Romans & histoires Ash Of War: Bloody Slash

Sweat slicked our bodies; every glide grew smoother, hotter. I raked my nails down his back, hard enough to leave angry red lines. He snarled, slammed in sharper, angling just right to batter that swollen spot inside me. Lightning shot up my spine. White sparks burst behind my eyelids. I screamed as my hips snapped up to meet every brutal drive. He shifted his weight and braced one thick forearm beside my head. The other hand dove between us as his fingers found my clit, he circled firmly and fast, no teasing, no mercy.

My son had been dragged to his death by his own mother. If hatred could turn into blades, I would have carved her to pieces where she stood. Jennifer saw the fury in my eyes and froze. Confusion and disbelief flashed across her face. She frowned and searched her memory as the color slowly drained from her face. That day, she had been busy making a kite for Tommy. She had cut apart an entire wall calendar for the cardboard backing. The stiff paper had scraped under the scissors, and scraps had fluttered across the room like snow. When she looked up, she saw Cyrus collapsed on the floor. Then I rushed in.

Two Ashmoor soldiers dead against each other like the last thing they did was fall into the same space. The sounds hit me before the visuals fully assembled. Metal against metal. The wet percussion of strikes landing on bodies that were past defending themselves. Screaming. Layered screaming from different positions on the road, each one carrying a different quality of pain. Fresh pain and deep pain. And underneath all of it, the snarling of shifted wolves that went past strategy into pure blood fury. Felix of Ironfang was on the left flank with his shoulder torn open to the bone but still

I duck one hit, take another to the shoulder that sends pain exploding through my arm and back, and still manage to drive my fist into someone's jaw hard enough to snap his head back. But they don't stop. They don't hesitate. And I'm already slowing. A hit lands. Then another. And another. I don't even know where the hits are coming from anymore. My vision blurs for half a second. Stars forming in my eyes and blood dripping off of my face. "Enough—" Draven's voice cuts through, but no one stops. Of course they don't. Why would they? I take another hit, this one sending me hard into the dirt again, breath leaving my lungs in a sharp, painful rush.

And even when they hadn't realized that fact, several monsters that had pulled out giant claws from their backs were approaching. “Grrr! RAWR!” “Your Highness!” Ashaf failed to carry out his main task of bringing Marya to safety, and instead, he swings his sword toward the monster that nearly pounced on Marya. "Die, you monsters!" Slash! “Huff… huff! On your left!” Marya shouted to Ashaf. Slash! Spurs! The blood splatter of the monsters that reek of corpses's smell covered Ashaf's face. The man immediately wiped his eye area from the splash.

They were real humans, and they were armed. As the men burst through the door, Russe transformed to his werewolf form and swung his claws, deflecting their blows with ease. He fought valiantly, but he was outnumbered. One of the men landed a blow on Russe’s shoulder, causing him to wince in pain. But just as Russe was about to be overwhelmed, he heard the howling sounds approaching. A group of werewolves appeared, armed with long, sharp claws. They charged towards the men, cutting them down with ease.

BLADE 3. Pain. It was all I felt when I shot my eyes opened. I felt so sore and tired. The memories of how Lorenzo plunged deeper into me last night filled my mind. He was so cruel to me. I didn't find any enjoyment in it at all. I tried lifting my hands and I was happy It was back to functioning. My tit hurts too as a result of the sucking he did last night.