Beatrice Basler Strike The Blood Novels & Stories

My in-laws' place was a three-story house with a yard, so whatever happened in the yard was visible to the street. Maeve stood up and grabbed my hand. "She's Lydia! Lydia, how could you do something so cruel? You're on your own this time!" The neighbors started whispering to each other. "So it was Lydia who hit those people a few days ago!" "She seemed so quiet before. How could she be so vicious? That baby was only a month old, and she ran over them twice!" Their words triggered the grieving family. One of the men shoved me to the ground. "You little tramp! So it's you. Don't bother denying it. Your outfit gives it away!"

The air that rolled out was stale and sour with sweat and panic. Beatrice was on the floor, curled into herself with her bound hands pressed against her chest. Her eyes were open but unseeing, pupils blown wide in the darkness. Her entire body shook in violent, uncontrollable tremors, and her skin was pale as ash. The welts across her back had bled through her dress, leaving dark, crusted stains against the fabric. She didn't react when the door opened. She didn't react to the light. She was somewhere else entirely, trapped inside her own terror.

The enchanted glass sliced deep into his palm, but Lucian merely grinned—a bloody, lethal baring of his fangs. With a brutal twist of his wrist, he snapped Leirick's crystalline sword into a dozen pieces, then drove his heavy broadsword forward in a brutal, plunging strike that pierced Eldrin's silver robes, bringing the second Elder down to his knees. Before Eldrin could even cry out, Lucian spun on his heel, swinging the heavy highland iron in a massive horizontal arc that cut through Leirick's defenses, felling both tyrants on the blood-stained white glass.

In a hurry, Caleb didn’t act brilliantly to save themselves. Suddenly, someone came behind Becca silently. Caleb’s eyes widened at seeing Charlotte with a steel bat. She didn’t wait to do it. Before Becca can shoot Caroline again, Charlotte hit her hard with that bat. Becca fell to the ground with the gun in her hands. Charlotte doesn’t expect she will bleed. “BLOOD,” Caroline stuttered, seeing the blood flowing from her head. In shock, Charlotte looked at the steel bat, which has a mark of blood on it.

he yelled and Beatrice blinked, her heart raced and her palms instantly became sweaty, drops of sweat fell from her forehead and her lips trembled when she saw the stick in his hand. He is going to beat her again. "What happened?" Beatrice asked with a shaky voice, unable to come up with the reason why he would want to beat her today. "You're seriously asking me what happened? That son of yours happened!" He yelled angrily at her and used the stick to hit her leg hard, making Beatrice stumble and fall to the ground. "I'm sorry," she said. She didn't even know what she was apologizing for, but she just wanted this to end as her eyes pooled with tears.

he demands she took a step close to him, looking him directly in his eyes, lips inches away from him, she glares at the man she loves the most before cursing at him "slimy, lying, good for nothing, selfish, little bastard" she starts off slow but as more words come out the more aggressive she becomes "That's it" he growls, pushing her so hard her body comes crashing into the floor. He folds the thick lather belt in too and strikes her with it, multiple times. *strike* i provide for you *strike* i feed you *strike* and this is how you repay me *strike* calling me a bas- *stike* -tard *strike*

She grabbed her hair hard again and tilted her face hard while the other two restrained her hands, making her struggle too hard to move out of their grasp. "Who will stop me, you fucking whore? The camera's here don't work, no one will ever find us. We got you at the perfect place," Beatrice continued as the others laughed. Erika opened her mouth to say something but she was immediately slapped across the face again, the pain stinging so bad that she felt ripples in her vision. Her words.. a whisper. But it didn't stop, they kept saying things, pushing and torturing her by inflicting pain as they laughed. She could feel the little trickling blood moving down her chin.

One rolled right past her foot. Beatrice stared and thought one thing on repeat, like a prayer: _Don’t think it. Don’t think it. Don’t think it._ But thinking about not thinking was still thinking. And the harder she pushed the image away, the brighter it burned — silver teeth, carved handle, the way it hummed under her fingers that morning. And in the silence, she felt it — the water shifting. Pressure changing. The moment before everything broke. Bale’s gaze flicked away first. He looked down at the sand.