All Chapters of His Little Hunter: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

DAMIENI stood frozen, my boots rooted to the floor as my brain tried to process the gruesome tableau in front of me.There was no trace of the vampire’s head. It was just... gone.In its place was a spray of finely crushed bone and gray matter, decorating Allison’s pristine walls in a gore-ish painting. The head hadn't just been severed, it had been atomized from the point where the collar sat.Given my line of work, I was well acquainted with gore. I’d seen bodies torn apart by lycans, drained by vampires, and rotting in ditches. But a wave of nausea hit me hard as the copper tang of fresh blood mixed with the ozone smell of burnt flesh.His head had bloody exploded.What a brutal way to go. Leave it to an abomination to dream up such a deranged execution method.“Do forgive me for the mess.”The female spoke with a deceptively polite smile, bringing a slender hand up to her face. She swiped at her blood-stained cheek with the back of her hand, but instead of cleaning it, she smeared

ALLISON I was well acquainted with pain. For the longest time, it was all I knew. My constant companion, my cruelest teacher. It had shaped me, molded me into the person I'd become, carved out the hollow spaces inside me and filled them with steel. In the two years I'd spent as Michail's blood slave, I'd endured every conceivable form of suffering. Physical pain that shattered bones and tore flesh. Emotional agony that fractured my soul. The scars ran deep, visible and invisible, a roadmap of trauma etched across my being. But this... This was something else entirely. It felt like liquid fire had replaced every drop of blood in my veins, and with each traitorous beat of my heart, the inferno spread, scorching me from the inside out. An overwhelming urge consumed me; to peel my own skin off strip by strip, to claw my way out of this burning shell if it would just make it stop. The pain was unbearable. It wasn't like a physical injury where you could at least identify the source,

ELIAS I knew what to expect when I entered the prison. I was prepared to see the hunter writhing in pain from the poison coursing through her veins, that was the entire point of this punishment, after all. But the reality was far more grievous than my expectations could have prepared me for. The sight that greeted me outside her cell nearly tore my heart to shreds. She was indeed in pain. That much was devastatingly clear at first glance. There was no sign of the fearless female from before. Her small frame hung limp, legs having given out long ago. Her knees angled uselessly toward the ground, and only the shackles binding her wrists to the ceiling kept her upright. The skin around the cuffs was chafed raw and bruised, dark enough that I caught hints of blood seeping through the metal. She looked every bit the prisoner she was. The sight should have satisfied me, should have brought some measure of vindication. It didn't. It only deepened the conflict raging in my chest. Her he

ALLISON Focus, Allison. Focus on anything else but the thirst. But that was far easier said than done when all I could think about was the unbearable dryness plaguing my throat, scraping against it like shards of glass with every shallow breath. It was absolutely maddening. My skin burned hot and slick with sweat, but this wasn't a side effect of the poison. No, the poison had long since worn off, its fire faded to embers. Neither Alistair nor his master had returned with another dose in what felt like hours, possibly longer. Whether they'd simply forgotten about their prisoner or were brewing something more devious was beyond my ability to guess, but I was grateful for the reprieve nonetheless. I'd nearly forgotten what it felt like to exist without feeling like the blood in my veins had turned to molten acid, or like millions of tiny spears were repeatedly piercing through every layer of my skin. The period of reprieve hadn't lasted long, however. The pain had returned with bru

ALLISONBut what other choice did I have? Already I felt desperately jittery without the blade at my side, like a part of me had been severed. Time and time again, I'd reached down instinctively to grip the familiar hilt, seeking the comfort and reassurance it offered, only to find nothing but empty air where my sword should be. That sword was the most important thing I owned in this entire world. It signified my hard-won triumph over Michail, my victory against impossible odds. It was a testament to everything I'd endured and somehow, miraculously, overcome despite the agony and degradation. Most importantly, it was mine. It was the one thing that truly belonged to me in this cruel world where everything else had been systematically taken from me, stripped away piece by piece. It was my trophy, my proof of survival, regardless of the bloody path I'd taken to acquire it. As unreasonable and dangerous as it sounded, I wasn't willing to part ways with it. Not now, not ever. I would ha