Bloody Murder 2: Closing Camp Novels & Stories

"Okay, I had to take my breath there. So, the peoples' cries alerted Generosasis, with nothing left in her heart but hatred and the cloud above her eyes sprouted by betrayal— she couldn't decipher anything but follow her instincts. She roared in anger, and a ball of fire rolled out of her enormous mouth, hitting the houses across the library. That night, some generations perished, and hundreds of people died, Dordin being one of them. Generosasis murdered the man she claimed to love, she murdered her sister and a dozen families. Now, Deborah, that is the tale of Dordin, what do you think about it?" I cleared my throat, "I think it's the most fascinating story, I also think Dordin's story sho

Rotting fingers clawed into the open air, dragging something half-formed after them. Another grave ruptured. Then another. The cemetery didn’t just shift. It opened. And something inside it pushed back. Chaos tore through the hunters’ line. Chains tangled. Formations shattered. Lanterns vanished under collapsing soil. One of them stumbled backward, foot sliding into a crack that hadn’t been there seconds ago— Hands shot up from below. They grabbed him. He screamed once before the earth swallowed the sound. In the chaos, another hunter opened fire without aiming, and a bullet ripped through one of his own teammates. The sound of the shot was followed by a warm splash of blood that mixed with

The blood traders feel secure and protected by the strigois. "Do a systematic sweep from both ends. Dan leads Team One. You go through the front door. Team two is with me. We get in through the back," I instruct the two groups of wolves. "Release the humans and find the leader of the blood traders." We move quickly but carefully. A few seconds pass by before we reach the back entrance. Anyone entering the warehouse can easily conclude it’s not a legal business. The stench makes any nose twitch, and, for wolves, it stinks even worse. It’s a slaughterhouse, to put it mildly.

Blood on the Floorboards The second door slammed somewhere deeper in the house. The sound rolled through Frost Ridge like a warning. Then everything went still. Not peaceful. Not empty. Listening. Damien stood between me and the open bedroom door, shoulders rigid, claws still out, blood drying down the side of his torn shirt. For one second, neither of us moved. The journal stayed open in my hands. The words still burned silver across the page. WHAT BLOOD LOCKED, LOVE WILL OPEN.

The entire horde followed right behind it, a twisting, writhing mountain of pale flesh and flashing fangs ascending toward the ridge. "Fire!" the mercenary commander screamed in absolute panic. The night exploded with muzzle flashes. High-caliber, silver-tipped ammunition tore into the ascending horde, but the blood-born didn't even slow down. The bullets sank into their pale, rubbery flesh with wet thuds, the wounds closing instantly as the black, ancient blood in their veins rejected the metal. A pale hand reached over the lip of the cliff. Before the commander could scream again, he was snatched by the throat, his heavy tactical armor snapping like plastic as he was dragged violently over

The sound of a slow door creak broke the room's silence, followed by a faint click sound as the door was tightly locked from the outside. Slowly, I opened my eyes, finding the room empty. Reid was no longer there. Gradually, I changed my lying position to half-sitting, my fingers pulling the blanket to cover my legs that felt cold. I closed my eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath to calm the rumble of panic that was still raging in my chest.

I sink the dagger into the gap between the man’s ribs and shove upward, twisting. The jolt of his death ripples up my arm as his blood spills down my chest in slow, boiling waves. I rip the dagger free and shove him backward into the growing sea of bodies. The blade drips thick and black. The floor slicks under my feet as blood spreads faster than breath. I stagger, but I catch myself. Behind me, the prisoner drags himself behind me. One of his legs is useless, but he’s still swinging the shard like a man who doesn’t plan to die politely.

One man dropped and another went down after Sergio’s return fire snapped through the hallway like thunder. Sergio looked back at her dubiously. "How come you are so comfortable with a gun and shooting people?" he asked her. Rosy shook her head uncertainly. "I don't understand it myself. My body is just responding to a command on its own." she replied and Sergio smirked. "Surely now you believe the De Luca's blood runs through your view now." "Doesn't prove anything." she muttered focusing on gaze on the men exchanging gunfire. Blood pooled across polished floors. Priceless artworks were torn to shreds. Smoke drifted toward the high ceilings like a prayer gone unanswered.

I grabbed a match from the mantle and struck it. “What are you doing?” Silas roared, lunging for me. I dropped the match. The gilt-edged pages, soaked in the dry rot of twenty years, caught instantly. The secrets of the Ares empire—the murders, the bribes, the “Conditioning”—erupted into a wall of orange flame. “I’m clearing the site,” I said. Silas tackled me, the weight of him slamming me into the mahogany desk. We hit the floor, a tangle of limbs and fury. I felt the detonator fly from his hand, skidding across the floor toward the vault.

His shift reverses halfway, his body twitching violently. My brain refuses to process what I’m seeing. Richard lowers the gun slightly, smoke rising from the barrel. The second wolf looks just as confused as I feel. Then another shot explodes. The bullet punches straight through the other wolf’s throat. Blood sprays across the floor. Silence crashes over the warehouse after that. The second body drops hard beside the first. I stare at Richard. He stares right back. He killed his own men without blinking. My heartbeat pounds heavily in my ears.