This story contains dark fantasy, blood magic, witches, and intense supernatural themes. Readers will encounter graphic scenes, suspense, and morally complex characters.
When Her Blood Screamed
The scream tore through the night before Amara even realized she was running.
Branches clawed at her arms and legs, tearing her nightdress, scraping her skin raw. Her lungs burned, her heart hammering so violently she thought it might explode. Every shadow twisted into something alive, moving, hunting.
Run… run or die…
Her bare feet sank into the damp earth as she stumbled blindly through the forest. She didn't know where she was going—only that she had to keep moving. Fear clawed at her chest, sharp and relentless, while a deeper, darker instinct told her she wasn't being chased. She was being herded. Something ancient, deliberate, waiting for her to falter.
The clearing opened suddenly, and her foot caught on the uneven ground. She fell hard, face scraping against the dirt, and froze.
A young man lay sprawled on the ground, chest torn open, eyes glazed with death. Symbols, ancient and wrong, were carved deep into his skin, glowing faintly red. The metallic scent of blood, mixed with the acrid tang of burnt herbs, filled her nostrils. Amara gagged and stumbled backward, shaking violently.
"No… no… no…" Her voice trembled, breaking with fear.
Then came the whispers.
Not voices exactly. Pressure. A vibration inside her skull, clawing at her teeth and bones. The blood on the ground pulsed like it was alive, calling to her, resonating deep within her veins.
"Stop… please…" she begged, pressing her hands to her temples, rocking back and forth.
A voice answered, cold and smooth, cutting through the dark.
"You shouldn't beg. It doesn't listen to fear."
From the shadows, they emerged—tall figures draped in black smoke-like fabric, faces painted in ash and bone. Their eyes were entirely black. They circled her, calm, powerful, unafraid, and every instinct in Amara screamed that they could destroy her without touching her.
"The blood has awakened," the lead witch said softly. "I felt it scream. I felt it call."
Amara collapsed to her knees, shivering uncontrollably. Tears streamed down her dirtied face as she whispered, "I… I don't understand. I didn't…"
The ground beneath her suddenly exploded in heat. Flames erupted, forming a perfect circle around her, licking at her skin. She screamed, pressing herself against the dirt as the fire swirled.
"Please! I didn't do anything!" Her voice broke, raw and ragged.
Another voice, sharper, cut through the chaos. "That's the lie you tell yourselves. Power exists with consequence."
The blood from the dead man lifted into the air, twisting like living veins, pulsing with unnatural light. Amara gasped, pressing her face into her trembling arms. Pain shot through her veins, sharp and electric. Her chest tightened, pulse syncing with the floating blood.
"No… please… no…"
The blood didn't listen.
It slammed into her.
The world exploded. Fire and ice, voices layered over one another in her skull, memories that weren't hers, visions of past and future entangled in red haze.
She saw armies fall, witches burning, kings kneeling, all under her command. She saw herself crowned in shadow, hands raised as if she ruled the world. She convulsed violently, terrified beyond reason, eyes glowing faintly red.
The witches stumbled back, whispering in shock.
"She's not supposed to be able—"
The blood surged outward violently, one witch thrown into a tree with a sickening crack. Another collapsed, clutching her throat as blood poured from her mouth.
Amara's entire body shook. She gasped through ragged breaths. "What… what am I?"
Silence fell.
Then—slow, deliberate applause.
A man stepped from the shadows, tall, broad-shouldered, dark-clad, eyes sharp and calculating. Cold enough to make the night itself shiver.
"Well," he drawled, voice smooth and amused, "that was dramatic."
The witches stiffened.
"Zyren," one hissed. "You weren't invited."
"Neither was she," Zyren said, his eyes fixed on Amara. His gaze was sharp, disbelieving. He had never seen his brother act this gentle toward another woman.
Another presence emerged—Kairo. Calm, grounded, steady. His eyes locked on Amara, scanning her trembling form, the way her hands clutched the folds of his coat as if it were the only thing keeping her alive.
"Kairo…" Zyren said, tension tight in his voice. "You're late."
Kairo ignored him. He knelt beside Amara, lifting her trembling body carefully into his arms. Her body shook violently against his chest.
"You're safe now," he murmured, voice low and grounding her fear. "I'm here. No one will hurt you."
Amara trembled, pressing her face against his shoulder. Her heartbeat spiked—not from fear, but from something new, strange, confusing. She shoved it aside. She couldn't afford feelings now—not with witches, blood, and power waiting for her.
Kairo adjusted her in his arms and began carrying her through the forest. Each step was deliberate, protective. Amara's mind raced, trying to make sense of everything. What is happening? What am I? Why is my blood… alive?
"She shouldn't be here," Kairo said softly, voice low but lethal as he scanned the clearing behind them. "You broke the old laws."
"The laws were written for monsters like her," the lead witch spat.
"Then pray she never becomes one," Kairo said, jaw tight, eyes flashing with determination.
Zyren's disbelief deepened. He had never seen Kairo act this way. Never. And now, in the eerie silence after the chaos, he felt a storm of emotions—pride, anger, disbelief—and a creeping dread that this woman could change everything.
Amara's eyes scanned the trees—the charred grass, lingering smoke, the faint pulse of the blood left behind. Her body shook, heart racing, breath uneven. "I… I don't even know who I am anymore," she whispered.
Kairo's arms tightened slightly, his hand brushing gently against her back. "You'll find out," he said softly. "But not tonight. Right now, just stay with me."
From the shadows, unseen eyes watched. And even though she could not see it, even though her mind refused to accept it… Amara knew the world was already shifting beneath her.
The blood had remembered.
And it would not forgive.
If your heart is still racing after Amara's first night of terror, don't leave her alone just yet…
Make sure to vote, comment, and follow so you can see what happens next—her journey has only just begun, and the blood remembers more than you think.
And if you haven't yet, check out "Laces & Lies", where secrets, danger, and forbidden love will pull you in just like this story. Trust me—you don't want to miss it.
Your support keeps the story alive. Every vote, comment, and follow means more chapters, more danger, and more twists waiting for you in Amara's world.