The Blood Of Vargr Novels & Stories

Pick one. Zevran reached first for the dagger lying neatly by the plinth—a blade of clear stone that drank light instead of reflecting it. He rolled his sleeve, found the small scar at his wrist where so many oaths had gone to hide, and cut. Silvered blood welled, struck the ice, ran the first channel. It hissed and froze in a line, a vein written into law.

“Isandra Haddock.” I swallowed hard. My boots echoed as I walked toward the stage. Someone whistled. Someone else coughed loudly, “Slut.” My jaw tightened. I didn’t flinch. I stepped up, stabbed my finger with the rune needle, and let one drop of blood fall into the cauldron. It hissed. Cracked. Boiled. Then silver gray smoke exploded upward in a swirling arc. “House Vargheim.” The crowd clapped again. A few howled. I turned around, smirking slightly. Let them look. It ended quickly after that.

Then her phone rang. She blinked and reached for it on the bed. The screen showed: Uncle Mario. She hesitated, then answered. “I hope you love everything,” his voice came through, calm but heavy. Amara froze. She didn’t expect the gifts to come from him. For a moment, she didn’t even know what to say. Mario continued, “Blood is thicker than water. Always remember... Leone blood runs in your vein. Even if our family is not smooth, don’t spit on your family name.”

The iron strength of his grip pulled my small body straight out of the velvet dining seat, and with one effortless, brutal heave, he hoisted me up onto the hard, cold surface of the dining table. “A- Alpha… please,” I gasped out, my voice hitching violently as my hands flew up to clench the stiff fabric of his suit collar. I was shaking so brutally my teeth rattled, my frantic eyes scanning the massive double doors of the corridor. “Someone will see… Ember… Gray… please, they’ll come back…” But my desperate, broken pleas only dragged Varg’s animalistic wolf to his absolute edge. He didn't care about the daylight. He didn't give a single fuck about the protocols of the house or who might walk

Stripes. Burning across my body like fire. The air itself seemed to change. The wolves hesitated. Just for a second. That was their mistake. I moved. Faster than before. Stronger. Unstoppable. I tore through them. No hesitation now. No strategy. Just dominance. One after another. They fell. Until only one remained. Celdor stepped forward. Finally. I tilted my head slightly, blood dripping from my jaw. “You should have stayed hidden.” He didn’t respond.

Blood. There were quite a lot of red stains, even stretching faintly like traces left behind by someone walking while injured. Several servants were busy cleaning it. Robert stopped walking. His expression shifted slightly. “Whose blood is that?” One of the servants immediately lowered his head nervously. “It belongs to the person who fed the dogs earlier, Sir.” Robert looked at the servant expressionlessly. “Bitten?” “Yes, Sir.” The servant answered carefully. “The dogs got loose while being fed.” Robert fell silent for a few seconds.

He was going to play the Grim Reaper tonight and he had no remorse about it. “You kept her because you wanted to prevent this. She is alive and it is still happening. You may be my King but I am your friend and your safety is more important to me than whatever that woman has to say” his voice firm. I had no energy to comment anymore. I still felt bursts of the antidote in my system that urged me to go lay down in an ice bath and tremors from my blood that had gone missing from the blade. All the hassle to get that sword was to secure my blood and it was just gone. Right under my nose.

The knight behind it coughed blood and flew backward, breaking the formation entirely. "Kill him! Break his legs!" Vargo roared, swinging his halberd down at Albrecht's head. Albrecht caught the halberd's handle with his left hand. The heavy blade stopped mere inches from his mask. Vargo's eyes widened in shock. "You are too slow," Albrecht whispered. With a violent twist, Albrecht snapped the thick iron handle. He drove the hilt of his giant sword directly into Vargo's armored stomach. The metal caved in. Vargo dropped to his knees, gasping for air as his internal organs ruptured.

Varek reached out, his massive, calloused fingers incredibly gentle as he tilted my forearm to examine the deep scratch. As he looked, a fresh drop of blood welled up from the cut. It wasn't crimson. In the dim light of the war room, the fresh drop shimmered, pulling itself together into a heavy, metallic silver. Varek froze. His fingers turned to stone against my skin. The furious, protective anger in his face vanished, replaced instantly by something I had never seen in him before. His pupils narrowed into absolute slits. The wolf surfaced wildly in his eyes, fighting against the man.

“And Elder Odvar will perform the blood blessing at midnight, just as it was done for my father and his father before him.” A cold prickle ran across the back of my neck. “The blood blessing?” I repeated slowly. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one.” “It’s simple,” David assured me, still smiling. “Odvar pricks your finger and lets a drop of blood fall into a bowl of moonwater in front of the whole inner circle. The water takes on the color of the father’s aura, so every wolf in that hall can see with their own eyes whose heir you carry.”