Lovecraftian Horror Novels Novels & Stories

She would see the Lycan again. Her head was in a state of euphoria as she lay in bed, imagining herself unravelling the mystery of her saving stranger. The smiles, and her much sought opportunity to say thank you to him. Until she asked herself the damning question. Then what? She was fresh from a heartbreak, and the pain of being left alone on her wedding day. What would happen if she and the Lycan fell in love? Would she not be exposing herself to the pain twice? Why did she even want to see him?

Turning to Giovanni, Isabella mustered the courage to pose her question once more, her voice trembling with uncertainty. "Giovanni, did I... Did I just have intimate relations with a wild creature, with a wolf, and not a human?" Giovanni's gaze softened as he met Isabella's fearful eyes. After a brief pause, he nodded slowly, acknowledging the truth. "Yes, Isabella. The creature you encountered, the one we shared that intimate connection with, was indeed a werewolf."

The people at the inn will notice that something is wrong. I understood what it meant when I saw Ryson drinking blood from that maid. Feeding on humans. On weak people. I had read too many books, watched too many movies, heard too many stories about myths and legends, liked fiction very much. Where humans and vampires didn't get along. Most stories ended in romance, hate, war and death. I wondered how my story will be like seeing that my life is now twisted with these creatures. Vampires. Just saying the name creeps me out. Chills running up and down my spine like waves on the sea.

’ I fake a shudder. It’s not all lies. The dead vampires are true enough, but it’s the work of Chrys or his subordinates, rogue vampires murdered in a fashion that mimics the work of a Desecrant—the term we use for those vampires who commit sin beyond what the rest of us deem acceptable, those who don’t just stop at feeding from fellow vampires, but instead go so far as to consume their hearts. It allows them to amass a kind of power that is considered unholy even by us undead monsters of the night.

"You mean she like likes Creed." He nodded. "But Creed sees her as his little sister and is clueless." Liam pulled out a thick black book and looked it over. He opened it to the first page. "Hmm," he pondered. "Here you might want to read this. Our great great great," Liam rolled his eyes, "lots of greats grandfather wrote a book about werewolves. He befriended one in the eighteenth century to learn about their ways." "That must of been interesting. What happened after the werewolf found out he was a hunter?"

And are Dan Simmons books in your rich assortment of mysticism? — Our classics are on the second floor, on the outermost shelf, right next to the stairs. And Simmons... we need to look in the database. Leah headed in that direction, determined to leave today with at least a couple of collectible collections of works, including the short stories: The Dunwich Horror, The Call of Cthulhu, The Murders in the Rue Morgue, and A Premature Funeral. She read them more than once, learning them practically by heart. However, after the move, the number of her books decreased sharply and almost all the works of Alan Edgar Allan Poe and Howard Lovecraft were cut. On the one hand, those books had become di

“However, one of the children on the streets saw a red haired man but he was with a red eyed woman. She was a lycan. The man had unusual eyes too. One red and one blue.” “A lycan?” Damien asks suspiciously. The man seems to be matching the description of Lavi but why is he with a lycan? “Where were seen?” He demands. “Near the forest leading to Ghi’or!” “Ghi’or?” Damien is confused. Why is Lavi heading to Ghi’or? There is something wrong. “Let us go and find them,” Damien says. “But we will take the route which passes through the mountains.”

Emily's heart quickened as she realized she was in the presence of a revered elder, a keeper of ancient knowledge. The elder's voice was a melodic whisper that seemed to echo through the depths of Emily's soul. They spoke of the prophecies that foretold the coming of a chosen one, a bridge between worlds that possessed the power to reshape the destiny of both humans and werewolves. With bated breath, Emily listened intently as the elder unraveled the tapestry of history, recounting legends of ancient battles, forbidden romances, and the delicate balance between light and darkness. It was a tale of love and sacrifice, of the choices that defined the fate of their kind.

Calhoun transformed into his lycan form and charged forward with the few of his remaining men. Alice and Joan couldn't help but watch. It was like watching exactly what they had read in the Grimoire. But it was much more gruesome when it was unfolding right before their eyes. The Lycans overpowered the black witches easily, but Epheba used her dark magic to wake them back up. Which made the fight a lot harder. Calhoun white wolf growled in anger and charged towards Epheba when she wasn't looking. Epheba was caught unaware and was thrown to the ground by calhoun. Calhoun immediately transformed back into human form and tried to hold Epheba down, but she was dragging him with all her strength.

Something she could only imagine existed in books and movies. A pair of red eyes and two long fangs that stuck out of the mouth as though they were always meant to be there. Except there was no blood dripping from his mouth as always described in books. Yet, she was still scared senseless at the sight of a living, vampire right in front of her eyes. He moved closer to her again but this time, she was prepared and understood what he was. She lunged on her feet in fright and prepared to flee. But she had barely moved two steps when that figure appeared in front of her again.