Novel & Cerita Profane Soul Blood Hunter

BLOOD AND VOWS --- CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO HIS FIRST KILL “A man doesn’t become a monster. He just finds out what was already in him.” He was thirteen the first time someone handed him a gun. It was a summer night in Palermo. The kind of heat that clings to the bones. Alessio Moretti stood in the back of a butcher shop that doubled as a safehouse, blood on the floors, sweat on his neck, the sound of meat hooks swinging faint in the dark. Don Salvatore was there. So was his father. And in the middle of the room, tied to a chair, was a man with a bag over his head and a bruise blooming around his eye.

Chapter 1 It was late at night at around 10:30 pm in San Francisco a woman walked passed a street it was dark that she had to make use of a touch light in order to get a clear view of where she was heading to, just when she was about taking a step she felt something around her when she was about to look around she heard some strange voice which she found kind of weird, at first it was frighten, she asked herself "what could that be." while she stood there wondering what on Earth could have made such a weird sound, she was lost in her thoughts, then she heard a foot steps as if she was been followed by an unknown person, now she was scared because she knew it wasn't natural for all this thin

He screamed as Hunter plunged the dagger into his ass and yanked it out before thrusting it back inside, the blade ripped his insides and blood oozed out while he screamed in agony. The disturbing sight was satisfying for Silvia as she watched the whole ordeal. Not even blinking once. Hunter wasn't satisfied though. He turned Armando around and slashed his torso. The cut wasn't too deep to kill him but enough to cause him pain as he wheezed. Blood and saliva dripped from his lips. "You won't be needing this," Hunter said sinisterly like a deranged man, and the next moment he cut off Armando's manhood as the flesh lay limply on the floor and he screamed in horror grabbing her crotch in disbel

Leo ran like lightning as soon as his soul was sent to the old building known as Zone XX12. Even though Leo had betrayed Alex once when the leader of the rival vampire clan asked for his help in the case of the Haunted Gallery, Leo could never let Alwex's soul be trapped in Zone XX12 forever.

“Both. He went apeshit trying to break free from the chair we’ve chained him to.” “Something about this is off,” I say. “Brody, have you ever heard of the Sect feeding their hunters blood before?” “Never, and trust me, I can’t imagine the amount of secrecy they’d need if they’re doing it with the soul-fateds they’ve managed to get hold of,” Brody mutters as he puts his vials away. “That just doesn’t make sense. It makes even less sense to have a soul-fated and a hunter that’s drunk her blood near each other. Unless...”

“But I want to know your thoughts and troubles. I want to know about you. Where you came from and why you are here. Who is Logos?” He touched the medallion he wore. “The Creator that all the Shadowmen and the Guardian Forces serve. This amulet I wear is a symbol of my oath to serve. Just like Jared and Aragon, for over a millennium I’ve been a Blood Hunter, a chosen warrior who protects those of Elan blood within the mortal realm. I come from the spirit world. Why am I here?” He released her cheek and turned from her. “I don’t know. For the moment I am trapped within the mortal realm. A mistake, perhaps? Warriors who cannot heal go to a place where their spirit becomes one with the universe

“You’ve done it. You have finally done it!” I shifted on to find the eyesore there. Locking onto the man I had dragged here, who was now propped against a rusted column. He was observed at the embrace, the sight, at the blood, at the look in Kristine’s eyes. He laughed. Motherfucker was laughing like it was the funniest thing he had ever seen. "Oh, what a beautiful sight," Edric wheezed, wiping blood from his chin. "The top 4th assassin of the underworld, The Hunter, has finally decided to drop the mask of innocence?”

About to crash against it, Nicholas speeds to his back and slams him against the floor. The Hunter coughs out blood as a result. Nicholas takes a step round the Hunter. The Hunter is on the floor, stomach down, but maintains a hold of his weapon. His porcelain face has reddened from the hit. He flips up, surprisingly, now standing upright. His hand smears past his lips to clean the blood and narrowing his eyes at Nicholas, the Hunter heads for him.

Innocent human blood was hunted which the witch had asked us to get and it went successful, a poor man went hunting for his family to provide one square meal. The young man was known for his consistency and patience to feed his family of eight for survival. The witch targeted him as the pure soul that his blood could be used to save Zoe. The innocent man was killed at the night hunt. Was his soul angry at me? Does that even exist? This wasn't the first time I had killed someone so this shouldn't bother me a bit. I was overthinking wondering why the wind blew heavily non-slip and then the withered leaves sweeping off my feet.

"Cheap. I would have priced you much higher." I looked down at the dark liquid in my glass. My life was over. The girl I was yesterday—the dutiful daughter, the waiting mate—was dead in that car wreck. "What do you want from me, Hunter?" He pushed off the mantel and closed the distance between us in two strides. He placed a hand on the back of the sofa, leaning down until his face was inches from mine. I could smell the musk of his arousal and the mint of his breath. "I want to ruin them," he said softly. "And I think you do too."