Beatrice Basler Strike The Blood Novels & Stories

“Her blood’s my cure full of hybrid filth, but potent. My lab needs some more samples.” Beatrice’s eyes widened, darting to the needle. “No—get that thing away from me!” She thrashed with her claws, eyes flashing red and had the chair creaking, but the ropes held tight. I’d tied them too well. “Hold her still,” Velan ordered, his voice a velvet command. He loomed over her, the syringe poised like a fang. I grabbed her shoulders, pinning her down, my nails digging into her skin. “Stop squirming,” I hissed, my heart pounding so loud I was sure he’d hear it. “You’re only making this worse.”

I didn't know if that was better or worse. --- The trail opened onto a ridge. Below, Ashveil sat in its valley. The maples blazing red. I found the blood twenty feet from the ridge line. Not a wound. A site. Something had happened here and been partially cleaned. The way you clean when you want to remove evidence but are working fast. Dark staining on the rock. Disturbed earth. A broken branch at the wrong angle. The kind of break that happens when weight falls rather than when wind pushes. ---

The moment of hesitation cost me. One second I was standing between them—Alexander with his desperate love, Markus with his poisoned truths—and the next, something flew through the broken window. Fast. Too fast to see. Too fast to dodge. The cross struck my shoulder. Not hard enough to pierce—it was the flat of it, not the tip—but the silver burned. Oh God, it *burned*. I screamed, stumbling backward, my hand flying to my shoulder where the metal had seared my skin through my shirt.

Beatrice yelled. Wham! Claire was furious. She slapped Beatrice across the face. “You piece of sh*t!” she shouted angrily. “How dare you hit me? Was I wrong? You’re a lunatic. You’re sick in the head!” Beatrice yelled before pushing Claire away. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Beatrice stormed upstairs. Just as she was about to enter the room, she turned around and noticed Claire had fallen to the ground. She was lying still and didn’t move at all.

“A little boy talking big…telling an adult to apologize to him…” Beatrice looked down at the knife stuck in the wooden floor and with hands that were shaking, she clumsily dug it out. “If you think I’ll sit back and let a kid murder me all because he thinks he’s alpha, then you’re wrong…” She struggled to her feet, the cold wind whispering across her bare skin as she walked towards his back. “I’ll kill you, kill her and then run awa~” With tears running down her cheeks, Beatrice hammered the knife into her uncle’s shoulder and ripped it back out. The sound of his pained whimper had her stumbling back, eyes wide and fearful as he twisted his neck to look at her. “You little b*tc~!”

"You ruined my family's business! You took Raymond and you are going to stay right here in the slums where you belong!" "Move out of the way, Beatrice!" I shouted, keeping my body between her glass weapon and Nichole’s stomach. "No!" Beatrice shrieked, raising the broken bottle. "She deserves to lose everything!" Before she could take a step toward us, Raymond finally moved as he let out a loud, desperate cry, a sound full of absolute terror and sudden remorse and tackled Beatrice from the side. They both hit the hard concrete floor boards together as the glass bottle shattered into tiny pieces against the brick wall.

Her voice was gentle but firm as she grasped my wrist with her fingers and gently pulled up, encouraging me to let go. Callie reluctantly leaned back, and I finally relented and followed her. I was covered in blood, my hands, my chest, and my arms were all stained with the bright red of Beatrice’s blood. I could see blood on Callie’s shirt, and I couldn’t stop my eyes from staring at the stains, the beauty of the shape mesmerizing me. The red blood had been in Beatrice’s veins not just twenty minutes ago and now it was painted across Callie’s chest, a Rorschach test for me to figure out the mysteries in my mind.

Chase made no fancy movements but simply struck down with his palm. The force under his palm rolled like a turbulent wave. Harlow's face drastically changed, and he roared in anger. He raised his hands above his head, trying to block the strike. Along with the sound of breaking joints, both of Harlow's arms fractured. His lower body was driven into the ground, leaving only his waist and above visible. The ground around him cracked like a spider web, filled with dense fissures. The many members of Basalt were stunned. "Just one palm strike and he defeated Harlow. Is this... the terrifying power of our chief instructor?"

I felt my leg give way, the sharp pain blooming as I hit the cold marble floor, my knees landing directly onto the broken glass. "“Someone should remind her where she belongs!" Lydia screamed, her face a mask of psychotic triumph. "Hit her until she can’t speak! Hit her until she remembers her place in the dirt!" Beatrice’s palm slammed into my face, followed by Silas’s heavy hand. I felt my lip split, the copper taste of blood mingling with the sour wine. One of the guests, a man looking to stay in Silas’s good graces, stepped forward and shoved me back down as I tried to rise. They were a pack of wolves, and I was the sacrifice.

She twisted Beatrice’s arm away with a sharp movement and landed a resounding slap across Beatrice’s cheek. The crack of it echoed loudly in the parking lot, several parents turning their heads in shock. Beatrice stumbled, gasping, her hand flying to her face. "You—you—" Before Beatrice could recover, Antonia struck again, another fierce slap that left Beatrice reeling. Antonia stepped closer, her voice low, dangerous. "Like I said," she breathed, her face inches from Beatrice’s trembling one, "I'm not the Antonia you knew before." Beatrice gaped at her, too stunned to move.