Bloodborne Narrow Minded Man Novels & Stories

I'd hoped he would be able to feel the heat of my anger through my glare, but he continued to stare at us with that same ridiculous expression on his face. "That's a very good question," he said. "I was actually hoping you ladies would be able to tell me that. I came, and no one was home. So I decided to wait and sip on this glass of animal blood that my nephews are so fond of. I honestly can't understand why. It's so very bland, nothing like fresh human blood or rather hunter blood, now that is a delicacy." Nicole pulled out a blade. I noticed her knuckles were white as she squeezed onto the hilt of it.

His fist hit both walls at once. “I am in the middle of a live-action fantasy novel! Have mercy!” “There’s a single man in here!” he shouted. “SINGLE. NO SUPPORTING CAST. JUST ME AND MY ROBE!” From one side came a breathy laugh. From the other, nothing but more moaning. Marcus threw his blanket over his head. “I miss the apocalypse.” Marcus entered the living room like a soldier fresh from battle. His robe was half-tied, his hair stood like he’d fought lightning, and his eyes—his eyes were the eyes of a man who had seen things.

So he is not likely to wake up until we are ready to wake him,' I said rolling my eyes. 'We can't be too sure of it. He is not your regular wolf. His situation is pitiful. How can a man like him allow himself to be used as a genie pig? It is so unthinkable,' Ian said. 'From the way he spoke to me when he thought I was Shanty, he is definitely a sick person. As sick as Amman and his Gamma,' I said. We went on talking about the kind of mental sickness that seemed prevalent among the likes of them until it was dark enough to move.

He laughed, shaking his head. "Mr. Jeffers, I promise you this is real. I've done the research, and what I find most intriguing is Darick 'The Bloodthirsty’, leader of The Brooklyn Blood Brothers, has done some horrible things that’ll surely make the front page,” I explained, trying to keep my voice even. "Such as…?" Mr. Jeffers waved his hand, motioning for me to continue. "Rumor has it that he leaves gruesome bite marks on the neck of his victims," I whispered, hoping the suspense would win Mr. Jeffers over. “Vampiristic marks.”

In the blinding brightness of the room, the blood looked unnaturally dark, almost black. "There is a beautiful vulnerability to the human body," the Director said. He sounded entirely conversational, his voice smooth and untroubled over the sound of my ragged, choked breathing. "We think we're so strong, so invincible when we're running through the shadows. But we're really just water, bone, and nerves. And nerves, Elara, are so incredibly easy to manipulate. They are the ultimate biological design flaw."

“I love it.” “And if it’s a boy?” “Caleb,” I said. “It means ‘whole-hearted.’” Toby squeezed me tight. “Whole-hearted. I like that. That’s what we are now, isn’t it?” As the sun sank below the horizon, casting the long, beautiful shadows of “The Anchor” across the sand, I realized that Laredo had been wrong about one final thing. He thought that because we shared blood, we shared a destiny. He thought the architect was just a different kind of jailer.

“Damon… don’t listen to him. Please.” I didn’t move. I couldn’t. Because something inside me was shifting. Something was waking up. And I didn’t know if I could stop it. The man took one final step forward, his voice lowering into something that felt like a verdict rather than a threat. “You were born with a crown in your blood,” he said. “But you have been living like a man who does not understand his place.” My fists clenched. “And what place is that?” His eyes darkened.