All Of Us Are Dead Book Novels & Stories

It brought a smile on her face, but when she looked at him, she found him whisking the eggs while sending her a blank gaze. Cyra swallowed. He was giving her the cold and hot treatment at the same time and it was frightening. “Why are we here, Zaiden?” Zaiden, who was flipping the omelette, heard her asking him. “Because for the world, we have already died,” he answered her, startling Cyra again. “What do you mean by that? Why does everyone consider us dead?” She questioned him further. She was desperate to know what had been actually going on in their lives.

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Then he hears Aaron. Aaron, by the tool rack, in a stage whisper apparently designed by a faulty theatre ghost: "That's the doctor. Think he knows about the dead-once thing?" Maya closes her eyes. Jin turns his head. "Dead once thing?" No laugh. No disbelief. Just careful attention, like he'd seen impossible things survive peer review and then eat the building. Maya opens her eyes. "Welcome to the base. We offer water, quarantine, and unfortunately, context."

The kindness of this stranger nearly broke her. “I . . . I’m not worth it,” she said, and her face crumbled, and her skin crawled, and her hair was matted and she had just endured some of the worst hours of her life, listening to this mad man grunt and groan and howl as he ripped at her skin and bit at her breast. She was glad Aleta was dead. She was glad of it. Because if she had lived with these memories in her head . . . The hunter’s shine from earlier melted and turned into tears, which ran down her cheeks and dropped onto the freshly polished floor.

The women must have noticed that I was beginning to lose consciousness because they immediately let go of my limp body. "Is she dead?" I faintly heard one of them ask, her voice a mixture of fear and panic. "Who cares... I'm sure Lord Darius and Lady Hilda wouldn't care. They'll even thank us for getting rid of this filth," another said casually. "Thank us!!! How idiotic can you be!? Half-breed or not, she's the daughter of The Great Rafael Bloom. And we've just killed her. Mere vampire maids. We'll be staked alive for this," another declared in panic, making the others start to panic as well, realizing what they had done.

You're going to die by their hands one day! Losing all interest in reading the rest of Frank's messages, I blocked his number. … Although the storm finally let up a little on the fifth day, magnets continued to rain down. The city was covered in clumps of broken metal that were stuck together. The steel bars in shorter buildings protruded from the walls. Piles of twisted metal filled the roads. The group chat had gone eerily silent. There were only 17 survivors left. All the arguments in the group chat had died down. No one was begging for help either. Occasionally, someone would share their location, hoping someone else would save them. Unfortunately, their cry for help would shortly be cov

Corridors that had once hosted smug deals now hosted death: chandeliers trembled as gunfire ricocheted; wine spilled over marble in dark ribbons that looked like blood already. In one upstairs salon, Dante found five men clustered around a caged door, throwing crates, arguing over who would be sent where once Cruz reclaimed control. He stepped into the doorway, and the debate died like a candle snuffed. A single motion, a pistol raised, then everything moved in a choreographic collapse as his lieutenants swept through — rope snapped, necks broken, breaths stopped. Dante watched the fall with a spectator’s clarity, like a surgeon. He wiped the blood from his knuckles with the back of his hand

DAWN’S POV I was seated in the throne room, watching as the elders and gammas of my pack whispered among themselves, unable to believe that their alpha was dead. I assured them that he was dead, but they demanded to see his body. "I want to see his body! How can we believe he is dead without seeing his body?" one of the gammas said, with a tinge of desperation in his voice. "You don't need to see his body. Trust me, he's dead," I replied with a cold tone, trying to hide my smile.

I heard the clicking of camera shutters, but no one called the ambulance. My blood drained dry. My body became cold. Finally, Yvette Skye was no more. I died all alone at the corner of the street. No one cared. My corpse was not a pretty sight. My eyes were wide, unseeing, and there was a large hole in my stomach. My legs were twisted together. One of my arms was flung by the side of the road. My legs were useless now. I was ugly. No wonder the little girl cried. Floating in the air, I stared at my mutilated corpse.