Twisted Hate Novels & Stories

She scrunched her face, leaning further into the seat, and then let out a vast sigh. “No, I just hate that we have to compromise a lot of things because of a certain group of people. Why can they not just die?” When she said this, I swallowed hard, knowing she was talking about vampires. “I hate them so much that I would love to sit one on one with one of them, and I will rip them apart multiple times. They think they are so strong, but we keep beating them in wars, and…” she paused. “I just hate them!” she declared, her voice trembling with barely restrained fury as she curled her fingers so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

I said, leaving out her question about the titties. “Quasi,” she called loudly as if I was far away from her. I knew what that meant – she demanded my full attention. “Every girl and every woman is beautiful, but the most beautiful one of all is not the one with the most attractive physical features,” she continued, as she looked at me without blinking an eye. “The most beautiful girl or woman is one whose heart is hidden from predators; one whose yes always mean yes; one who loves you not because you love her; one whose tongue doesn’t pronounce words that are hard to understand, and whose lips doesn’t feign a smile. “And, if it happens that a handsome man, a man of dignity meets this most

She sighed. "Heyhey!" I hugged her. "It's okay, I haven't fall to deep yet, I hate him so no biggie." She smiled but I know she’s hurt. "Really? I want to kick his ass." She held me and shook her head. "Don't because he's going to taste his own medicine." She smiled "How?"

This is all for their twisted amusement, and it made me as King rather ashamed that I had punks like them in my ranks. Her torment is as clear as her confusion and inability to not freak out. This I hate. This they love. I’ll never admit it out loud, but moments like these Hail pops in my head with his, ‘how vulgar’, expression. Last thing I consider myself is a snob, especially by comparison to my twin, but….. I can’t deny the judgement. The better than thou attitude all of us have to some extent thanks to superior education and breeding from the rest. “Let go,” the cupcake sobs, trying to pull her arm from her attacker’s grip. Unaware she’s giving him exactly what he wants, and his sadisti

"You're cruel... twisted..." "Cruel?" He withdrew his fingers, bringing them to my lips, forcing me to taste us. "Taste your sin, Clara. That's the flavor of your guilt—sweet and filthy." I licked instinctively, the salty tang making my core clench emptily. He growled in approval, positioning himself at my entrance, the broad head of his cock nudging against my folds. "Twisted? Yes. But you love it. Your pussy's clenching just thinking about me slamming into you." With a single, brutal thrust, he sheathed himself fully, the stretch burning anew, making me cry out in a blend of agony and ecstasy.

My own twisted cravings eclipsed any sense of reason or morality. "Too bad, you worthless piece of shit, you couldn't do a goddamn thing to save your sorry excuse for a family and friends after I spelled out my plans for them to you," I spat, my voice laced with venomous delight. "You'll soon hear the sweet symphony of their screams, echoing through these godforsaken cells. The cries of your brothers, your men... It's over, Santino, and you're gonna watch every fucking second of it."

“Do you see now, Melisa?” I whispered, eyes locked on hers. Her beautiful, tear-stained eyes, filled with pain, and still… so perfect. “You are fucking insane… Sebastian. I hate you! I hate you!” She screams in loud as she hates me. It is not a word. It’s a pulse. A breathless gasp between obsession and agony. It coils in my chest like a snake too warm to rest, sinking its fangs into reason, into mercy. Hate is love starved, love denied, love twisted until it bleeds. It tastes like copper and broken teeth, like the space between your silence and my scream. It whispers louder than prayer, and louder still than truth. I do not choose hate—I become it.

I smile, knowing it’s difficult for her to confess something like this to me. “You are welcome.” I try to keep my tone light. “I hate men.” I frown a little. She turns red, which says this is an uncomfortable conversation that we are going to have now. “After seeing my father’s deed all these years, I grow to loath men. They think they have all the power in this world. They are the king and everyone else is just dust on their feet. I hate that. I hate my father for that. I can’t stand that man at all.” Her face is twisted in hate.

Sick, twisted fucks. I have a very selective list of people I loathe, but venators are pretty high on the list. Especially now. Venators and venatrixes are just humans with a complex. They think all supernatural beings are abominations that need to be exterminated and that it’s their sacred duty to wipe out each and every one of us. Absolute load of shit. If they knew how their organisation began their lives would implode.

The man whose family destroyed mine twice and still smiles like the world owes him everything. He’s taller than I remember, broader, dressed in a black Tom Ford tuxedo that probably costs more than my entire quarterly marketing budget. His dark hair is perfectly styled, jaw sharp enough to cut glass, and those storm-gray eyes… they find me the second I step into his line of sight. Our gazes lock. The air between us crackles with fifteen years of pure, venomous hatred. I don’t look away, I never do. Not after what his father did to mine.