When Their Sacrificial Lamb Is Gone Novels & Stories

Hundreds of children and parents die to pay for a sin they played no hand in committing. As if that isn't punishment enough, something even more terrifying began causing more deaths and fear. People lose their sanity when they shift into their wolf form. They become savage beasts that attack even their own families. We have no medicine to cure them either, unless that medicine is my blood. The old woman must have wanted my father to feel the same amount of pain she felt while holding the cold body of her son in her arms. So she made me the sacrificial lamb. While casting her curse, she stated that only my death or that of my mate would lift it. The suffering of our people will only end when

Many curled up with their family having ther last Goodbyes with tears streamed down their eyes even the greatest broke down and shattered into pieces. It was only just a matter of mintues before families were going to go there different ways leaving one of their own to die because of a stupid Traditions which has managed to be made supreme over all, crippling the hands of many and forcing them into total defeat over a meaningless superstition. How the thought of this sickened me but I had to admit I myself was scared nevertheless not about the fictitious beasts but the lingling question on my mind on why none of the girls never came back home but I guess I would have to find that out by myse

The only thing she could not wrap her head around is how would that be possible when he barely left his office in the past few weeks, busy with planning the ball and ceremonies with their grandfather. Even though no lead was found on that still faceless person they were looking for, Shay did manage to speak to the local human priest in one of the churches. He did not know much, but he did direct them to a noticeably timeworn inscription chiselled into one of the ancient stones on which the church had been built on. They were happy to find out it was a piece of the prophecy that was missing in their tomes, but a riddle in itself. Etched into the stone surface smoothed out by the relentlessnes

Hidden. My name was there. Not just mine. Rylan. Merek. Elias. The three mates I’d lost. And next to each of them—a sigil. The same sigil from the scroll. Sacrificium Sanguinis. The blood sacrifice. I dropped the book. It hit the floor hard, spine cracking, and I stared at it like it would apologize. They hadn’t died in accidents. They hadn’t died protecting me. They had been offered. And not just by strangers.

The Obsidian stone of the altar glistened with both oil and blood, I saw as incense burned, its smoke rising above the altar like a curse, as though a sacrifice was being made there, like a mockery of sanctity and Ember's helplessness. And then her….my Ember….she laid on the altar, arms hung above her head, lips slightly parted, tears falling down my cheeks, like an offering, waiting to be sacrificed. She didn't twitch, didn't even make the slightest movement or struggle. She was too broken open like a sacrificial lamb to react; I could tell.

"nah, they shouldn’t hate you so much. You had only one good choice, and you took it. That was a sacrifice that couldn't really be avoided…they would understand." "I hope. See ya, mate." "see ya." as I headed back to Maren's place, I thought about what I had said, about the witches being the sacrificial lambs of today's battle, and I couldn't help but wonder, how many more sacrifices we would have to make, before we finally destroyed Damien for good.

This wasn’t Holt territory. I was detained for twenty-four hours. And when I came back for her— She was gone. Assigned overseas. Off the grid. All she left behind was a letter. Adrian, We can never go back. The moment you chose to sacrifice me, this ending became inevitable. My life is full—even without you in it. Please don’t look for me again. I did anyway. I searched like a madman. And I never found her. Only then did I finally understand— Love isn’t sacrifice.

A moment later, I heard a strange, guttural cry, and I looked over to see another robed figure carrying a squirming lamb into the room. Lilith gripped my hand so tightly it hurt as the figure set the lamb down in the center of the circle. It all happened so fast after that—the knife glinted, the chanting grew into a cacophony of shrieks and moans and strange words, the lamb cried desperately, and then… The metallic slip of the blade. The spurting squelch of blood bursting forth from behind too-young flesh. The coppery scent in the air.

She was dead. “Alpha, you—” the warrior rushed into the room only to be silenced by the scene on the bed. The missing Luna was no longer missing. Although Ryan did not look, he felt the room fill with others. The message in blood above the headboard is what beckons his attention. ‘Now that three, and ONE more makes four! A slaughtered lamb can not change its destiny, and all debts must be paid!’

In the seventh year of our marriage, my wife, Serena Clark, digs up my parents' urns and places them in front of me. Then she gives me two choices. "Either give your designs to Seth so he can enter the competition, or I'll scatter your parents' ashes into the sea," she says. Clutching the designs I've just finished, I swallow my pride and give in as tears burn in my eyes. The next day, a photo of Seth Johnson sitting on a yacht scattering ashes goes viral. Serena comments beneath the photo, "I'll give you everything I have and spoil you rotten." I stare at the urns in the corner of the photo, feeling my blood run cold. My deceased parents and I have become tools Serena uses to please S