Murder Sans Novels & Stories

Another brutal crime scene. The killer struck only on full moons, leaving behind the victims so deformed that even the most seasoned officers had to turn away, their faces pale and drawn. Five bodies in six months, all torn apart like they had been mauled by a wild animal. No fingerprints. No murder weapon. No witnesses. And now, the case was hers. Evelyn exhaled sharply, steeling herself before walking back inside. The precinct smelled of stale coffee and sweat, the air thick with frustration and fear. She could feel it in her bones—the weight of the city’s dread pressing down on her.

Her shoulders trembled. The prosecutor continued. "Forensic analysis shows the child didn't die instantly. If he had received timely medical treatment, his survival rate would have exceeded 70 percent. It was the defendant who personally prevented rescue efforts and directly caused her son's death. "This was not negligence, and it wasn't an accident. It was a premeditated murder. She simply killed the wrong person." Esther's lawyer had no response. In the end, the judge brought down the gavel. Esther Lawson was found guilty of intentional homicide and sentenced to 15 years in prison.

Only the acrid smell of burning persisted and filled the space. Emmanuelle was trembling, unable to know what to think anymore. She could feel nausea rising in her throat at the brutality of the murder. But at the same time, she was reassured to know that he was safe and sound. She was torn between fear and fascination for her beloved. He had reduced a hundred-year-old vampire to nothing in less than a few seconds and without the slightest effort.

These actions cannot be explained, Navpreet,’ said the inspector gloomily, casting an eye on the mountains. The sub-inspector gave a stiff nod and carefully studied the inspector who seemed to be lost in contemplation. ‘From what I have seen, murders are of two types,’ said the inspector, the tips of his fingers coming together. ‘First are the unplanned ones, committed by people who were suffocated in some way by the acts of the would-be victims. When they see an opportunity, their fear is eclipsed by the pain they have suffered and they strike.’

His beautiful is unimaginable. His breath warms my skin, dancing over my ear as I dip my head toward him. Will he kiss me, and make good on my sinful thoughts? His voice is like an erotic caress as he murmurs in my ear, "I'm a murderer."

That man was none other than Q. But what really made my blood run cold was the fact that I had been targeted years in advance, all in preparation for the murder of a woman later on. The problem was, I didn't know Q at all. "What's in the diary?" Amber asked, her eyes fixed on my pale face. "Nothing much. Someone named Q came up, but I'm not sure if it's the same man who coerced Isla." "Could he have coerced Kaylee as well?" I shook my head. "No. He's spent years manipulating her into becoming a murderer."

The last thing Callum saw in his consciousness was an angry Stephen leaping on him, he wrapped him inside his arms and his canines punctured the pulsating vein in his neck. And everything black out. *********** Tabby

WARNING SIGNS: LANGUAGE THAT IS UNAMBIGUOUS CURSING VIOLENCE, GUN VIOLENCE SELF-INFLICTED HARM BLOOD, DECEASE, and GORE VALENTINA’s POV However, I don't operate in that manner. Stealing is punishable by death, murder is punishable by death, and reporting is punishable by, you guessed it, death. I grinned wickedly. I turned away from the man, laughing bitterly. "I would murder you even if you simply annoyed the hell out of me," I said.

The deafening sound reverberates in the alley, and the bullet pierces through my assailant's skull. The man falls into an abrupt silence, his life extinguished in an instant. Hollow eyes fixate on me, the bullet—my bullet—a morbid adornment on his forehead. The scent of gunpowder and the weight of death loom thick in the air, the profound silence only punctuated by the lingering echoes of violence. I'm a murderer now. But strangely, I don't feel remorse. I don't feel anything anymore. "Good girl," Diego murmurs, taking the gun from me. His fingers graze over mine, lingering for a moment, before he carefully wipes the weapon clean with a black cloth. Then, he shoves it into his waistband in o

Her voice was low, tinged with restrained agitation. "Yes, I killed them all," he said smugly. "I know you're trying to get me to talk. Doesn't matter. No one can find evidence. Not you nor the police. There's nothing to arrest me on." His tone was almost proud, as if murder were an accomplishment, spoken as casually as small talk. A chill crept up Seraphine's spine. She had seen cruel people before, but never someone this calmly vicious. People like this did not panic. They did not feel fear. They could kill without blinking. The smell of blood and the thrill of domination only excited them more.