Crown Of Blood And Vengeance – M Guida

Balthazar stepped inside, hellfire dancing in his outstretched palm, casting twisted shadows across his face. “Did I hear someone call my name?” He broke out into a slow smile that held no warmth, only ancient malice. I gasped, the scorching heat making my skin prickle. “Is that…?” “Hellfire.” His smile was razor-sharp as he withdrew a crystal wine glass from the china cabinet.

The flame writhed like a living thing before sliding into the glass, which remained eerily intact despite the infernal heat. My stomach turned as Balthazar lifted his wrist to his mouth, fangs gleaming in the crimson light. He tore into his flesh with savage precision, dark blood dripping into the glass.

The hellfire seemed to pulse eagerly as it merged with his blood, creating a swirling vortex of darkness and flame. “Now, Nephilim,” he purred, extending the glass toward me, “you’re going to drink this.” My stomach recoiled at the thought. “No, I’m not.” I yanked frantically at Rocco’s chains, the metal biting into my palms. “Those chains will only loosen when I touch them.”

Balthazar traced a finger along the air, mimicking the patterns of the chains with undisguised pleasure. “They’re imprinted with my magic. No one else can release them —not even you, Nephilim.” He moved with demon-speed, nothing more than a blur of shadow before the blade appeared in his hand. “I’ll kill the prince now if you don’t do as I say.” “Damn you!” “I’ve always been damned,” he growled, eyes flashing with hellfire. “Now drink.” Julienne’s warning echoed in my mind—my soul would turn dark.

But could I let the prince die? The choice strangled me like a noose. I wasn’t about death. I was about life. I was a healer just like my father. With trembling hands, I took the foul glass and raised it to my lips. I expected liquid fire, expected agony, but instead, the mixture slid down my throat with a spicy-sweet burn. There was something else lurking beneath the surface—something too tangy, too sour, that made my Nephilim powers twist inside me.

“Now, Nephilim, hold out your hand and repeat after me⁠— Sanguinem regis aufero, Potentiam vampiri extraho, Per tenebras inferni, Virtutem eius consumo, I held my head up high, defiance thumping in my chest. “I won’t say it until you tell me what it means.” “Fine.” He put his hand on Rocco’s shoulder until the prince’s bones creaked beneath his grip.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Created with Vellum OceanofPDF.com Contents Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Epilogue Dear Reader About the Author Also by M Guida OceanofPDF.com E Chapter One nzo I pulled on my arms and legs, but I was pinned to the wall like a butterfly in an insect collection.

The cold stone of the church wall dug into my back, ancient plaster crumbling at my struggles. Cold gripped me from within, freezing every muscle, every nerve, until even my immortal blood turned to ice in my veins. The magic holding me felt like thousands of invisible needles piercing my skin, each one a point of searing cold that spread deeper and deeper. Not even my vampire strength could break me free. The tang of incense still lingered in the air, a holy scent now corrupted by the metallic stench of battle blood—both from the fight and Valentin.

He was strapped on the altar like a sacrificial lamb, his blood seeping out like tar, feeding Balthazar’s spell with every drop. I nearly choked on the sulfurous reek that always accompanied Balthazar’s magic. Shattered stained glass scattered across the floor in a kaleidoscope of colored shards, moonlight catching each piece like fallen stars. All I could do was watch and listen, waiting for the slightest mistake so I could escape. The sounds of our earlier battle still echoed in my mind, though now the church was deathly quiet save for the creaking of old wooden pews and the whisper of the night air through broken windows.

But I wasn’t the only one in the Demon Balthazar’s insect collection. To my left, the mafia kings, Trystan, and Keir, hung suspended in transparent prisons. Trystan remained trapped in his wolf form, his silver fur matted with dried blood, eyes glazed with pain. Beyond them, pressed against the cavern wall, Dimitri Dragan and his mate writhed in their own transparent cells, their faces contorted in silent agony as Balthazar’s magic pulsed through the crystalline structure.

We are all his prisoners, trapped in this desecrated sanctuary. And powerless to stop him.

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.

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• Title: –
• Author: Unknown
• Pages: 280
• Language: English (en)

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