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The wind howled violently, scratching at my throat until I felt an itch that seemed to make me want to cough. "Enough talking. Choose, or I'll let them both go." At Amber's signal, the men next to us hoisted both me and Tara up. The salty sea breeze hit me in the face, and the sharp smell of ocean water churned my stomach. However, nothing compared to the screaming in my ears. Before I could even draw a breath, Ethan had already made his choice. At that moment, everything went silent. Amber instinctively turned to look at me. My vision flickered and spots of black clouded my sight, but I did not know why.

of Ruan Montague. When I stepped out, I found a clean, oversized black T-shirt on the counter. It bore the emblem of the club—a silver skull intertwined with thorns. Shuddering, I pulled it on. It reached mid-thigh, smelling faintly of detergent and Ruan’s scent. It felt like a brand on my skin.

I wonder. People usually described ghosts to be ugly in their stories. With torn and worn out cloths. I seemed rather different. My black Heathens t-shirt, with which I died, was still new and clean. No blood stains. My black jeans and black trench coat was still crisp with newness. My hair was well combed.

Trailing down the knife, she tears apart, the front of her shirt which was strained in red now. Moving the blade and drawing blood near on her chest...to only stop, seeing the weird design near her neck. Charlotte moves aside Thora's hair to see a weird mark ,she hasn't seen before. It was going dark...the skin around the area going dark...it felt like it was spreading. She felt a sudden dark aura around them and she looks around to find nothing. Her heart thudding in her chest. She moves back from Thora immediately, refusing to touch her. Her eyes widening.

He is so happy because he will finally be able to escape this chaotic world and they will be able to fulfill the simple dream of Akira and his as a normal couple. When he arrived at the condo, he immediately took a shower first to be able to clean and to make sure if he hadn't been scratched before. As the water flows through his body you can see the blood of his victims clinging to him gradually flowing into the sink. Azrael’s body is full of scars from his wounds from his previous missions and on his back is a large tattoo— “Deus Mortis” which in Latin means “God of death” is what the organization called him because of the number of impossible missions he has accomplished.

"Want to see something? Come here and open this box." I got up quietly and went to that box. The thought of what would be inside that box made my heart restless. I extended one hand and opened it within the next breath. A dead body, covered from head to foot with new white linen, was lying under the box. He slid his hands and removed the linen. Her clothes were like that of a royal queen with bloodstains over them. There was grief on her face. And a broken bangle tied around her hand with sharp edges. One end of the bangle pierced her vein, and the blood fell off. Her skin seemed colder.

I shake my head and take a deep breath. “No,” I whispered. It cannot be. Trying to recall everything while trying to relax too. For me to think properly because I am starting to panic. I sit down while facing the body under my bed that I covered with a blanket. “How did it get here?” I asked myself that is why I recall everything from the start. That after I went to Luna’s house. I went home and started my meditation until I fell asleep and then I had a dream and I saw Jayvee in my dream and then I think I fell in a hole which I am not sure about and I saw a woman who is exactly the same as me. She is walking barefoot under the full moon. I followed her and she went inside the house. Like me

My breath catches hard in my throat, and then the pain comes. It starts on my collarbone, just beneath the brand Draven left—a burn that sizzles upward like a blade dragging itself through marrow. It eats through tendon and bone like acid kissed by fire. My eyes roll back for a beat, vision flashing white, but I don’t black out. I refuse to. I force myself to stay. I rip my shirt down and stare. A mark blazes across the hollow of my throat. It wasn’t there before. Couldn’t have been. Not unless it was buried inside me—waiting for blood to dig it out.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE. "I'm curious about where we are headed!" Tory said, pulling back the man that looked like their leader. "Where do you think we're going? Relax, it's a new place, the politician paid huge for this, and you will get your cut after we've completed the job," The man responded. "This place is creepy!" Tory said with a snort. "I'm not going if you don't give me the full details." "Okay, we are digging a grave tonight."

And until he had news (a clue, the jerk) I wouldn't hear anything. I reached out to him, felt the connection between us, but that was all I felt. He was either too far away or-damn it, Syd, stop that. Stop. That. Right. Now. The shower was hot and immediate and helped with some of the redness and puffies I always got from crying. At least, it made the rest of me pink so I matched. I dressed in black jeans and a T-shirt with a pentagram screen printed in silver. The ideal apparel for Blood's send-off. I even used some of the black eye liner Pain had given me for my birthday. My reflection was kind of badass. Meet Syd, el Gotho.