The Blood Of Vargr Novels & Stories

Maelis lifted the dagger high, its runes screaming with light. The cavern filled with their voices, each Elder chanting in Elder Valerian, syllables older than kingdoms, older than language itself: > “Veythra mor’thal, isyrne vekth, Oath of blood, seal of flesh, “Behold, the blood of Ysolde So long we have kept it,Sealed in dark, guarded by oath, untouched lest prophecy demand its thirst.” “Val’thir ashae, carath Ysolde, mor’thir en drav. Let her blood awaken, not as flesh, but as Mark."

I took a deep breath; this time I would use my own blood. The pages of the ancient book opened; I placed it right in the centre of the ritual circle. Unexpectedly, the circle began to glow brightly, with a golden hue. My right hand was already raised in front of me; I was preparing to make a small cut so that my blood might flow and touch this ritual site. “Kaelith Vaeltharion Morveth, I beg you, return!” Sreett! “Ouch!”

The healer turned and the room seemed to tighten as Ragnar stepped forward from the opposite side of the hall. He walked without hesitation, with no guards or advisers flanking his side. There was no visible sign that he was worried, and I hated that it rubbed off on me the wrong way. I watched him approach the table and when he extended his arm, the healer drew his blood. Ragnar didn't flinch as the vial was placed beside Freya's. For one second, nothing happened, then his blood began to glow. Gold. My jaw tightened because it was the exact same shade, the exact same depth and the same slow pulse moved through the vial before the light settled into a steady glow.

Let the fool fight the air. I dropped low, bending my knees, and let the heavy axe whistle two inches above my head. The wind from the blade whipped my hair across my face. Then, before Varg could reset his hips, I drove my boots into the stone and lunged inside his guard, slicing the sharp tip of my blade across his exposed right wrist. Steel met flesh with a clean, shallow cut. Blood welled from his wrist, dark and bright, dripping onto the black granite floor. Varg let out a grunt of surprise, stepping back two fast paces. He looked down at the red line on his skin, then up at me, his yellow eyes narrowing into slits of pure, ugly fury.

The patch of green grass withered instantly, turning black and brittle in a matter of seconds, as if her very blood had been changed by the beast who had claimed her in the dark. She stared down at the black, dead grass beneath her feet, her hands shaking so hard she could barely hold the edges of her cloak together. The mark Valerius had left on her was not just on her skin or in her memories. His dark, cursed blood was now inside her, altering her body in ways she could not even begin to understand.

“Because the register won’t open for me.” A silver lock secured the leather cover. Its surface contained a star-shaped indentation surrounded by words written in Italian. Gabriel translated quietly. “Blood reveals the crown. The crown commands the Order.” Marco pointed his gun towards Luca. “He claimed the register requires the blood of the firstborn heir.” “Then use yours,” Alessia said. “I did.” Blood stained the lock. Nothing had happened. Luca laughed weakly. “Because you aren’t an heir.” Marco struck him. Dante raised his weapon, but the guards pressed their guns against Luca’s head.

"What happened to her?" "Tragedy," I said softly. "Envious pack warlords who feared Varus's growing power targeted her... and murdered her in cold blood. Overcome by catastrophic grief, Varus went entirely berserk. His mind snapped, and he unleashed a bloodbath that nearly wiped out half the region. In the end, his own father, the God of Creation, was forced to chain Varus in unbreakable silver and seal him beneath the earth forever." "That's terrible..." Ivy whispered, her chest heaving.

My power surged back harder, mixing with his until I couldn't tell where I ended and he started. The lightning web cracked overhead like glass. Pieces rained down as green sparks that fizzled out before they hit the ground. I straightened in Gunnar's arms and looked straight at the elder. "You want my blood?" My voice came out doubled, like the old kings were speaking through me. "Come take it."

In my ignorance, I had somehow turned a gesture of peace into a supreme, heretical insult to a werewolf’s ancestors. "She will learn respect to the bloodline," Halvar snarled, his voice deep, distorted, and dripping with saliva. "Or I will tear it out of—" Varul exploded out of his chair. His movement shattered the gravity in the room. His chair scraped violently against the stone floor like a clap of thunder. The temperature in the Great Hall plummeted to zero.

“What do you need answers to? Must be big if you’re sneaking out alone like this, especially after that bloodbath at the gala.” “How did you know?” “Word travels fast around here. And it is my job to know everything, isn’t that why you’re here?” I glanced around the café, making sure no one sat too close. “The Swan. Black feathers. Tell me what you know about them. Everything. Don’t hold back.” Victor took another sip, his expression hardening. “Why do you need to know about the Swan? That’s not a name you throw around lightly, girl. Am sure your mother wouldn’t want you mixed up in that mess.”