Bloody Painter X Puppeteer Novels & Stories

Rain turned to look at the man next to her who still maintained a calm expression on his face. Most of the blood that spurted out of Pietro’s hand landed on his face and his suit yet he looked so calm…he had a gun in his hand. He killed the man. Rain wasn’t sure what compelled her to move her body, she got up… she looked at him in horror. He didn’t look like he just took a life, he looked like—a demon—no, Lucifer himself. She took unconscious steps backwards. She couldn’t stay here, she couldn’t stand the sight of blood, she couldn’t stand the sight of…him.

The groom mounting the bride on a throne of corpses. My hand moved faster than my mind. I dipped the brush deeper, harder, tearing at the canvas like I was cutting flesh. I mixed the reds and blacks until they bled together, thick and viscous. The eyes I painted stared back, wide and lifeless. The flowers were rotting. The sky dripped gore. A massacre. And I smiled. They wanted a masterpiece? I’d give them one they’d never forget.

I burst through the double doors into the main gallery space and come skidding to a halt. The white sheet that had covered my painting earlier now lies in a heap on the floor, revealing the artwork beneath. It depicts a circle of children holding hands, playing ring around the rosie. Werewolf pups swirl around their legs. All are smiling. All are happy. It was meant to be a statement. One of hope, of happiness, of peace. But now, that message is obliterated. Someone has thrown what looks like a bucket of blood over the canvas. Thick, crimson liquid drips down the children’s faces, pools in their outstretched hands, stains their clothes.

She had killed two men but they were still trying to rise, she had the sense to rip through their spines, making them immobile. I tore the one in front of me into two, if they weren’t real wolves then there was no need to hold back. The next one that came for me landed a cut at my back but I ripped his head clean off, his broken fingers still clutched at my hand. “These are puppets, is this necromancy?” Mara gasped, her chest heaving. And then as we killed off another set, my eyes noted the dealer coming out of the warehouse. There was something about him, and I didn’t think he was a dealer at all.

He wanted to darken the sun on his painting, giving it a richer tone. "Cerlance is a good boy, Philly." "We're all good boys, Ma. But talk to your son, alright? I heard he was having a threesome in his car." "Threesome?" she asked, clearly confused. He laughed even more at her innocent reaction. "Just G****e it, Ma." His gaze drifted from the painting and settled on the sea. A mermaid, huh? he thought. If such a thing existed, I’d take one home and—

I narrowed my eyes and rubbed the bridge of my nose. “Begin,” I said and he got to the job, picking a screwdriver and taunting his victim. Fresh curses filled the place. Apathetic, I continued mixing fresh paint on the already dry paint on the palette. I stretched out my hand and brushed my fingers over the soft brushes before picking one and dipping it into the brown paint. “The dark rose clan knows I'm here. If …” Stefan trailed off as the screwdriver was shoved into his thigh. His mouth opened up and a sound from the pit of his stomach came out.

I liked them immediately. I was standing there, head tilted, trying to figure out what emotion the artist had been trying to strangle onto the canvas, when I felt it. That prickle on the back of my neck. I turned. And there he was. Leather jacket guy. He was standing near the doorway, half in shadow, arms crossed, watching the room like he was waiting for someone to do something stupid so he could end them. Same sharp jaw, same messy dark hair, same eyes that seemed to cut straight through people.

Among the guests, a few silver-haired elders had studied my work for a long time. Those members of the Elder Council had smiled with refined courtesy and told me they admired my clean compositions and distinctive style. They asked if I'd be interested in undertaking a commission to repaint the Council's official portraits. The Elder Council was the supreme governing body of vampire society---and this was the highest-level commission a painter could receive. I'd been stunned. My mind was already racing with ideas for composition and lighting. But before I could respond, Lucien's hand tightened on my shoulder. "I'm sorry---my wife and I have just married. She'll need to focus on starting a fam

Threatening words in red paint would also be scrawled across the walls. "Just you wait, you bitch! Death is coming for you!" At first, I just assumed it was just some kid playing a prank, but with how often this happened, I began to realize something was seriously wrong. A naughty child might toss trash and dead rats in front of my house, but it wasn't likely that they would mail me such terrifying parcels. This was clearly the act of someone gunning specifically for me. The constant harassment of the past few days infuriated me so much that I immediately went to the management and asked to see the surveillance footage. I wanted to see just who that irritating person was, and once I found ou