The Blood Of Vargr Novels & Stories

Alessio finished her sentence: “He weaponized it.” --- In the vault, the thing bled. Not in the way flesh bleeds. Not in the way that ends life. This blood spread across the walls, seeping into the cracks like memory flooding a wound. It smelled of rust and burning paper, of ash and salt and something colder. The light shifted, flickering deeper red. Jace stood before it, skin damp, eyes wide, chest rising slower now as the heat in the room began to drop. His breath misted. The sixth man stepped back, touched the wall, and vanished into it—gone in a way that made the room feel smaller, tighter, hungrier.

It was as though her next words would be more terrifying than anything she had ever said. "Blood magic requires a life. It's an exchange of life. To heal him, someone has to die!" She continued. "Then let me do it!" A masculine tone cut through the silence, stealing the attention as everyone turned in his direction. It was Vargan who spoke, forcing his way through the crowd.

He didn't reply, forcing me to peer into those unreadable eyes and drink him in. “Is this from the blood oath?” I tried again. He shook his head, leaning into my touch like an obedient pet. His eyes were trained on me, as if challenging me to a gaze holding standoff. “No.” He said after a few minutes. He turned his other hand where a small scar marred his palm. “This is it.” “While this,” He said and his hand connected with mine which was still clinging to his face. My heart beat tripled. He continued effortlessly. “This Happened in a fight many years back.”

He looked like he was about to say something, but he was cut off when he started coughing violently. He spat out a mouthful of blackened blood. It made for a gruesome sight against the white carpet. Felix stared at the blood in disbelief before he jerked his head up to look at me. "Why?" I set my wine glass down and looked down at him from the tip of my nose. "I'm just fulfilling my responsibility as a mother." Felix's eyes widened when he finally registered my words. The wolfsbane worked quickly, especially since Felix had been caught completely off-guard. It didn't take long before he crumpled to the ground.

It turned out that people like them eventually meet someone worse. I lowered the brim of my cap and turned to leave, not wanting to be recognized. However, fate has a twisted sense of humor. My leather shoe stepped on a dry leaf. Crunch. Brian's head snapped up. Our eyes met. His eyes went wide. Like he had seen a ghost. Or a savior. "Bro?!" That single shout drew everyone's attention. My dad looked up, too, a flicker of light in his eyes. "Chester… Chester!"

You have been abiding too long with ghosts. "Humour me," I said calmly. "Before my patience runs out." He examined me at the edge of his glass. "You're asking about old money. Blood money. Before you were ready to rule." "And yet it still moves," I said. "Quietly." Vittorio leaned back. Dino, everything old is still breathing. You are the one who should know that, of all people. I leaned forward slightly. "Was it yours?" His smile was broad and very gradual. "Why ask me?"

The black blood was boiling, bubbling with ancient runes that began to glow with a deep, sickly purple light. "The First Sovereign's blood... is a living curse..." Vespera wheezed, a chilling laugh catching in her throat. "The moment you bled on the vault floor... the summoning ritual was completed..." Deep beneath the stone floor, a terrifying, rhythmic thud echoed—a massive, ancient heart starting to beat once again. The purple light from the floor shot upward, wrapping around Julian’s legs and mine like heavy iron chains, binding us in place as the stone floor beneath us began to melt into a pool of liquid darkness.

He kissed me with hungry violence, biting my lower lip until our blood mingled once more—then released me and strode to the pit’s edge. "One moment, insolent whelp," Fenrir’s cold voice cut from the ceremonial dais. The white colossus did not leap at once. With terrifying agility for his bulk, he leaned over the bone bier where the children waited. Before my wings could close the distance, the Patriarch’s claw brushed Valen’s outstretched hand. A single drop of golden‑scarlet blood welled from the newborn’s palm. Fenrir caught it on the tip of his fossil tongue and spat it with ritual precision upon the central rune of the combat pit.

A violent tremor ripped through the void, turning the stagnant gray expanse into a roaring tempest of black dust and cracking glass. Sarah shrieked as her form flickered uncontrollably, the stolen energy venting out of her in blinding arcs of dark lightning. ​She did not die. Instead, the liberated blood of the ancient contract pooled on the buckling floor, boiling into a thick, crimson mist that spiraled upward.

"You'll want a drink. Summoning a fetch is tiresome work, and you will need the blood of poetry flowing in those tar veins of yours before our workings can begin. You have much to learn of Magick, my snowflower." I grabbed the cup in fury and downed the mead - and there was a lot of it - in one long chug. I remembered her eyes on me in the looking glass long ago, watching black clots come up. Queen Jarngrimr laughed like a cat-o-nine-tails. "That's my bride. Like Fenrir's hunger." Jarngrimr ran a finger through her lion's mane. Her ram's horn shone bright in the long hall's rubies.