Blood Feud Book Novels & Stories

Dominic asked him. Hudson groaned and turned away from them. Ethan chuckled as they all cracked smiles and Cooper shoved his hands in his pockets. “First thoughts were that Gage killed the motherfucker,” Cooper said. “Exactly. I don’t need my brothers at war with each other. Gage didn’t do it and neither did I, but someone carved him up like a fucking Thanksgiving turkey,” Dominic said. “I bet his blood spurted everywhere,” Ethan said as he looked at Hudson. Dominic chuckled as Hudson groaned. “A river of fucking blood and guts. I’ve heard that intestines are slippery as fuck.”

Deciding to think nothing much of it I walked in, taking in the empty room The professor must be late, I thought to myself as I took a seat, placing the books on my lap. Lightly I began trailing my fingers across the writing engraved on the book cover, "Historical account of Bludhäven" it read. The book talked about how Darius single handedly built up the city from the ashes, it was burnt down to the ground by the golden eyed beast. The pages told tales of the beasts dark cloak, it's sharp canines that tore through every villager at the time, it's deadly claw ripped the realm pieces but it only come once every century, no one knew the exact date, no one could. It came during every blood moon

Being feral, he was driven by primal instinct and thirst for blood. Feeling desperate, I feinted and dodged in the search for an opening in the rogue’s defense until an opportunity struck. With a swift motion, while gathering my strength to focus on my fist, that landed on his side, making him elicit a pained yelp of anguish before I jumped at his back and broke his neck, leaving him dead on the ground.

My bedroom was messed up and I couldn't think straight when everything was trashy around me. Colliding on a comfortable couch, l opened up the book and began reading it. The pages were coming to my hand as the glue wasn't that strong but either way, Bane did a good job fixing it. The writing inside the book were mainly stories, non-fiction, about the horrible events that happened in the eighteenth century. "Is written by someone from the Redwood bloodline," I mumbled as Isreal’s shadow appeared at the corner of my eyes. "Do you know him? Simon don?"

A week passed. Seven long days since I saw that man bleeding on the floor of Club Rosario. I kept thinking about his face—the sharp jaw, the shadow of a beard, those dark eyes filled with something heavy, like pain or rage. He didn’t even say his name before he vanished. No call. No message. Not even a damn thanks. And me? I was still stuck in the same cycle: washing dishes at the diner, counting every penny for Mama’s pills, pretending my sister, Carmen didn’t exist.

His words hit me like a punch to the gut, casually wiping away all that had happened between us. The impact was terrifyingly potent. I felt a lump in my chest, and I doubled over, coughing so hard it felt like my heart was ripping apart. When I finally caught my breath, I looked at my hand, covered in fresh blood. Keith saw it too. His expression darkened, and he was at my side in an instant, his voice deep with concern. "What's going on?"

Vincenzo turned back to the map, continuing the briefing, but I barely heard it. All I could feel was the warmth of Erico behind me and the weight of the truth the bookkeeper had revealed pressing like a bruise against my ribs. Antonio wanted a Mercanti head. Erico wanted me alive. And I— I was caught between the man who wanted to kill me and the man who would kill anyone who tried. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Vincenzo slid another sheet across the table — a manifest printout, dense with codes and signatures.

While Fedora was his sister, and his concern was palpable, I struggled to maintain my composure in the face of such overwhelming emotions. The trail of Fedora's blood scent was a lifeline leading us through the dark labyrinth of uncertainty. It felt deliberate, a beacon she had left for us to follow—a glimmer of hope in an otherwise dire situation. I had already mobilized my pack, sending out a call to my warriors to converge at the location where her trail was leading us. Adrian was doing the same, his own allies responding to his urgent call.

Katerina He left me here. In the middle of what feels like the biggest field I’ve seen in my life, and I haven’t even seen it properly in the darkness, he left me among the sugarcanes and just rushed toward the murdering, fire-starting bad guys ahead. For a moment I don’t know what to do. I just stand there, a damn hunting knife in one hand a a fucking gun in the other, and do nothing. Then shuts come and shots are fired. Curses, men’s voice, raised high and menacing.

Avina. The woman who once destroyed empires, who bent kings and warriors to her will, who walked through fire and left kingdoms in ruin. I had not seen her in this life, not truly, but in my blood there was memory, and in those memories her face was carved like a flame into stone, my hand trembled as I reached for the book that bore her mark, the crest of fire and ash burned into its leather cover. I opened it, and the past bled into the present.