” Patricia gagged too, clutching her sleeve over her mouth. “That smell—” But Gloria stood rooted, her head tilted like a devotee at an altar. Her face glowed with reverence as she tilted her face toward the blooming dark. “Vaulisk,” she breathed.

Nyx said pleasantly. The girl stiffened. Alaric exhaled slowly. “Nyx, this is Celeste Whitmore.” Of course it was. Council blood. Legacy bred sharp enough to cut glass. “Welcome to Briarcrest,” Celeste said, smiling razor-thin. “You’ll find it rewards those who know their place.” Nyx tilted her head. “I’ve never been good at staying where I’m told.” Celeste’s eyes flicked to Alaric. Something unspoken passed between them.

It was the only missing now in the puzzle before they could commence their plan. After years of searching, Harrion’s father finally found what he was looking for. In a remote and treacherous part of the Southern Region, hidden beneath the gnarled roots of an ancient tree, the Soulbane Petal bloomed in all its dark glory. Its deep purple petals shimmered in the moonlight, and its black veins pulsed with a malicious energy.

Bria preened under the attention; she enjoyed the sight of higher-rank souls bending to her whims. “Remember the pact,” Bria warned, her eyes flashing with a predatory light. “I am not a patient female. If the moon rises on the Great Rite and the gift is not ready, your pup will pay the blood-price.” Avery nodded, her throat tight. That evening, a heavy chest of silver-tools and raw ores was dropped in Avery’s cell. She had planned to spend the night mapping the spiritual geometry of the carving, but Bria’s messengers returned within the hour, demanding the scroll immediately.

The morning of the winter solstice arrived without a sun. A thick fog rolled over the courtyard, turning the white marble stairs of the Crescent mansion slick with frost. Inside the sanctuary, the air grew heavy with the scent of burning cedar and the sharp tang of Northern ceremonial oils. I stood before the full-length mirror in the high solar, my fingers tracking the silver mail stitched into the hem of my heavy white bridal cloak. The dress was pure silk, but beneath the fabric, the faint violet veins on my forearms pulsed in a slow, rhythmic cadence.

"One and the same, aren't they?" Before Riley could retortor kill herthey arrived at the clearing. Brady looked around, but all was as it should be. Part of him was concerned they'd encounter a band of Venatores or something with all the weird juju as of late. Regardless, he uneasily glanced at the stars overhead while the sisters set up the makings for their circle. Peat moss blended with the scent of wet soil and brine. The roar of the tide crashed against rock from just on the other side of the tree line, reminding him of the elevation.

Zoey said, as she clasped her hand. Bri looked down at the souls before her and pulled the crystal she had never taken off over her head. It shined brightly before it absorbed the remnants of her enemies and then she turned to me. “I owe you one,” she said, as she dropped it into my palm. I just pulled her into my embrace. I buried my face in the crook of her neck magnolia and night-blooming jasmine assaulted my senses and a new need burned. “Are you going to be ok with him out there?” I asked, cupping her cheek. She leaned into it.

Her hair cascaded lazily over her shoulders, and she still had tell-tale marks of their passion from the day before left on her neck. When she saw Bjorn, she smiled shyly and threw herself into Miles' arms. "Why didn't you tell me that you were having a friend over, Miles?" She pouted in his embrace but couldn't help stealing a quick glance at Bjorn. Miles pulled her onto his lap, closing the gap between them. "Ah, right, how's that bitch's condition? The surgery's scheduled for tomorrow." Miles raised a brow and said, "I'm monitoring her every day. Tonight's the final preparation. I'll make sure that she's on the operating table tomorrow."

Briar adjusts her strap, squares her shoulders, and points a finger at both of us like she’s issuing orders from a throne she never wanted. “I’ll be at the blacksmith,” she says. “You need me, you come. You don’t wait. You don’t ask permission.” Tessa nods fast. “We’ll visit. We’ll bring snacks.” Briar glares. “Don’t bring anything. People poison things here.” “I’ll bring… morally safe snacks,” Tessa offers. Briar’s mouth twitches like she’s fighting a smile and losing. Then she’s gone, escorted out by palace protocol, irritation worn like armor, happiness tucked underneath like contraband.

The lower gardens had been transformed for the Ember Kiss — a sensual, intimate solstice festival where couples and friends exchanged glowing ember-laced kisses under arches of living flame. Small braziers burned with enchanted fire that produced harmless, warm sparks, and the air was thick with the scent of spiced wine and winter herbs. Soft drums and flutes played a slow, seductive rhythm as guests moved between the flame arches, sharing kisses that left faint glowing marks on skin.