Killer Fiction Novels & Stories

She lay there until she was sure that the person was gone. Immediately she noticed that he was outta sight, she came out from the bed with cautious steps and went outside to peep, to see what was going on. Lots of dead bodies lay on the floor, people were murdered in cold blood that brought shivers down her spine. She couldn't believe that Beta Derek was so wicked that he didn't care about shedding innocent people's blood just for the throne. I couldn't believe how much my father trusted and respected him and yet he turned out to be our worst nightmare.

I said. Evelyn’s face darkened. “You mean the blood. The vampire blood. The stuff from Wiltshire. You’re actually thinking of using that?” “I’ve already tested it. A little. It works.” “Are you hearing yourself?” Evelyn’s voice cracked. “You’re not even gay! Are you?” The question hit harder than I expected. “This isn’t about that,” I said. “This is about justice. About what they did to us. I don’t care what it takes.”

I closed my eyes and let out a chortled breath, rasping deep from my hollow chest. “I couldn’t let him take you back there. I won’t let them harm you again. Never,” I rambled. To explain away the blood, to explain away the body. Would she fear me now? For having killed a man with my bare hands. I didn’t bother to grab the daggers. The kill was personal and I wanted him to feel it. He broke her jaw. I broke his face. But there was no fear in her eyes, only understanding. Only love. And they burned into me. Seeing me. Her naked chest heaved and her mouth parted. Inviting… and aroused?

“I swear to you. I don’t know how it got in. I can’t sleep. I can’t think when it’s close. It takes the air when it wants to move.” Keiral checked his pulse. “You’re going to the med wing. You don’t argue.” He nodded too fast. Ellan’s eyes were on the stairwell and on me. “You want to say it,” he said. “I don’t,” I said, which was the closest I could get to honest. He didn’t let it go. “Say it anyway.” “It’s a Honshu killer,” I said. “It used Krav’s ink. It moved a piece of itself into a host to set bait. It wanted us to see the mark. It wanted Krav to see it.”

“We took contracts. Killed for coin. Sometimes for sport. Sometimes for what we told ourselves was balance. Mostly? It was hunger. Rage. We hit your outer patrols. Stole your food. Cut your lines. We made the world think it was ‘just’ rogues. We liked the misdirection. It made us feel clever.” Growls rippled through the den. Rhea’s hands fisted at her sides. “You killed pups,” she snarled. “You slit throats in the dark. Do not speak of ‘balance’ to me.” Varik did not look away. “Yes,” he said simply. “We did. I did. There is no absolution for that. If you want me dead, you have it. My neck. My blood. My ghosts. But killing me will not erase what is coming.”

We each have code names, which we use to refer to one another without knowing too much about each other; mine is Sick. At first, I admit that it kinda sucked when I had to give up on my personal preference of killing only men and my favorite modus operandi—the knife. In time, though, I learned to find pleasure in killing women, and coming up with more creative ways of killing people than just a knife. Human beings are such ridiculously easy creatures to kill. The number of ways that you can murder someone really is almost infinite. It’s often, literally, a dirty job, but somebody’s got to do it, and I’m damn good at my job, if I do say so myself.

"Is this how much you hate me? What was my mistake Volkan....just that I am weak? Just because I can't fight?" "We are not discussing on this topic Again." "Why not Volkan? I am dying here and when I see a small ray of hope in this book...you even take it away from me!" He scoffs, stepping closer to her. "Hope? The death wolf is anything but hope you stupid girl! It has killed thousands and you will be nothing special." "Do you even know what happens to those who are summoned by him?" She gulps as he steps closer. His next words running her blood cold.

The human body always lies about how long it can hold on. “Listen to me,” I said, leaning closer. “This is not rage. This is an order.” He tried to nod. Failed. “I don’t kill men for ambition,” I went on. “I kill them for carelessness. For touching what was never theirs. For thinking apologies undo intent.” His breathing hitched. Once. Twice. I released him. Sokha collapsed forward onto the concrete floor, blood spreading outward in a slow, deliberate pool, almost artistic in the way it flowed.

I would never be able to forget how Amy's small hands clawed desperately for breath as she turned purple. Nor would I ever be able to forget how Sam clamped a hand over my mouth when I tried to call the police, nor how he told me, "We can have another child, so don't kill my mother." I would never forget how they worked together with those charlatans they called exorcists, and how I was struck with a "holy scepter" until I died. Hatred surged through my chest like a tidal wave, and for a split second, I wanted nothing more than to storm into the kitchen, grab a knife, and butcher that venomous old hag where she stood.

Listen, I am not these weak city girls that only talk and not fight, I will hurt you so bad you will run to Limpopo 200km/h. ‘Oh! Really? Go ahead and make run then. Go ahead and see if I would really run away from you.’ I screamed at her because in my heart, I desperately wanted her to give me a hiding. I wanted her to beat me up because I thought I might feel better. The guilt of the killings was so much of an emotional pain that I needed to feel it physically. Anna’s anger seemed to be the perfect opportunity for me to receive what I saw as an emotional pain reliever.