The Blood Of Olympus Hardback Novels & Stories

“There’s something I need to show you.” Alice frowned as Mira pulled out a small, leather-bound book, its edges worn and stained. She handed it to Alice, her fingers brushing hers—warm, too warm. “My family’s kept this for years. It’s… history. About the packs.” Alice opened it, her hands shaky. The pages were old, filled with cramped writing and strange symbols—circles, crescents, claws. One word jumped out: Hybrid. Her stomach twisted as she read a line: Born of man and moon, the one who carries both bloods shall break or bind the packs.

Declan stands motionless by the floor-to-ceiling window, the neon glow of the city bleeding across the hardwood like liquid gold, painting his silhouette in flickering light. His shirt hangs loose, the fabric clinging to the damp heat of his skin, sleeves pushed up to reveal the corded muscle of his forearms. The faintest sheen of sweat glistens along his collarbone, catching the light as his chest rises and falls with controlled restraint. His jaw is set, a muscle ticking beneath the stubble, his shoulders taut with something raw and unspoken. I can see the pulse hammering at the base of his throat, the way his fingers flex at his sides, as if fighting the urge to reach for me.

We had to stay alert. Before we reached the entrance to the cells, I froze. The scent of blood and damp stone filled my nostrils. Fuck, this was bad. And beneath that, I could still catch traces of her—lingering from when she had come down here before. Every step was heavy, my mind cycling through every worst-case scenario. The scent of blood thickened around me before I even stepped into the cell block. Thick, metallic, laced with the sharp tang of copper. My stomach clenched. A shifter had bled here—and a lot.

It has been waiting my entire life for the moment when I stopped being afraid of it. I am not afraid of it anymore. The Moonblood does not surface gradually. There is no gentle emergence, no careful unveiling. One moment I am Eira Quinn, former omega of the Ashbane Pack, mother of one five year old who forgets his boots and checks his left buckle twice and has his father's eyes and my stubbornness and more power in his small hands than anyone in this clearing fully understands. The next moment I am all of that and something ancient underneath it. Something that was here before the packs. Before the territories and the borders and the Alpha wars and the prophecies written on stone tablets by

I nod, her words settling into my bones like a vow. As the sun begins to set, painting the crystal wastes in shades of crimson and gold, Thessia calls Kael and me to her tent. We enter to find her sitting cross-legged on a pile of cushions, a shallow bowl of water in front of her. The water glows faintly silver—dreamwater, I realize. For scrying or prophecy. "Sit," she commands, and we obey. She studies us both for a long moment, her sharp eyes missing nothing. "The Bloodmoon will be fully risen in two hours. Kael, are you prepared?"

PROLOGUE "Red is always symbolizing love. But for Rose it had never been love. It was blood. Even her name has red on it. Blood that she hates. If she has the time to turn things back on, she will never ever tie herself to the man that she once loved. "

"Look at how horribly Rachel’s family died! Their new house is still under renovation—they were about to move in. My nephew was just a month old!" His voice rose. "If it weren't for you, Rachel’s family would've been so happy!" A tide of relatives broke into sobs. "I'll give you the money back. We don't need you to pay for the funeral. You know why I didn't call the police?" He stepped toward me, advancing like a hunter. "Because I want you dead." He swung a knife toward my head. I grabbed Freddie's arm and begged, "It really wasn't me. If you've got the wrong person, then you'll get your hands dirty for nothing!"

Eyes… deep crimson, the color of wine freshly spilled across marble. I didn’t just wake up in a different body. I woke up in a different world. And not just any world. One I knew far too well. I had read about this place before—in a book called Blood and Moonlight. A gothic fantasy where ancient vampire courts ruled the night from silvered palaces, where ruthless werewolf packs prowled the wild forests, and where an uneasy truce held between fangs and claws… until it inevitably shattered. It was a story of war. A story of betrayal. A story where love was as fatal as any blade.

Besides, I think they're too impatient to do things calmly. "What do you know about this wine called 'Blood of the Wise'?" Judging Orion's expression, there's no doubt, he's willing to tell him everything he wants to know. Ah. The scent of victory.