Wolfenstein Old Blood Chapters Novels & Stories

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I woke with a gasp. The room was dark. The fire in the hearth had burned down to embers. The window was black with the night. And the Book of Blood, which had been locked in the council hall, was open on my bedside table. I sat up slowly, my heart pounding. My hands were glowing faintly silver, just like Mirren's had when she first discovered her spirit-wolf. The light pulsed once, twice, then faded. The Book was open to the first page. The names of the bloodlines glowed faintly in the darkness, and I could feel them. All of them. The families who had been waiting. The survivors. The lost.

This was the raw essence of the mate-bond, stripped of the "Celestial Drama." "The wolves are shifting, Gia," he continued, using my human name with a grit that made my marrow ache. "But it’s not the 'Luminous Ascension' we promised them. It’s the Old Way. It’s the blood-hunger. It’s the bone-snap. Without the filters of the West, the North is becoming a Meat-Market again." The 197th Chapter was the beginning of the Primal Drift.

***TRIGGER WARNING: Up until now, this story has been fairly tame. From this point forward, Wolfblood takes a dark turn. For those who read the first book of the series, Wolfbane, this book is much darker and deals with more serious, real-world issues. If you prefer light-hearted romances without violence, I advise you not to continue. If, however, you enjoy thrilling werewolf romance novels, please continue with Wolfblood! I promise it's worth the ride.***

“Because I know what it’s like to be watched by everyone.” The words cracked something in me. The arrogance was gone for that heartbeat, stripped bare to something raw. I didn’t push. I just turned back to the shelves. And then I saw it. A yellowed page was tucked between the heavy books, its faded ink still clear enough to read. My hand shook as I pulled it free. The title was scrawled at the top in jagged letters: First Blood. My eyes scanned the words, fragments only. Before wolves, before oaths, there was the First. Blood that commands, blood that binds. Not beast, not man, but both. The source. The curse.

If this was what he went through to get information, then I quit. I couldn’t keep up. I shoved the remaining books away, ready to give up. “I’d just let him do it himself then—” My words halted as my eyes landed on an older book. I hadn’t even noticed it until now. Slowly, I pulled it closer and flipped through the pages until I reached the section I cared about. “…Capturing a vampire… capable of hurting a daywalker… the pure woods…” My wolf leapt inside me as the words echoed in my head.

asked Leora later. Eleanor then began to tell the history of their family who inherited the holy blood for generations. This sacred blood is the blood indispensable to the vampire family. They need this holy blood for the survival of their offspring. There aren't many vampire families left, but they definitely exist and are always looking for Leora's whereabouts. Because only a handful of people still have this sacred bloodline. Although it is heavy and difficult to understand, but Leora tries to understand what her grandmother is telling her. She nodded and listened to what Eleanor said.

Sena was stationed at the east wall with a tray of her own; she looked appropriately demure and kept her eyes fixed on her feet, speaking to nobody. A quick exchange of glances confirmed she knew what we were doing; the silent pact was made that Vessa would endure her opinions later. Bram beamed from his position at the head of the table. His toast was one of the two offered in the span of the first hour, but the second, much longer speech, focused on the subject of bloodlines, legacy, and the Ironfang Pack's future. The wolves raised their cups, and the resonance of the cheer echoed throughout the hall while I stood at its periphery with my tray and my prearranged face, my father's precise

Every step sank into damp, rotting earth that smelled of decay and old blood. My wolf paced frantically inside me, her warnings growing louder. She’s there. Closer. Waiting. I pushed on, vines brushing my skin like warm, living flesh. I had to find her—the memory-tampering witch. Ancient werewolf histories spoke of forbidden chapels where dark witches hid. I remembered the stories. I had no choice. The trees finally parted. An old, crumbling chapel rose ahead like a broken tombstone. Stone walls were cracked and blackened. Moonlight poured through shattered stained-glass windows, casting twisted images of howling wolves in agony across the ground. Their painted eyes seemed to follow me.

Meanwhile, Chloe gave birth to a pup with pure golden fur, and suddenly her home was overflowing with admirers praising her husband’s powerful bloodline. Humiliated, Damian turned vicious. He berated me constantly, furious that he hadn’t chosen Chloe instead. In the Alliance, werewolf bloodlines fell into four ranks: Omega Black Werewolves, Beta Gray Werewolves, Alpha Silver Werewolves, and Golden Lycans. Each rank was divided further into low, average, and high categories.