Blood And Cheese Game Of Thrones の小説・ストーリー

He affirmed. "And?" I whispered. Why the fuck was I flirting with him? "And I'll fuck you on that huge dressing table of yours. I'll make sure I fuck you so hard your back slams into that mirror until it shatters. And then, I'll put a bullet in that dirty, wicked heart of yours." He breathed out a laugh. "You'll die, Ginevra, with my cum dripping out of your cunt and my bullet in your heart." Ricardo reached for the door and I called out to him, gaining his attention. "Have you forgotten? We are bound by blood. I die, you die, mi amore."

From the base of that throne, from the cracks in the stone beneath it, thin, dark lines were sliding outward. Blood. It wormed its way into the grout between tiles, spider-webbing toward us like crimson fingers. The throne itself pulsed once, faintly. My Regret Mark burned hot enough to hurt. I swallowed. “Okay,” I said, voice hoarse. “So I’m guessing ‘penalty event’ doesn’t mean we lose points off our final grade.” No one laughed. The House had woken something deeper than vampire wolves. And if my stories were anything to go by, thrones that bled were never a good sign for anyone still standing.

I hoped to play the hero–or heroin. Blood painted the stone walls of the fortress, they smelt like fresh blood. Before me in a long hallway was a huge door with few lifeless men littering the door entrance. My heart thuds as I make my brave steps towards the door. What's behind the door could be the dreadful one who slayed the men I met on the way. Also the one who might be keeping Emmett captive, because for what I know, he was immortal.

I groan as pain explodes in my temple and hot liquid cascades down my face. The fvcker. “Blood—yum.” He grins, and he’s definitely not faking it. The sick fvck does enjoy the sight of blood more than anything. “Let’s start with those pretty nails, eh?” He steps behind me and takes my hand in his. I tense, holding my breath. If he hurts my sniper arm, I’m going to bloody murder him. “Oh wait.” He motions at one of the guards. “Pass me a knife, would ya? I want to cut his skin at the same time.”

“He advised me through the worst six months of my life after my father died, when I didn’t know if I was strong enough to hold what I’d inherited. I don’t want it to be him.” “I know.” I reached across the console, resting my hand over his on the wheel, an instinct rather than a decision. “But wanting isn’t the same as knowing.” His hand turned beneath mine, fingers lacing through mine with a quiet desperation that had nothing to do with strategy. “If it’s him,” Declan said, “I need you to understand something wasn’t going to be simple, or clean. Family loyalty in this world isn’t a virtue, Sera. It’s a liability dressed up as one.”

The man is evil. He doesn’t look sad at the moment though. He seems to be enjoying the games right now. Victor does love all things sports. The ascension night games is basically to honor the strategic things the people of Drakorya did to attack the Rogarue vampires. Games like the Crimson chalice relay an endurance race through the palace grounds, the reams consists of three to five vampires each must carry a sealed chalice of blood without spilling it. This game signifies the moment where vampires had vervain in a cup ready to weaken the Rogarue vampires, they had to hold it carefully because purebred vampires also get weak by vervain. They were trained to carry it in a steady way so it do

“He’s playing a sick, elaborate game.” “And we’re walking into his dining room tomorrow night?” The absurdity of it was staggering. “We have no choice. To refuse is to declare open war, and he holds the high ground. The family, the capos… their loyalty is a weathervane. If he brands me as unstable, as putting a stranger above blood…” He didn’t need to finish. “We go. We play his game. And we find a way to turn it.” We. The word hung between them. An alliance, forged in the belly of the beast.

a shallow cut, blood welling up in a thin line. The sting makes me hiss, but I arch into it, offering more. 'Cut yourself now. Show me you're mine.' Trembling, I take the knife, dragging it across my own thigh, inches from the graze. Blood flows, warm and sticky, and Theon dips his fingers in it, smearing it over my lips before shoving them into my mouth. 'Taste your devotion.'

And I froze when the walls became fully visible. My heart stopped. My breath caught in my throat. The walls were covered in something dark, wet and red. Blood! The walls were covered in blood. And words were written on it with blood. Large letters smeared across the concrete. On the wall, written in blood was a message meant only for me. I read them slowly. And each word was like a knife to my heart. "Irina is mine now. No one is coming for you. You will die in that chair, brother!"