Vampire The Masquerade Traditions Novels & Stories

Shane replied immediately and Regaleon frowned. “They are selling werewolves?” “Yes.” Shane answered firmly. “Females are in high demand. But these females are not Omegas as described, they are mostly highborn ladies taken on the night of their unveiling or after.” “How so?” “Unlike Wolfsbane, it is of tradition that the identities of attendees during Veil Night are subjected only to their masks. Also any promise, or agreement made during the ceremony before the unveiling is binding, and whoever betrays the veil accord will face consequences—death, banishment, or the second party can do as deemed fit.”

“She even tried to take her own life.” She struggles in my arms, baring her teeth. “You monster!” I tighten my hold around her neck and she gasps for breath. The elders around yell my name, urging me ‘not kill her' because she definitely knows something, but there's this rage, this insane urge to claw her thumping heart from her small chest. Her eyes start to close. I loosen my hold, my voice extremely calm. “Tell me what you know about the Crimson Masquerade.” Lancelot’s calm voice cuts through the air. “It’s nothing new, Alpha. It's a cursed banquet or celebration they have every decade. Due to how secretive they are, no one knows much about it.”

With Damon, I could never tell. "Ivory!" Marcus appeared at my elbow, his cheeks flushed from beer and bonfire heat. "There you are. We need to get started." "Started with what?" "The ritual, of course." He draped an arm around my shoulders, grinning at Damon. "Tell her it's not that bad." Damon laughed. "It's really not. Just tradition." I looked between them, confused. "What tradition?" "When pack members turn twenty, we do a hunt ritual. It's like initiation into the adult group." Marcus gestured toward the fire, where I could see other pack members watching us. Familiar faces from Marcus's year, people I'd grown up with. "Nothing dangerous, just fun."

Malko and Anne exchanged their vows, voices low and resolute: > “I, Malko, vow eternal devotion, through blood and shadow.” > “I, Anne, vow undying love, through light and darkness.” As their lips met in a solemn kiss, the hall erupted in applause—hands clapping, goblets raised, and magic sparking in the air. The reception was a spectacle: Vampires sipped deep crimson wine laced with ancient herbs. Lycans roared with laughter, downing moon-infused mead from obsidian chalices.

The grand ballroom shimmered under a thousand floating lanterns veiled in crimson silk, transforming the nightly gathering into the Masquerade of Veiled Whispers — one of the manor’s most intimate solstice traditions. Guests wore elaborate half-masks of lace, gold, and enchanted ice that subtly altered voices and heightened senses. Music pulsed low and sensual, a slow waltz that invited bodies to press close under the cover of anonymity.

Her voice pulled me from my naughty conversation, "I am finished; if you are ready to get dressed now." "How dare you suggest such indecency!" I squeal, in mock horror, clutching my chest before bursting into giggles that I can no longer hold in as Charity and Emma join in on our antics. The four of us have been sequestered in the room since last night. It's a New Moon's tradition for the ceremony; Damon and I using traditions from both packs, The Alpha and Luna, are kept with a few same-sex friends, hidden from the rest of the pack until the very last minute.

she said, getting more excited as she went. Caitlin thought. Everyone. She wondered if that meant Caleb. “So, are there…vampires from all the covens?” Caitlin asked. “Everyone who’s anyone in the vampire world,” Polly said. “Not just the surrounding covens—they come from all over Europe. It’s the very best of high society. Not only that, it’s also a masquerade. You would not believe it—there are the most elaborate costumes. You can’t get in without a mask. And it goes on for hours. No one knows who’s who. It’s always someone different than you think.”

He heard Sigrid’s voice and Tom’s response, and wandered away, not wanting to intrude on their privacy. Dan busily collected roses from the gardens, creating a large fragrant bouquet. “Werewolves traditionally mark their mates under the full moon, after declaring their intentions at a run before the pack. We build an altar or flowers, wine, and foods in our den… bedroom,” the green-eyed alpha explained. “And mark our mate. We don’t want to wait until the next full moon to do our ceremony, so we’re breaking with tradition, but it doesn’t mean we should skip all the niceties,” he breathed in the scent of the roses and grinned. “Vampires prefer the full moon as well,” Samuel nodded. “But we are

“I don’t want to stop you from doing what you want, Zara. But…I don’t feel good about it. Just…be careful, okay?” I nodded, the unease curling in my stomach. Her words clung to me all afternoon. . By evening, Blackwood had transformed. Silken banners in midnight blue and gold draped from the high ceilings of the Grand Hall. Tables glittered with crystal goblets and black candles flickering. Music drifted from the far balcony where the academy’s orchestra played their cold, elegant pieces. It was the annual Masquerade. A tradition older than any living student, where anything could flit freely behind masks and alliances were formed or broken under the influence of chandeliers.

The wolf lord sat. A vampire woman spoke next. “What of blood houses?” Emmy recognized her. Lady Maristelle. Ancient. Elegant. Terrifyingly composed. “A house’s power has always passed through blood.” “It still can.” “And inheritance?” “Still exists.” “Then what exactly are you changing?” “The word must.” Maristelle’s eyebrow lifted. Emmy continued. “You may offer someone a place in your house. You may teach your traditions. You may pass property or magic according to laws everyone involved has accepted.”