Death Puss In Boots Novels & Stories

Scott was dressed in black short sleeve jacket, brown short and leather boots. As the leader of the pack and the sheriff of the town, it's his duty to watch and observe the upheavals happening and recently, a member of his pack just reported a death case in the said forest. Scott looked around observing curiously until he found foot prints, boot prints to be precise. They were sixteen foot prints in total and hard to decide which it was and belongs to, he looked around again tracing the boots towards the entrance of the cemetery but instead of walking inside, he halted thoughtfully. He knows about the past history of the cemetery, as a matter of fact, everyone in the hidden world knows about

Suddenly, he fell after tripping over something heavy, and he didn't have enough courage to stand up again. In this silence, he heard some footsteps. He felt as if they were running on their four legs, and that sound was slowly coming closer to him. Through his closing eyes, he saw some werewolves - the werewolves of the Gravefur Pack - heading towards him. Before he could move, a black darkness appeared before his eyes, which plunged him into a deep silence in a peaceful sleep.

“The one who owns your leash.” Before Mae could slice again, he jerked, eyes rolling. “Poison,” Nyra snapped. “He bit a capsule.” The second bound attacker started convulsing, foam bubbling at the corner of his mouth. “Healers!” someone shouted. Boots pounded away. Elowen slid down the wall until she was sitting on the cold stone. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. She stared at the dead man’s face. He couldn’t have been much older than she was.

On the first day, they broke one of his legs—with iron bars, just like they once did to me. Roger's screams echoed through the empty corridors, unanswered. Winter arrived. They stripped him naked and threw him into the snow-covered yard. Buckets of ice water were poured down over his head, one after another. He froze until his skin turned purple, teeth chattering violently as he begged for mercy, crying that he knew he was wrong. No one listened. Someone lit a cigarette and slowly pressed it into his arms and chest, one burn after another. The smell of scorched flesh mixed with his pig-like screams.

I transited fully and my dad suddenly grabbed Daisy and pointed the gun at her, "Rip off his heart or I'll kill your girlfriend" he ordered and I turned to look at the man, now a wolf who had taken that bullet for me, is he still alive? The bullet was made with wolfsbane and poisoned roasted cocoa, there's no way he could survive it but I'm not gonna kill him for anything, he just saved my life, "Kill him or I'll shoot her", I felt like ripping his tongue off and feeding it to the dogs, I stared at the gun he held over Daisy's head,

He lands on his feet, cocking his gun to shoot, but I knock the weapon from his hold with a kick of my leg. “Huh!?” he gasps, shocked at my quick reflexes. I don't give the bastard time to recollect his moves. I slam the gun over his nose. The sound of bones crushing and the warm spurt of blood on my face shoots blood through my groin as he collapses. I step my boot over his chest and crush what's left of him under my boot. He squeaks like a rat as he takes his final breath. I raise my leg, seeing chunks of flesh and blood dripping under my boot.

~Aurora’s Point of View~ ~Present~ “Vampire stuff is the messiest stuff. Always drama, fighting. I was really counting on an easy life, none of them were supposed to wake on my watch and since we have only the three tombs and they were all full, I didn’t think we’d get anymore. What a fucking mess,” Alpha Killian shouts, slamming his fist on the table and making me jump. Two others in the room do as well.

Not here, not now, not with Caspian chained and suffering, not with my pack fighting for their lives in the corridors beyond. Damian chuckled, a low, velvety sound that sent chills racing across my skin. He took a deliberate step forward, his polished boots echoing on the steel floor like the toll of a funeral bell. His gaze flicked toward Caspian, chained against the pillar, his body a ravaged testament to endurance, neural inhibitors pulsing red around his limbs and neck.

The man’s boot lifted to stomp on her pelvis as he wrenched the leg to the side, the joint snapping. She screamed. The blade rose. “And now?” came her voice. “What’s happening now?” The man sawed. His beloved screamed, pleaded, wailed, sobbed. And then— and then— the man with the mustard-colored work boots stood tall, her severed leg in hand. Ripped free, the stolen appendage gushed red. Blood pumped as ligaments flipped and tendons squirmed. He tossed it, his treasure landing behind him, swallowed by ravenous yellow.

Using the last of my strength, I dragged myself out of bed. Three hours later, I stumbled into the medical center. The doctor shook his head, his face grim. "I'm so sorry, Luna. You were too late. The pup has no heartbeat." In that instant, my world turned to ash. Numbly, I signed the release forms for the pup's remains. "Please send this to my husband," I said, handing the nurse a mahogany box containing the wolfstone. "To the Black Moon Pack headquarters." The wolfstone held the soul of a deceased pup. Any wolf would know what it meant at a single glance.