Written In My Own Heart's Blood Novels & Stories

It slid down my cheek slowly, warm against my cold skin, carrying with it the weight of all the hurt, all the pain I had tried to bury deep within me. Those four words… I hated them. I’d always hated them. They were like a curse, echoing in the darkest corners of my mind, reminding me of everything I’d fought so hard to escape. “It’s in your blood.” Those words had haunted me for years, whispered by those who believed I would never be anything more than a product of where I came from. No matter what I did, no matter how far I ran, they always found a way back to me, taunting me, reminding me that I could never truly outrun my past.

"I spent my childhood hiding in closets from the sound of slamming doors and broken bottles. I built walls so high no one could scale them, convinced that was the only way to survive. Then you came along—not with ladders or grappling hooks, but with patience. You waited until I opened the door myself." She squeezed his hands. "When our minds merged, you saw every fear, every doubt, every reason I had to guard my heart—and still, you chose me. Today, I choose you again. Not because fate pushed us together, but because loving you is the freest choice I've ever made."

because it sold better. The revenge in my heart turned into a cold, hard diamond. I was tired of being the victim. I was tired of being the "Subject" or the "Character." "If there are no pens," I hissed, "I'll use my own blood." I didn't wait. I bit my own finger until it bled. But it wasn't blood that came out. It was that glowing purple liquid the mix of the Alpha’s power and my love. It was the purest ink in the library.

At the bottom of the page, written in jagged, hurried strokes of dark ink, was a single sentence that sent a paralyzing chill straight to my core: “If I ever forget the truth… don't let me trust my own memories.”

I had given him everything—my trust, my body, everything—and he destroyed it all while smiling. I felt a sharp pang in my chest like something was ripping me open from within. I groaned in pain, clutching my chest. "I... swear it on my blood," my voice trembling from the cold. "The blood that runs in my veins, I will never trust anyone." The thunder roared, and the rain fell harder; it was as though the moon goddess had joined in my pity party. The pain from within me came the second time, but it was more painful this time, threatening to wrench my heart open. I tried getting up, but the pain was fiercer than I could handle.

The silk in my hands thrummed like a living thing. As I unrolled more of it, the letters slid, blinked, then settled into meaning only I could see. My mouth moved before I could second-guess it. I read. “When flame meets tide and night meets dawn, Let five be bound and breathe as one. To bear the weight and keep from harm, The heart must split to grow an arm. Where kingdoms rot and rings lie torn, A many-blood shall be reborn;

Wilson…My Wilson All the thoughts running through my head halted at that moment. I dare say all my sadness and anger also vanished Everywhere blurred, everyone vanished but I could distinctively hear the singing crew sing ‘Young and beautiful’ ‘Dear Lord when I get to heaven, would you let me bring my man? When he comes tell him that you'll let him in……father tell me if you can…..’ That also faded into the background as I panicked turned to look at Wilson His eyes were red, puffy, sad, elated, hopeful….His eyes were a lot of things

I looked at the empty bottle, then at the pen. "Rowan," I said. "If the ink is unlimited... it's not in the bottle, is it?" Rowan looked at me, his hazel eyes wide. "Kaima, what are you saying?" "The ink is in **Us**," I said. I took the pen and I didn't write on the air. I pressed the tip of the pen against my own **Heart**. ***"Chapter 66: The Blood of the Author."*** As I wrote the words on my skin, my blood didn't come out red.

I press the letter to my chest and I feel the heart thump against the paper like a reply. "I don't know your name as I write this. I don't know your face. But I know you needed a heart and I have one to give, and honestly that's a better love story than most people get. My heart is stubborn, that’s a fair warning. It beats faster when it's angry and slower when it's near lavender and it has a terrible habit of falling in love with people who don't know what to do with love. That might be my fault. Or it might just be the heart. Either way, it's yours now. So make sure you appreciate it and treat it better than I did."

Just ink moving across paper. I didn’t write a manifesto. I didn’t craft a speech. I wrote a letter. Quiet and personal. Not to the world. Not to the past. To myself. I wrote about the stillness. About the way the mornings felt now. About the long road I had taken just to get here, to this soft morning sun and this cup of coffee and this skin I could finally sit inside without bracing. I didn’t name every trial. I didn’t need to recount every fall. I simply wrote what was true.