The Blood Of Vargr Novels & Stories

The chamber reeked of smoke and iron, the mingled scents of fire and blood clinging stubbornly to the air. Freya’s skin was ghostly pale in the wavering candlelight, her silver-ash hair clinging damply to her cheek where sweat and tears had blurred together. The wound in her arm bled sluggishly beneath Ragnar’s touch, though it was shallow. Still, the sight of her blood-stained against his hands awoke something dark and savage in him, a hunger for destruction, for vengeance, for war.

his voice taking an even scarier tone as he got up and dark clouds poured out of his hands, floating around him. Dread pooled in Soraya's eyes as she struggled to keep her emotions in check. Black magic, she realized with terror. This was her first time seeing him like this. Alwin was an old wizard who was like a father figure to her. He had taught her everything she knew about witchcraft after he had taken her in when she was lost and wandering decades ago. He had always talked about how the witches and werewolves used to live in harmony. This fueled Soraya's hopes when she learned about the prophecy. He turned to her, letting down the hood of his cloak. Soraya let out a silent gasp as she

I said, gesturing to the large roof-to-floor height window, “I built this great empire, I wouldn't mind burning everything and everyone with it to the ground if I'm not providing with the very last bloodline of my murder. I really regret letting someone who shouldn't be here stay. Everyone in the small peaceful family will pay for the deceitful love their foremother showed me. Through the window, they could all see their home burn. Yes, this revenge would thrust like a fresh sweet wine. Cheers to sweet reprisal. “Please master,” One amongst the high howlers who was brave enough spoke, “ Please I beg of you, show mercy on us, we know nothing of how badly our ancestors have treated you,” “That

And then, Varr appeared. He stepped through the crumbling archway, cloak torn, face streaked with soot. His golden eyes still burned with pride, even as the ground quaked beneath us. “Corin,” he called, voice cold but trembling at the edges. “Stop this madness. You’ll bring Bloodstone to ruin.” I spat blood, lifting the Alpha’s crest I had carried since Delph fell. “You already did.” The crest hit the ground between us with a clang that echoed through the hall.

I say. "For what she expended." Maret chooses her words carefully. Sets them down like objects she is placing on a surface she isn't sure will hold them. "What she carries, what was revealed tonight, it isn't something we have a reference for. Not in living memory. The Moonblood hasn't manifested fully in generations." She pauses. "She used a significant portion of it in a very short time. The shift. The fight. And then what she did for you." She says that last part without inflection.

Before I could process his next action, the sickening sound of a blade against skin echoed through the chamber… Then the sharp smell of old metallic blood suddenly hit my nose, forcing my thoughts to pause. And then I saw it. Varek had sliced through his own palm, letting his dark blood drop to the ground. “Fonhgolaaa… Pelisah mottoooh… Fonhgolaaa lolaaa,” he muttered as his blood continued to drop. The blood pooled and then slowly started carving a path towards the far end of the chamber. And while this happened, the temperature in the room increased… It started slowly at first… And then beads of sweat began dripping down my back.

"Even if I have to save him from his own husband's mess." Vincenzo looked down from the crane, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated rage. He saw his hitman dead. He saw a Vane protecting a Moretti. The world he knew the world of "purity" and "old blood" was dying in front of him. He raised his cane, shaking it at us like a fallen king. Then, he clutched his chest, his face contorting in pain. He stumbled, his cane slipping on the wet steel.

"We don't want to cause trouble. You've already done so much for us." "You're not causing trouble." Victoria opened the door wider. "Come inside. Now." Maria finally stepped through the threshold, Ivy following close behind her. Victoria noticed the marks on Ivy, the fear in her eyes, and the bruises visible on her arms. Her expression hardened. "Who did this?" Victoria's voice was sharp, demanding. Maria looked down, unable to meet her eyes. "My husband." Victoria's face changed. She looked at Ivy, then back at Maria, her eyes filled with fury. "You don't have to go back there."

It was small and quick, gone before I could name it. And then Varg went still. It was not the stillness of fear. It was sharp and focused, like a hound that has caught a scent on the wind. *Osborne. Look at him. Breathe in.* I did. The grille carried more than sound. Beneath the dust and lamp oil came a faint, familiar thread, bitter as old smoke. I knew it from a stone chamber and a ring of candles, from a memory I had never wanted. *That is the smell of the ritual,* Varg said. *It clings to him. But there is more.* His voice dropped. *The blood. He is ours. Not as you are. A branch that grew away from the tree. But ours.*

Was the only thing I could think of when I tried to look around and read the room. “Fucking ungrateful whore!” Vargr growled out, his words full of venom and hate. The slap was brutal, my head jerking to the side and I could taste the metallic blood from my split lip. I wanted to spit the blood out in his face, but instead, I licked the coppery liquid, the moisture on my tongue feeling warm. I wasn’t a coward, but I wanted to live. At least to see his downfall. I saw Teal flinch, reacting to the scent of my blood that had coated my bottom and lip. He said nothing; he knew it could get worse. Him, having an outburst would do nothing, neither of us were in a position to do much.