Cast Of Bloody Axe Wound Novels & Stories

Derek Hale POV "… You little bastard! You actually had the guts to storm into my territory?!" Gerard Blackfang snarls, his old voice cracking with absolute rage when his eyes lock onto my frame. My expression remains colder than arctic ice, completely devoid of human warmth. With lightning speed, my hand hurls the heavy iron axe I just seized from a dead rogue. The blade whistles violently through the air, cutting right past the remaining Shadow Fang Warriors. The axe strikes Juan Blackfang's arm with devastating precision. A high-pitched, agonizing scream rips from his throat as his right arm is cleanly severed at the shoulder, hot crimson life fluid gushing everywhere.

She sat next to Kyra while holding her hand. They noticed that Kyra’s wound was slowly healing. “She won’t be a vampire,” said Cael. It shocked Axel when Cael cut himself and made the girl drink his blood. Axen stopped what he was doing and just let Cael treat the girl. A few moments later, Cael’s wound was healed, and it amazed Axen once again. “Who are you?” Axen looked at the man in front of him. Cael stared at the man who was just about their age, perhaps younger than a year.

He smashed the mouth of the witch under his legs and he was just quick and fast enough to dodge another blade thrown by Aunty Sarah. He charged at her furiously, jumping in her before Aunty Sarah could finish calling out her intended spells. Xavier was pretty much focused on Aunty Sarah that he did not notice another witch stab him with another silver blade. He let out a loud groan and moved backwards. His skin was sizzling and he could feel himself grow slightly weaker, the silver blades in his body was doing him a lot of ham, and just more harm would be caused if he failed to remove the blades, Stephen moved quickly to Xavier and switched into a human for a short while, he removed the two

Adam challenged as blood was oozing from the wounds. Callum had his eyes shut tight. Everything happening around him was too much to handle. He wanted to be with Steph. He was trembling with fear. He was mumbling for Steph. The air was thick as 6 people held their breath at the smell of blood filled the air. "Get your fucking hands of him. You bastard". Stephen leaped on him, taking him down with him.

I ask, even though I already know the answer. There’s a pause. “We assumed Richard Blackwood.” Of course. Of fucking course. I hang up and slam my phone onto the table. Hard enough that it cracks. Richard. Always Richard. The golden boy. The traitor. The man who took everything from us and still had the nerve to breathe. A hunter and a werewolf. Helena and Richard. A child born from that mess. Disgust crawls up my spine. I start pulling files. Old pack records. Birth certificates that were altered. Dates that don’t line up. Every trail bends back to Arachne. Every single one.

I sat at the sofa, my coronary heart pounding in my chest. Jake paced the residing room like a caged animal, his brow furrowed with anxiety. I may want to feel the load of silence placing between us, thick and uncomfortable. “Sarah,” he started out, strolling a hand thru his hair, “I’m simply sorry approximately earlier. I didn’t mean to harm you.” I crossed my arms, trying to protect myself from the pain I felt. “You didn’t mean to hurt me? It felt like you probably did precisely that, Jake. You allow me see that image, and it made the entirety worse.”

I position the axe head near his ankle, his face draining of color. “I just wanted her to shut up.” He pleads. “So you stomped her ankle?” “I wasn’t thinking straight. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” “Well, you should have,” I raise the axe and bring it down with brutal force against his ankle, chopping it right off his leg. By the time I’m done with him, I’m soaked in blood. I walk back to the table with tools and drop the bloodied axe. Grab a towel next and clean my hands off.

Hastily picking the candle without caring for the wax that would trickle its way to my fingers, I turned back to where I had met with an interruption. “See anything?” Anthonier asked when he noticed my movements. And yes… I did see something. “Yes. Caraven” Anthonier came closer to observe the body just as I did. The blacksmith lay sprawled out on his belly. He had been stabbed in the back multiple times and the weapon was tossed at his feet. The dirt around his face and parts of his clothing visible to us indicated a struggle. Caraven had been murdered. I touched his forehead. His body was still slightly warm.

I stumble through the chaos Kael is leaving in his wake with my lungs burning, ribs grinding, and my vision swimming at the edges, leaving a trail of glorified blood in my wake. A blade flashes toward my side, and I duck low, scoop up a bloodied fallen dagger, and ram it up into his ribs. The guard gasps with a hot, wet breath against my face. I crack a wicked smile and drive the blade deeper; the broken shackle on my wrists yanks tight as I feel something tear, something vital collapse. The blade splits it open from hip to spine, and a wave of stinking wet heat billows into my face—guts slopping out in a steaming, black-red pile.