Serial Killer Romance Novels & Stories

My blood ran cold as I read the descriptions. They matched the symbols carved into our victims almost exactly. "Because I think our killer isn't just targeting people who opposed our bond," I said slowly, the pieces clicking into place. "They're following a specific ritual from traditional pack law. These aren't random murders, they're ceremonial executions." Kieran took the book, reading it over my shoulder. I could feel his warmth, smell his familiar scent. The mate bond hummed quietly between us, a subtle reminder of what we'd lost.

To hope to breathe, yet solely what she earned is death she never asked for. “If you were correct, you told me that there are previous cases the same way she was killed.” Detective Charlie Reed queered. He never tore his gaze off from Alessandra. “If it happened years ago, I could have said the same, it is a coincidence or a copycat –inspired murders. Ever heard of Jack the ripper between 1800’s?” “I do.” The junior’s forehead cease as to ponder what could have that serial killer’s connection to what they are dealing with. “He was never found, after he killed at least 5 women near the Whitechapel District of London’s East end.”

When was the last time you ate? Me: Uh… Dane: Seriously? Me: I have a bad memory. Dane: My palm is twitching. Me: Sir! Dane: Yes? Me: Are you saying you want to… Dane: Spank you? Yes. One hundred percent. I squealed quietly, as if he could hear me if I were too loud. Everything about Dane was intense. Even when he was joking, he was intense. I’m literally an abuse victim. What the hell is wrong with me? Why do I like this? Why do I want this? This should scare me, but it doesn’t. I’ve read enough dark romance books with werewolf daddies, mafia men, and Doms to know it isn’t scary. That it can be good if done with the right person. The image of Dane Wetness pooled between my legs.

"I'm here to help, sir. I intend to prove myself." Garrison smirked, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Good. Because you're not here to sit around and twiddle your thumbs. You're here because we've got a killer who likes to dress women up as brides and leave them dead with a rose on their chest. We're up to six victims now. All young women, all found in various picturesque spots around town. No fingerprints, no DNA, no witnesses. Just bodies in wedding dresses and roses." Jane's stomach twisted. She had read about the Bride Killer in the papers, but hearing it described in such stark detail made it feel more real. More horrifying.

"You're a part of his world now, whether you like it or not." The next few days were a blur of research and half-hearted attempts to return to my normal life. Alex and his dark secrets felt like a siren call, impossible to ignore. I found myself at "Le Chateau de Sade" again, the BDSM shop, my thoughts racing with images of Alex and the bond between us. The scent of leather and musk filled my nose as I perused the racks. The shopkeeper, a knowing smile playing on her lips, watched me from behind the counter. She knew, of course. They all did. The supernatural community of New Orleans had a way of finding out these things. "Looking for something in particular, darling?" she purred.

The sight of it brought back a flood of memories, bittersweet and poignant. “You are a lover of dark romance?” I asked, narrowing my eyes in shock. The question hung in the air, almost surreal. Cole looked at me and then at the cover of the book. “Yes, I am. I’m actually a lover of dark romance and I really like this book. I have read it before, but then I just skim through some pages when I’m bored or better still when I want to reconnect back with the characters,” Cole said, his voice filled with a quiet passion. Gosh, he was using the exact words I would have used if I was the one asked the question.

The sight made her stomach clench with a mix of awe and pure, unadulterated lust. How could a man who looked like that, who exuded such potent charisma, be capable of such ruthless brutality? The memory of him holding that gun, years ago, had haunted her, a cold shadow over her life. And now, here she was, in his bedroom, wearing his shirt, lusting over him. Something was definitely wrong somewhere. This was certainly a Stockholm captor situation. She needed to get off the call. Now. “You’re staring... Like what you see? Or you want me to go out on a shirt?”

The rage in his stillness said everything. Romano took another step forward. “You think I would not come when my daughter’s blood was spilled on Sicilian soil?” His voice was measured, almost calm, but it shook the air. “You think I would let her die without looking the man responsible in the eye?” Azrael’s tone was respectful, but cold. “You taught me yourself—blood answers to blood.” Romano’s eyes narrowed. “Sì. Il sangue chiama sangue. But you… you chose to marry his daughter.”

And most importantly, no more killer smiles. Right now, it’s just Gabriella the witch and Aelfric the werewolf. Just two mates enjoying the serenity together.

The young woman sitting by me stopped her game and watched me rant in astonishment. When I ran out of angry words, she clapped her hands in succession, and it echoed in the silence. "Well said, Princess, but I think someone lied to you, just like they lied to some of them over there," she said, pointing to a point in the room's corner. "Over there in the blue dress is Princess Kit of the Blue Brook Pack. She was given away as an alliance gift to the Lycan King and found herself as a slave here the very next day. Following her is Princess Yvette from the distant pack region of the werecats. She was told that she was to be matched with the Lycan Prince. She has not gotten over the deceit that