Bite The Hand That Feeds You Book Novels & Stories

"I get it. This sucks. You're tired, you're hungry, and you're stuck with us. But if you just touch the book, we can all move on with our lives. Trust me, I want this to be over as much as you do." She frowned, her expression softening slightly. "You really think this will work?" "Honestly? I have no idea. But it's worth a shot, right?" After a long pause, she sighed and held out her hand. "Fine. But if this ruins my nails, you're all going to pay for it." She placed her hand on the book, and for a moment, nothing happened. Then, a faint golden light began to emanate from her fingertips, spreading across the page. The symbols on the book began to shift and glow, rearranging themselves into a

I lowered my hand and picked up the fork. The first bite was nothing. The pasta had no taste. But my body did not care about taste. My body had been waiting two days, and it took the food gratefully. A small shaking started up in my hands as I lifted the second forkful, the shaking of a body remembering it was hungry. I got the second bite down. I reached for the third. My hand was shaking too hard. The plate tipped.

“Let me handle it.” “You want her to get a taste for it?” he demanded. “You don’t know how many I’ve had to put down because they decided they liked biting off a chunk of human flesh. Get your hand out of its mouth!” “It’s teething,” she snapped. “And it’s hungry, but not for me. Calm down.” She was sure of it, especially when the hatchling gave up exploring her fingers with its teeth upon realizing she was hiding no more meat between them. It let go with another wail, tail flicking out with a snap that had it dragging its extended spines along the tabletop. See that, she wanted to snip. Harmless. She fed it another strip, more cautiously this time, and then another when that disappeared in

Worst than a mosquito bite and those bitches hurt. "Didn't anyone tell you that biting innocent girls can get you killed?" The next thing I know, this guy throws the one that bit me, against a wall with one punch. How does someone have that much strength. Then again, I just witness a vampire and freaking bit me "Now, next time think twice. Goodnight." He said and then he grabbed the guy's head and ripped it off. I was trying to get some air but wasn't working. I was dizzy from him drinking my blood and what I just freaking witness today.

I had pushed too much. I turned my attention over to the man underneath me, he struggled to free himself from my grip, he screamed, he pleaded, he cried, but all I could hear was the sound of his blood flowing through his veins. Without any hesitation I sank my teeth into his neck and I just kept drinking and drinking and drinking the warm juice, it was satisfying to my taste and I wanted more and more, I couldn’t stop, I made sure I drank every drop of his blood.

On the cover was the word, “Bitten” Raven opened the book and felt a surge of power. The pages looked empty at first but a flash of light lit up behind every word as they appeared. This book had been enchanted. “This is from your father’s library. It contains the tale of the child born of the Bitten and the Born.”

Same one from my last life. "Babe, now that you're further along, the pup needs more nutrients. Drink this while it's hot. You've gotten so thin." I glanced at the mirror. Glowing, full-faced, obviously well-fed. Laughed under my breath. Not sure if it was his bad acting or the recycled lies that got me. Held out my hand, no hesitation. "Sure."

He bit into it, slow and deliberate, smirk on his lips, eyes locked to mine. The implication was clear. “Good,” he murmured, “you still remember not to bite the hand that feeds you.” A low ripple of laughter ran around the table. Not mocking—just cold amusement, hungry complicity. Shame burned at my cheeks, prickling hot tears at the corners of my eyes. It shouldn’t hurt—this casual theft. But it was a taking, a reminder of how utterly powerless I was, how deeply he understood the levers that moved me. Hayden pretended not to notice, but his grip on his water glass whitened. Evelyn was less circumspect, tilting her head, a faint curl at her mouth.

“You’re so lonely. So proud. You feed a stray cat and pretend it means you still care about something. That’s... sad.” My jaw tightened. “Do you talk to it too? Whisper all your secrets into its fuzzy little ears? Maybe stroke its fur and feel less like a monster.” I walked slowly into the hallway, scanning for a presence I couldn’t see. Her voice was everywhere and nowhere. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with.” “Don’t I?” Her tone darkened, grew deeper. “You should be thanking me. Whoever bit me gave me a gift. I’m embracing it, just like you taught me.”

Not because they were strange. Because he believed them. He truly believed corruption was protection, possession was destiny, and a stolen child was blessed because the thief called him king. The shadow child’s tiny hand twitched against the feathered cradle, and the first Blood Feather book lowered as black ink dripped toward its mouth. I screamed and pulled against the roots, tearing skin from my wrists, but the throne held me like a mother chained beside a crib. “Stop feeding it,” I cried, watching the ink fall like poisoned milk toward the sleeping face that should have belonged only to my baby.