Short Stories True Crime Novels & Stories

Right when the vampire was a few feet away from Uea, a sense of realization flashed through his mind, and he gasped in horror. "Isn't this Cassian? The vampire in my story 'Exclusively His'? The short story collection I finished a few days ago?" Uea's mind overworked, trying to make sense of what was going on. He'd already found everything familiar to begin with, and after confirming his situation, another realization dawned on him, shaking him to the core. Uea glanced at his chained body, and his lips trembled when he realized he wasn't in his own body, but the body of the main character of his short story.

“There’s lots of ways to kill people.” He furrowed his brow at me. “Why do you know that?” I rolled my eyes at him. “I’m a writer. I sometimes research true crime stories for inspiration on ways to kill off characters.” “Seriously?” “Some people are worried others will find porn in their search history. My dirty history is full of murder.” He smirked. “Not porn?” I smacked his shoulder, and he brought me into an embrace laughing. “You wish it was porn,” I grumbled into his chest.

It was 11pm at night when Nikhil Khanna drove off in his car to the hotel Grad Shine. On his way , he stopped his car and when he was parking it in the parking lot , he noticed a beautiful girl wearing a red coloured lacy short frock with her cleavage popping out .Along with it she was wearing black jacket and black coloured female boots with high heels.

By morning it had been picked up by everyone else. I sat on the edge of my bed in my robe and I scrolled and I read and I felt something strange and unsteady moving through me that I couldn't immediately name. The stories were accurate. That was the unsettling part. Not sensationalized, not fabricated, not the version of events that was designed to generate clicks rather than illuminate truth. Just accurate. Someone had done the work, connected the dates, found the records, spoken to people who had known us. The picture they'd assembled was precise and devastating and entirely true, which was somehow worse than if it had been embellished because there was nothing in it to push back against.

“I can see you a lot better this way. So, why can’t you sleep?” I positioned my phone on the stand near my lamp, holding myself on my side. “I hate storms like this. Always have.” Just as I said that, a crack of lightning shot blue across my window, making me squeal. “Sorry. Storms make me jumpy. I’m not used to being alone like this during one.” “I’m sure. You can talk to me for as long as you’d like. I’m just up preparing for a case.” “Oh? Well, get some rest. I won’t disturb you.”

BEFORE YOU READ You have ten seconds to run. Tropes: Forced proximity, size difference, breeding kink, and primal chase play. This story features a fugitive criminal fueled by adrenaline and testosterone invading your safe space. Expect dirty talk, roughness, and intense possessiveness. (***) Belle I never should have opened the door to fear. Or maybe, deep down, I was always waiting for it.