Novel & Cerita Novels Like Blood Meridian

I can't think straight. I do know that if what's he's telling me is true he's basically asking me to run his pack with him. My brain starts spinning, seeing everything I've ever read on shifters since they surfaced in the world. I remember an article I've read about the human gene mutation and how wolfs were know to kill their human partners because of bias views. That rate is especially higher with alphas.

"That's the most amazing part, Emily. There was no sign of mutilation. And it was only in one case where a body spotted a cracked neck. The rest had their blood dried out. Like I mean, extremely dried!" Eyes dimmed and brows arched, Emily bit down on her lips. Was the news true after all? Did vampires really exist? That was the only logical explanation to this, because she wasn't so sure how an animal would drain a human completely of blood without having to tear the body apart. Even at that, it was impossible. Or was there a special breed? She set the tooth back carefully in the cellophane bag and sealed it. "Dr. Wills, do you believe in vampire's?"

As Ace flipped through the pages, the soft crackling of the paper filled the space. Ace's fingers moved skillfully over the pages, his eyes scanning each drawing with a mix of pain and yearning. As he turned the pages, I leaned in closer, mesmerized by his talent, my gaze fixed on his strong fingers gently handling each page. Each one unveiled a new design, a new narrative. On one page, I saw a boy gazing at a river, his face reflecting deep sorrow.

She saw the needle. We were always the predators, she had told Robbin. But as she drifted into a shallow, feverish sleep, she realized the flaw in her logic. Predators hunt for food; they hunt to end a threat. What she and Robbin had done was something different. They hadn't killed the threat; they had fed it. They had invited the devil back into the room and handed him a seat at the table. Nora’s dreams fractured into scrolling code and blinking red warnings, into doors that would not stay shut.

but there's another identity for me which no one knows except me. I write novels under the pen name 'phoenix' My novels are about werewolves attacking humans. Since I don't like werewolves I started writing about them in a bad way to vent out my anger on them. Recently, I've been working on a book named, 'Desire for thirst' in which werewolves attack their prey when they are in rut. My work in this genre has been gaining more exposure because I've made it very clear that I don't like werewolves. I believe people can read this as a novel but in reality the author just wants to expose their readers to the monsters they see in other worlds.

BIOGRAPHY Mercedes M. Yardley is a dark fantasist who wears stilettos, red lipstick, and poisonous flowers in her hair. She is the author of the short story collection Beautiful Sorrows, the novellas Apocalyptic Montessa and Nuclear Lulu: A Tale of Atomic Love and Little Dead Red, and the novels Nameless: The Darkness Comes and Pretty Little Dead Girls: A Novel of Murder and Whimsy. She often speaks at conferences and teaches workshops on several subjects, including personal branding and how to write a novel in stolen moments. Mercedes lives and works in Sin City with her family and menagerie of Strange and Unusual Pets. You can reach her at www.abrokenlaptop.com.

Besides, I think they're too impatient to do things calmly. "What do you know about this wine called 'Blood of the Wise'?" Judging Orion's expression, there's no doubt, he's willing to tell him everything he wants to know. Ah. The scent of victory.

Because something about that kind of scream doesn’t let people stay put. We stepped into the hallway and the hospital changed in front of us. What had been controlled panic upstairs had become full collapse downstairs. Footsteps everywhere. Doors slamming. Voices overlapping until nothing made sense anymore. Then the smell hit. His Blood was everywhere. We reached the lobby and everything stopped feeling real. Daniel was on the floor. Blood spread beneath him like it had been given permission to take over the room. The gun lay a few feet away, untouched now, almost forgotten in the middle of all the chaos it caused.

I did it to please him, to prove how understanding I was. But now, I no longer had to play the part of the perfect mate. "Fine," I said coolly. Surprise flashed in Mortlock’s eyes. "Really?" "But," I added with a cold smile, "it will cost you your entire prized collection of rare blood." The look on Mortlock's face froze. His collection was a priceless library of top-tier blood sources, aged for centuries. To trade it for a single agate was an outrageous demand. A flash of anger crossed his face. But then, as if a thought struck him, a smile curled his lips.

Werewolves. That was the Ashford legacy. She hadn’t understood it until she was old enough to read through the family’s old journals: heavy leather-bound books with cramped writing. The stories were always the same, The Ashfords hunting wolves. The Ashfords wiping out entire packs. The Ashfords fighting alphas under blood moons. Some of them even traded their blood for silver steel. That was her family’s pride. And her prison.