Wolfenstein Old Blood Chapters Novels & Stories

Werewolves. That was the Ashford legacy. She hadn’t understood it until she was old enough to read through the family’s old journals: heavy leather-bound books with cramped writing. The stories were always the same, The Ashfords hunting wolves. The Ashfords wiping out entire packs. The Ashfords fighting alphas under blood moons. Some of them even traded their blood for silver steel. That was her family’s pride. And her prison.

GINGER "How are things going?" Tyler asked after I'd been doing my job for a couple days. "Really good, actually!" I replied cheerfully. "So you don't mind all the tedious data entry?" "No, not at all, actually! The stuff I'm learning is so interesting. Like, I always thought werewolves were immune to almost anything, but there are all these crazy things that can happen to them. Like one doctor observed a werewolf that stopped being able to heal quickly, except when there was a full moon. The doctor decided the guy had bad blood, and they actually ended up chopping off his balls so he couldn't reproduce and pass on the defect."

I asked, sensing the unease in her eyes. "Someone is coming," she told me. Just like that, I felt the chill of alertness ran through my bones. It was like suddenly there was a cold mist forming around the hall. The air was thick with strange scent. It was the first time I got so keen on my extrasensory. That, someone, was indeed, a vampire. "So what are we going to do?" I asked.

Alex then got up and left the library. On his way out of the mansion of the leader of my ancient vampire clan, Alex calmed himself from the vision he had while holding the ancient book. Yes! Alex himself could hardly believe what was happening. I don't know how it worked, but certainly when he touched the old book, images of things that had happened in the past related to the contents of the book seemed to automatically spin in Alex's head. Alex saw people who were jealous and afraid of the power of the Echelon vampire clan making evil plans to destroy the Echelon clan.

"Werewolf hearing, you know? Always picking up strange noises. Anyway, let's see what this is all about. There seems to be something... peculiar about your blood.” The book in her grip was old and fragile, its pages yellowed and worn. She flipped through them with a careless disregard, sending a cloud of dust particles swirling into the air. The fine powder tickled my nose, making me sniffle and sneeze. I tried to stifle the urge, but it was futile. “Your blood, my dear, is something truly special. It's a gift, a blessing from the four wise elders themselves," she began, settling comfortably into the recliner before us.

That kind of stillness only came after blood. Then I smelled it. Not just wolf blood. Vampire blood. Old. Powerful. My jaw clenched. “Shit.” I landed hard in the yard of the pack house—and chaos greeted me like a damn funeral. Wolves were scattered, some lying lifeless in the dirt, others groaning as they were helped up by their kin. Blood stained the grass in ugly smears. Death hung in the air like fog. And right at the centre, Ralph stood speaking with Aaron. My brows furrowed. Aaron came too?

she said confused while looking at me. "Maybe it's not working?" I said to her, questioningly. "That's impossible. I mean, I've treated many people whose wounds were deeper than yours, but they disappeared immediately," she said. "How did that happen?" I asked, confused. "I do not know. I'll just ask Grandma later, the important thing is that your blood is no longer flowing," she answered. We turned to Knox's when we heard someone shout. My eyes widened when I see the two vampires lying on the ground and slowly turning into ashes. Knox grabbed the neck of the vampire who was already up in the air and trying to get out of Knox's grip.

18+ warning: This chapter contains mature themes and graphic scenes that may not be suitable for all readers. Please read with caution and discretion. MABEL. No. No. No. I couldn't give up on the pressure test; I couldn't control it when my wolf crawled to the surface all over again, but this time, the pressure ignited something inside of me. I could feel it coming, and when the elders spoke, I only saw their lips move and saw the crowd talking. They seemed to be chanting, but I couldn't hear what they were saying. My mind was blurring through everything, and the only thing I wanted was to feel cold.

He thrashed, yelped once, went still. Humans, actual villagers, huddled in doorways and behind overturned carts. A woman clutched two children to her chest, her mouth open in a silent scream. An old man brandished a pitchfork like it might actually do something against claws and fangs. It didn’t. A passing wolf swatted him aside like a doll. He hit the ground hard and didn’t get up. My stomach lurched. This was my opening chapter. I’d written the raid. I’d described the way the alphas circled each other before the first blood was drawn, the way the village elder had begged for mercy and been ignored, the way the moon had hung fat and low like it was watching the slaughter for entertainment.

I started flipping fast, eyes skimming every line. “This is torture,” my wolf grumbled. “We’re gonna die of boredom before we find anything.” “Keep reading,” I muttered, turning to another brittle page. I went through section after section, nothing useful, just warnings and failed spells and lists of dead healers. My neck ached, my eyes watered, but I kept going. “Give it up,” my wolf said. “It’s a waste.” “No,” I snapped, flipping harder. Then I stopped. One heading in faded red ink grasped my attention. My pulse kicked.