The Witcher Blood Of Elves Novels & Stories

Some kind of augmented hunter (blessed, cursed, rebuilt). He’s fought things like me before and won. He has no idea I’m not a thing like anything he’s ever met. I let him come. First blade aims for my heart. Second for my throat. I shift (not into coyote). Into him. Exact copy (same height, same scars, same dead eyes). He freezes mid-swing, staring at his own face wearing a soft, amused smile. Celeste (in his voice): “Hi. I’m a Blood Wizard.

It wasn't a kind smile. “I didn't lose anything.” My voice was steady. Quiet. The calm of someone who had died, crossed the underworld, made a deal with its lord, and ridden a dragon through a blizzard to reach this moment. “I'm getting Darien back. And I'm killing the witch.” The dark elf's silver eyes bulged. Her mouth worked around words that couldn't escape the grip on her throat. To my left, a whimper.

The air in the room was humming with a dark, vibrating energy that made the hair on his arms stand up. "The Hunt is almost here," the Matriarch of the witches said, holding up a jagged obsidian dagger. "Are you ready to walk in the dark, World-Alpha?" Elias took a deep breath and stepped into the circle. "Do it." The dagger sliced across his palm. As his mercury blood hit the obsidian floor, the world didn't turn black. It turned Silver.

I remember knowing exactly what I wanted from them, then coming to my room and seeing Elara splayed at the corner of the bed she liked to crouch into whilst measuring my mood to determine if I would strike her that night. My mind clicked instantly. The next week, she was dead and I was hauling her lifeless body to the dark lords as a sacrifice. She had witch blood. Dormant as it was, I knew they would find it useful. They would also find intriguing, the fact that I had brought the mother of my child to them. I remember the way Elara’s blood looked against the black altar. It wasn't red; in this place, under the gaze of the Dark Mistresses, blood turns black as ink.

"I do not know what I am. But I am here. I am real. And I am not going anywhere." They embraced again, both crying now, their tears mixing with the mist from the waterfall. Niklas watched in silence, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade, his eyes soft. The half-bloods gathered at the edge of the forest stared in amazement, not understanding what they were seeing but understanding that something miraculous had occurred. "The First Wolf's power is waking," Elif said, pulling back to look at her sister. "Not just in me. In both of us."

But she already met Alderon, the human wizard. “Ellaine?” Finrod stared at her, “You’re an.. elf?” The first thing she did was feel her ears. Yes, it was pointy just as any elf. But if she’s an elf and she can cast spells.. “You’re confused, Inwë?” Her opponent stood up with great effort. “That is because that Hristoax is both of elf and witch birthright. The one who possesses it shall be the first one to retain familial blood at the same time acquiring witch birthright.” She wiped the blood at the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand.”That one should be mine!”

I was already moving, shifting mid-motion, my wolf slamming into the nearest rogue. Alaric roared, tearing through another one, while Theron grabbed Elowen, yanking her behind him. But she wasn’t some helpless damsel. She growled, her hands sparking with power. Her witch blood. She raised a hand, and a rogue lunging for me suddenly froze in midair. A heartbeat later, its body snapped, bones shattering before it crumpled to the ground. Elowen turned, her eyes glowing gold. “Enough.” A force blasted through the room, slamming the remaining rogues against the walls.

Blood gushes from my nose—heals fast, but still. Branches rain down. Three attackers tumble from above and stay down. That leaves two—maybe three. Thank fuck Violet warned me. I stagger upright, dizzy for two steps, then bolt after a shadow weaving between trunks. No illusions this time—head’s pounding too much. I close the gap and grab him. Dark-skinned, pointed-eared—an elf. Unseelie elf. Blood magic. Great. He’s already bleeding from nose, ears, one eye. He collapses—dead before he hits the moss.

The wolf lunged at them and they held him mid-air with magic before flinging him to a tree. "Empathy? We are here because the elders forced us to be here not because we have an iota of respect for the queen of vampires." The dark-haired witch walked towards the wolf who stood up almost immediately to attack them. She snapped her fingers and instantly the wolf held his head in pain, she is causing him a headache. I waved my hand at them and they all tumbled to the ground. "Who are you?" The red-haired witch stared at me with visible disgust evident in her face.