Bloodline Killer Reviews Novels & Stories

I questioned to be sure and as if she had been expecting the question, she shook her head vigorously and tried to pull away from my arms. "I know what you are trying to do, Mike. But no one else was there that'd be willing to kill that much people for my sake. It was me, Mike! I was on a rampage–" "Even Almighty Mike would not have been able to take out that many with a pair of dagger–" She suddenly turned in my arms in a way that squashed her chest against mine. I swallowed hard and focused on the hurt in her glistening eyes instead. "You are not listening to me Mike! I come from a bloodline of trained killers–"

“We are the proof they want to erase.” My stomach twists. I think of the arrows that came from nowhere. “That attack on you… Was that the purist faction?” “We haven’t been able to find anything out about that.” Frustration bleeds into his words. “Whoever sent those assassins covered their tracks well.” I reach for another book, this one smaller, leather-bound. The title catches my eye: A Compendium of Magical Bloodlines. I flip it open and skim the pages until two words jump out at me.

The last thing Callum saw in his consciousness was an angry Stephen leaping on him, he wrapped him inside his arms and his canines punctured the pulsating vein in his neck. And everything black out. *********** Tabby

The captain of the guards spoke, peeling off a black mask to reveal the face of the man. The assassin wasn't an Orc or a Minotaur based on appearance—omitting two ferocious guesses out of the numerous foes Kaelric had amassed over the years. “Burn the body at the stake,” Kaelric ordered, irritated by his guards' incompetence in capturing the killer alive. The guards wrapped up the body and threw it onto a wooden cart mounted on a horse, riding the corpse back to the courtyard. Kaelric tugged on his horse’s reins, veering steadily behind his guards, his blackened heart seething with rage at the audacity of whichever bastard dared to infiltrate his kingdom and attempt a murder on his life.

My house was still burning and I came out from its depth, stood there for a moment in dark, watching it burn to the ground the one mighty Jonas villa was now burning to ashes, who might have wondered if this could be the way for the tragic end of the Jonas Dynasty. When I was looking at my burning house I could hear the voices of celebration from the house next door, it was all sort of happy screams of congratulation, it was the Forbes, celebrating the death and defeat of my family but they were unaware the eldest son of the dynasty was still alive and he would not rest until he make all those people pay their debts who are responsible for his family’s death and in that moment I decided tha

"Lucia! Have you lost your mind? Help me deal with them, and we can go back to how things were! I'll give you money. I'll give you anything you want!" I looked at him, my gaze terrifyingly calm. "Marco." I shook my head slowly. "There is no going back. From the moment you killed my child, the only thing you can give me now is your life." The barrel lowered, and I pulled the trigger calmly. The bullet struck his right kneecap with precision. Marco screamed and collapsed to his knees. He tried to flee, but he could no longer stand. Lorenzo's soldati rushed forward and restrained him firmly.

She bent close to the inked lines, eyes losing their surface sharpness and taking on the inward tilt Evelyn recognized as the beginning of a reading. “Moonsblood will ask a price,” Aleta said after a quiet minute. She kept her voice level, as if naming weather. “Not in blood, necessarily. But in truth. The man who called you will not accept victory if it comes too easily. He needs a story worth telling himself. You cannot change that. You can only refuse to be written in his evil script.” “We had planned for that,” Damon said.

The first went down before his finger even found the trigger. Bang. Jaxon clipped the second clean in the throat. The third managed two steps before I put a bullet between his eyes. He crumpled on the polished floor, his blood spreading like spilled ink. “Move,” I growled. We cut through the side corridor, the sound of our boots echoing against the stone. Outside, the courtyard was a tangle of smoke, bodies, and the metallic bite of spent gunpowder. Two more Bishop guards broke from the shadows — Rick took one in the chest, Jaxon in the spine.

“You weren’t just reacting—you commanded.” Evelyn exhaled slowly, though her chest still felt tight. “I… I didn’t know I could,” she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. The power was intoxicating, yes, but terrifying. Every shadow she had directed toward the hunters had been guided by instinct, by survival—and by something more she couldn’t name. “Instinct,” Lucien said, tilting his head. “Yes… but also bloodline. That mark isn’t just a symbol. It’s alive. And it reacts to your will, but it also tests your limits.”

The sight on the ground made her feel queasy. The sight of the dead head on the ground made Lydia's knees give out because of both its identity and disfiguring nature. The killer had removed every layer of facial skin by using a potato peeler so that only raw bloody muscle remained. It seemed the murderer was enjoying a prolonged process of peeling off successive layers of skin with the same enthusiasm of an eager gift unwrapper.