Murdoc Novels & Stories

Evan asked. "Do you know who this is?" Morgan threw a picture of a man with a pair of snakes tattooed on his arm. Evan took the photo and looked at it. "Where do you recognise this demon-serving Mafia? No one recognises his face, only his hands are a clue." "He's Roy Erwin! Russian Mafia. He's currently trying to hack into everything I own! You know what you have to do! Jonathan has organised a tactic for you!" "It's not free man!" Evan replied with a smile.

"What you saw was not a nightmare though how I wish it to be. This is the reason why I was against it in the first place to have a Human here in the den of Non Humans. Or Vampires as you call us. Mason is human too. But he has been with us since... I don’t remember. Maybe since he was a kid himself. Serving my parents and then me. Max, Enzo. Zee and Saint are Vampires. You can see their eyes have a tinge of red. Unlike mine. Mine are deep blue. Because I am hybrid". He gently wiped the sweat on his forehead "Wha.. What is a ... Hybrid". Callum stuttered. He was more normal than before, still not fully.

A sharp light spilled out into the corridor. A low murmur of voices drifted into the quiet hallway. Evelyn paused, her instincts immediately telling her to listen. In her past life, she had ignored hushed conversations, closed doors, secret meetings, believing her love would protect her. That naivety had cost her her life. She stepped silently into the shadow of a large falcon statue, her back pressed flat against the wall as she focused on the study's interior. “...every transaction matches, Mr. Vance,” a voice said. It was a cold, detached, almost mechanical tone—the voice of Murdock, Arthur’s legendary chief of global intelligence and forensic investigation

“Not Justin. I don’t know who. He didn’t say his name.” “Description?” “Black suit. Blue eyes. _Memento mori_ tattoo.” I closed my eyes. Saw the blood again. “He said ‘better.’” Rosie went very still. “Describe the tattoo.” “Across his ribs. Script. _Memento mori_. Why?” She didn’t answer. She went to her laptop. Typed. Turned the screen to me. WANTED. DOMINIC BLACKWOOD. 30. Armed and dangerous. Last seen Upper West Side. If seen, do not approach. Contact FBI.

My mother, Samantha, believed I was born a liar. Because she was deceived by my father's sweet words in her youth and abandoned after giving birth to me and my sister, Mia, she harbored a deep, bitter hatred for lies. She begged a witch for two magic rings. The rule was simple: if the wearer lied, the ring would glow red and burn them with magic. Mia's ring never hurt her, even when she broke a vase and blamed it on me. But if I simply said, "I'm thirsty," my ring would sear my flesh until I screamed. At first, I tried to defend myself, but Mom would just say, "The ring doesn't lie. Only through repeated punishment can your wicked soul be cleansed." After thousands of burns, even I started t

' She mouthed and smiled wickedly, then grabbed a silver purse and left. Maximillian Rutherford a.k.a Max, a certified mobster. All his casinos are a hit in the country, but what others don't know about--- he gains money not just on his declared assets. Underground mob fights is his specialty. I don't know how on earth did he end up in a situation where the person who hired me, wants him dead tonight. Maybe the scenic underground is too small for them to share.

"You are the heir of this pack and you disappeared into the Ruins in the middle of a crisis because of a rogue wolf." "Her name is Kira," I say. "And her brother was shot dead in the Ruins last night." Dominic looks at me for a moment. "I'm aware." "How." "Morrison filed a preliminary report through the contractor channel at four fifteen this morning." He folds his hands on the desk. "The victim was identified as Leo Volkov, nineteen, human, no pack affiliation. Shot once, centre mass, in an alley off Aldren Street. Morrison shut down the police investigation before it produced anything useful to outside parties."

“What is this?” “That’s what killed him,” he said, his voice trembled. “H-He said if I got into trouble, I just have to…to go there.” The detective flipped the card and saw two words engrossed on it in gold ink. DOMUS MALUM His eyebrows furrowed, frustration creeping in. His head began to throb as he looked away. “Thanks for this, Mate,” he said and hopped on his car, never casting a glance again on the guy.

"Thank you, I shall see to that immediately." Getting the body was easy, she had a friend, Max at the morgue who gave her all the details she needed. The body she found was that of a man called Morgan Daniel. He was a twenty-seven-year-old convict that was serving for drug lifting. He had just recently died that morning and there was no family to come to claim his body. She paid Max off for helping to drop off the body and sent him on his way. The psychic made him a cup of tea before he left.

The front door of the Clinic opened, bringing me from my reverie, and a wolf I didn't recognize walked in. "May I help you?" I asked, closing the grimoire and setting it aside as I rose to my feet. He had long blond hair that hung past his shoulders. He had muscles for days and was tall... probably just as tall as Xander or Dannan, and looked like a Viking god in the flesh. He nodded toward the grimoire. "Is that yours?" I nodded, tucking it under the counter out of sight. If he tried to take it, he was going to have a fight on his hands. "It's the grimoire of my people."