Writheblood Ruins Novels & Stories

“Maybe we’ll find someone left alive... or whatever’s left of them.” Rafe caught my wrist before I moved too far ahead. “You’re shaking.” I met his gaze, eyes burning like the fire behind me. “Then let me shake while I find out who did this.” And with that, I crossed into the ruin, because I’d already lost one life here, and this time, I was ready to take it back. The deeper we rode into Varrick’s territory, the worse it got. The ground was a graveyard. Burnt trees, overturned vehicles, and the stench of blood so thick it turned the air metallic.

Everywhere was destruction. The scent of blood was thick in the air. Bodies,warriors, rogues, innocents littered the ground, their limbs twisted at unnatural angles. Smoke rose from crumbled buildings, and the soil was soaked with crimson. Trees had been uprooted, homes burned down to charred skeletons. It looked like war itself had clawed through the land and left nothing but ruin. Lyra gasped beside me. “No…” Her voice trembled. “Not again.” She jumped off the horse and started running, her bare feet hitting the blood-slicked earth without pause. Her steps were quick, frantic, as though every breath could be the one where she found her daughter dead or alive.

“I believe he’s after something ancient. A relic. There’s one rumored to be buried beneath the Hollowgrove ruins. The Spear of Thorne—the weapon once used by the first Moonblooded Alpha to strike down the traitors.” Brian’s brow furrowed. “If Jerik gets it…” “He won’t,” Alex said. “Because we’ll get there first.” ⸻ That night, under the cloak of shadows, a small group set out: Alex, Brian, Rachel, Tessa, and Drew—a Beta scout from the Sunfield Pack with a sharp eye and quicker feet. They moved through the dense woods in silence, the only sound the distant call of owls. The Hollowgrove ruins were old, ancient even by wolf standards. Carved from stone and buried beneath vines, they bore the ma

The name dropped into the quiet of the office like a shard of obsidian. Bloodmoon. Lucian felt a cold, ancient fury settle deep in his bones. This was no longer the predictable posturing of a weak Alpha. Hiring the Bloodmoon mercenaries was an act of scorched-earth desperation. Kael wasn't just trying to provoke him; he was trying to burn the whole world down, starting with the fragile omega sleeping peacefully in the west wing. He set his whiskey glass down, the sound a sharp crack in the silence. He pressed the intercom, his voice a low, hard command that held no room for discussion. "Zaide. Milo. Back to my office. Now."

Each grave was carved with the deeds of its occupant and was written in twisted blood-like characters, giving off a terrifying feeling. Andrius frowned slightly but entered without hesitation. Whoosh... The world shifted. Andrius found himself in an illusion. Everywhere he looked, he saw horrific scenes. Piles of bones formed mountains, and rivers of blood flowed into seas. The white bones and surging blood filled one with a sense of dread. Whoosh... Suddenly, the sea of blood roared, waves rising high. At the end of the sea of blood was a throne, towering so high that it reached into a blood cloud.

It could hide a dozen things no one wanted found. “How do we get there?” I asked, the question a stake I drove into the dark. “Careful,” she warned. “These things aren’t simple. Ruins carry the smell of old blood. Wards are tangled, and the metal can call its kin. Corruption follows such things.” I pictured Riven’s vague, fierce face, the way he’d charge first and think later. “Like the wolves he fought?” “Possible,” Aya said. “If the metal is bitter, it can sour the land. Bend beasts. Make minds ugly.”

And there was nothing left waiting for me beyond the tree line. The ruins had no name—at least none the guidebooks dared print. Just a speck on an old map, nestled between mountain ridges that never melted, buried under mist no sun could burn off. There were stories, of course. The kind told in wine-soaked whispers. Sealed doors. Blood-wrought curses. Women who entered and never returned. They didn’t mention how beautiful it would be.

He wanted to make it Gemma’s fiery tomb. I was so deep in thought that I almost ran straight into Wicked, who had stopped on the stairs. His hand up to signal us to stop. He glanced behind him. His eyes met mine. “Are you ready?” I nodded silently. I was born ready. “I know you’re there.” Young Blood’s voice was bored. “You send me Ruin, and no one else has to get hurt.” He was lying. Everyone could tell. He had left two bodies upstairs. Two brothers had lost their lives already.

Then, without warning, the land ruptured. A jagged tear split the ruins apart, sending debris flying as a force unlike any they had ever known burst forth. The very air seemed to scream. A guttural, unearthly shriek cut through the battlefield—deeper than the Abyss Wolf’s roar, lower, more primal, vibrating through every bone and muscle. The sky overhead twisted into a blood-stained spiral, the fading glow of the Blood Moon pulsing like a wounded eye, casting eerie shadows upon the carnage below.

The ruins of the Moon Shadow Manor did not look like stone anymore. They looked like a scab. A thick, undulating membrane of violet-black ichor had grown over the wreckage, pulsing with a slow, nauseating rhythm. As the combined armies of the Silver Pack and the Iron Ridge crested the final hill, the horses whinnied in terror, and the wolves let out low, mournful whimpers. The air here was dead—no oxygen, only the stinging scent of sulfur and ancient, rotting memories.