The Bloody Painter Novels & Stories

My hands shivered as she handed the paper over to me. I opened it and showed the most shocking revelation of my life. My hands stiffened and my stomach tightened. What?! Raven used wolves blood to form his paint, and that was the reason it was thick. No wonder the lab technician looked at me in such a way. This could be linked to that hidden room. Could that be the reason for the famine? That was a perfect way to kill the wolves without being blamed. And then used their blood as asphalt paint. Indeed there's no way this painting wouldn't get the attention of those investors.

“I'm glad you're here. I buried my face in his skin, taking in the delicious scent of him, the sheer power of masculinity emanating from his body. He didn't move to push me away, instead placing a huge paw on my back. I pressed my cheek against his rib cage, feeling the rise and fall of his ragged breathing. “Josh… I discovered something today. I can't believe others haven't seen it yet... it so clearly dates the paintings to a more modern era. But I think when you have BBC documentaries and money in your sights, you only see what you want to see. He rested his muzzle on my shoulder, letting out a deep, raspy sigh. I stroked his fur, enjoying the softness that ran through my fingers. “Your g

“Oh Zeph, you are a funny man. Yes indeed, there are colours, and there are naked people, but just look closely. They are all alive in these pictures. This painting here…” He pointed towards a painting where a maiden was sitting in a corner of a dark room, hugging her blood-stained, torn gown. Her face buried in her knees. “The damage,” I read the painting’s name. “The artist was molested,” Archer said and my eyes instantly shot with tears. A non-living painting that was nothing a second ago came to life as if the girl in the painting was talking to me through some magical portal. I understood why half of the painting was painted black and I started seeing and hearing her mind. Her screams,

Glass shattered, screams ripped through the air, and the scent of gunpowder choked the room. Chaos erupted like a dam bursting. People scrambled for cover, bodies colliding in a panicked stampede. My gaze darted around, searching for the source of the carnage. Seven figures, black silhouettes against the flashing lights, had infiltrated the club, their faces obscured by masks, their hands spitting fire.

“I'm glad you're here. I buried my face in his skin, taking in the delicious scent of him, the sheer power of masculinity emanating from his body. He didn't move to push me away, instead placing a huge paw on my back. I pressed my cheek against his rib cage, feeling the rise and fall of his ragged breathing. “Josh… I figured something out today. I can't believe others haven't seen it yet... it so clearly dates the paintings to a more modern era. But I think when you have BBC documentaries and money in your sights, you only see what you want to see. He rested his muzzle on my shoulder, letting out a deep, raspy sigh. I stroked his fur, enjoying the softness that ran through my fingers. “Your

I pushed myself off the door frame and took a step toward him. "So, is this what you do to your victims?” I pressed. “You put them under your control and then kill them? Well, Darick, you can shove that stupid blood oath up your ass and go to hell! You are barbaric.” This clearly made him angry. Good. He deserved to feel half of what I was. "You don't know what you're talking about. You know nothing about me," he growled. "I know you are the leader of the Blood Brother's mafia, a gang of vampires, and I now understand why you're called Darick the Bloodthirsty," I replied, pointing to the bite mark on my neck.

Her father. Cameron Allistar White had been a soldier in the American Civil War when he was mortally wounded and left for dead. A nomadic vampire, searching for an easy meal, had begun to drain him—only to be interrupted by a clean-up crew retrieving fallen soldiers. The vampire fled before he could finish, leaving behind a man who was neither dead nor fully human. His heart still beating when the venom flooded his veins.

"There were others much younger than her who thrived, even in the Council. We are done talking!" Another man steps forward with a glass, punctures the toothless prisoner's flesh, and fills his glass with blood. My chest heaves and I freeze. My knees buckle as violent tremors shoot through my body. Cold sweat drips down my back. In my ears beats the rhythm of my heart. I swoon at the sight of so much blood. But the man with blue eyes and a warm voice holds me steady when I sway. What in heaven is happening here?

Even so, right that moment, I was so sure that the person walking towards me was him. His hair was red and ponytailed. He has three piercings in the right ear and has a tattooed symbol at his left temple down to his cheek. He was wearing a black cloak tainted with a lot if red stains, which I'm sure is blood. The thought of whose blood is it terrifies me. By the way he looks, he obviously just came from a war. But why did he make it here? Does that mean... No. It can't be. Red smoke went out from my necklace. The next second, Raja's growl echoed in the whole palace. His tail surrounded me in a protective stance.

El stifled a groan and turned to Lucas, who looked utterly mortified. "Right, back to class, folks!" The Principle shuffled his chair back as he stood, vaguely gesturing with one arm. They filed out of the office into the main hallway, where the magnolia paint was peeling off the walls in places, revealing a pale green underneath. "Psychiatric green", El had once told her, thought to be a calming colour. Lucas took off down the hall, slamming a locker door as he went. "Well, that's just great," El grumbled.