Voldemort: Origins Of The Heir の小説・ストーリー

“Vladimir’s not really my son. We, vampires, are incapable of giving birth to a child. Little did everyone know, I am the great-grandson of the first king of Volioirae. Plus, I was created by the recent king, and that, I believe, makes me the rightful heir to the throne. Shame on those who tried so hard to defeat me. Huh! Who did they think they are? “Anyway, I transferred some of my blood to Vladimir and that ungrateful scum seemed to be useless. He didn’t show me any ability, so I dedicated myself to finding a host that would give me the power I needed. That’s where Alic enters. That talented child...” He shook his head. “If it weren’t for that ungrateful shit, she should’ve been my greate

"Anna descended from the bloodline of a very powerful witch. The witch Annika." "I know that name," Draco's frown deepened. "I must have seen it in a text somewhere." "She created the first vampire - Vladimir, " Mitch added and Jones nodded. "SO what does this have to do with anything?" "Vladimir wants his ultimate power. He does not want to be threatened by anything," Mitch replied. Draco leaned back against the cane chair and looked up at the ceiling. "The mountain ashwood. Your uncle used it to put him to sleep for centuries."

Because she had found out? My jaw tightened in realization. My wolf snarled ready to rip his head off if he were still alive. I folded the parchment carefully and slipped it inside my coat. So it was true. Arya wasn’t just tied to the power, she was the key to it. The lost heir of something far older, something that once ruled before wolves and vampires were enemies. I lifted my gaze to the sigil carved above the chest. The crescent devouring the sun. Now that I looked closer, i could see faint etchings of fangs around its edge.

He didn't know what the old Lord wanted to use the girl for, but he could only guess that the old man needed a virgin or something for one of his numerous sacrifices. It wasn't unheard of for the Silver Falcon to dabble in dark magic or even more. He had a massive following of deranged fanatics who were always making pilgrimage to his temple every year. Even more with the plague. "Yes! Yes! I would. Bring her to me." He said and Rhaegal signalled to one of his men. As they inched closer he gave them specific instructions and they scurried off towards the tent that held all their loot. "Do tell, is there a specific reason why you want her? I mean... Your instructions were so strange."

The entire room held still, as if even breathing might break whatever fragile barrier kept the darkness from pouring in. Professor Alester’s voice softened, but somehow it carried more weight now, heavy with something old and broken. I sat frozen, my pen dangling from my fingers, forgotten. Was this just a lecture? Or was it something else—something far more dangerous? "Lord Volodymir," he said, his voice laced with a chilling sort of reverence, "was not one to leave disruptions unchecked. When the venom failed and she survived, he saw her not as a mistake—but as a puzzle. A rare creature that could not simply be discarded. No. He bound her to his bloodline. She would be mated to his distant

, so I just had to be ready. The story about how the oslorf dynasty began is nothing short of blood boiling, because our grand patriarch was the only child to his father from a different mother an elfin slave, and he happened to be the last born, a child who was completely neglected and treated with contempt but he took the reigns of the leadership of the witches and warlocks after single handedly killing the warlock king his father and four of his elder brothers, we built this with a coup so there is no saying that it won’t repeat itself with us now, knowing how righteous the boy is, am I really safe to trust him? Is he really weak without magic?

A man who owned the room without ever needing to raise his voice. And me? I wasn’t sure what I looked like to them but I knew what they came to see. The prodigal daughter. The scandalized heiress. The Ravenwood who got thrown out and landed in the arms of a Wolfe. I could feel it in their eyes, their need to decipher what this new version of me was made of. If I’d cracked. If he’d tamed me. If marrying me had been revenge, or strategy, or something far more pathetic: love.

Hale, he said, "You are going to harvest me..." "Well, Harvest is a very strong word. We are going to extract a couple of your bone marrows, just for future security. Your father doesn't trust that you will outlive him, and it would be a waste having the dirt reaps for what the living need. Don't you think so?" Dr. Hale answered in an unamused tone.