Vampire Painter Novels & Stories

His limbs were ripped from their sockets, torn apart piece by piece. “Ah,” I let out a sharp gasp watching the gruesome sight and then realizing it was no different from what Rowan wanted to do. This scene would be a ghastly feast for any vampire, a sight that was capable of satisfying their darkest and most depraved desires - blood. And yet, this was exactly the kind of slaughter that Rowan had been craving. “Are you alright?” Alpha Axel asked me suddenly, his eyes scanning my face. “Y-yes. I am,” came my reply, with an affirmative nod.

The groom mounting the bride on a throne of corpses. My hand moved faster than my mind. I dipped the brush deeper, harder, tearing at the canvas like I was cutting flesh. I mixed the reds and blacks until they bled together, thick and viscous. The eyes I painted stared back, wide and lifeless. The flowers were rotting. The sky dripped gore. A massacre. And I smiled. They wanted a masterpiece? I’d give them one they’d never forget.

Isabella whispered, her voice a jagged rasp. "The heavens do not care for 'supposed to,' my lady." Isabella spun around, her crystalline claws—remnants of her vampire transition—extending instinctively. Standing in the darkness of the archway was a figure that seemed to absorb the violet light. He was gaunt, his skin the color of damp parchment, and his eyes were two flat, milky orbs. He was a Dealer of the Black-Sun Sect, a group of mercenaries who specialized in the "Unmaking" of supernatural icons.

he said once he sobered up, "but the man had one eye and no ears!" My eyes widened as he told me the story. "He was a marvelous painter though. Back then, no one could rival his talents." "What was his name?" I asked as I inspected the painting closely and became familiar with all the curves and crevices of the paints and textures used. Sol shook his head. "We never knew. No one did. He came and went with the wind that one, never staying in one place for too long and always going by a different name." "Was he a vampire?" I asked curiously.

To be honest, Harvey feels a little sorry for those who love Lionel's drawing and painting style when this treasure of Samson's can never be displayed before their eyes. However, if they knew that the artist was a thousand-year-old vampire, surely no one would want to own or admire his masterpiece. These typical red and yellow paintings will make them think of human blood, not romantic, nostalgic autumn. - Oh, did you draw yourself and Lucasta? – Harvey stepped forward, tilting his neck to look at the painting of a couple hanging on the wall. - No, I drew her, and she drew me. There was a hint of sadness in that answer. Although it was only fleeting, Harvey still easily recognized it.

. . Seb Pov "Me? Well handsome my names Cassandra. And as to why I'm here…" She trailed off thoughtfully tapping her red nails against her red lips. "I'm here to raise hell" Cassandra said simply. The vampiress leapt gracefully from the top of the boulder, landing directly in front of them. Her male counter parts followed her lead. Seb held his ground. He didn't get this far to get intimidated by a group of vamps. One other stood out more than the other male vampires. He was a taller and his dark complexion would allow him to easily blend into the shadows. He stood protectively closer to Cassandra than the rest; ready for anything. Seb sized him up. If things didn't go well he would have to

~~~ Amaya His eyes no longer had those pretty green tint in them. They were now a bright glowing red colour. His teeth now contained a pair of sharp fangs ready to bite through your skin anytime. He wasn't just my kidnapper anymore. Nor my stalker. He was now my vampire. This realization hit me like a train. My feet were glued to one place not daring to move. My breathing had stopped a while ago. The beast in front of me must've caught on to my nervousness because a small pang of hurt shot across his face but quickly vanished.

It was an expensive painting by Picasso; although its name was hard to remember, it was confirmed that I had seen it somewhere. Then my gaze fell at a man dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans, his amber eyes alight with something mysterious. “You!” It took me a moment to recognize that ruffian, he was the same bloody vampire, who acted all weak and dead to attack me. Without any reservations, I gathered every speck of energy in my body and yelled hysterically. “The Vampires are used to practicing their sneaky tricks to hunt, I agree. But this all-dead act is out of my mind.

The moon was still blood red, but the forest beneath it had withered and turned into a barren wasteland. “This way,” Armageddon said, taking my hand and pulling me along. We reached the large painting and looked up at the vampires in the painting. My throat became dry as Armageddon stepped forward and spoke in a language I didn’t understand, but I felt like I should. “What…” Gilgamesh asked. “What was that?” “It’s complicated,” Armageddon said softly. The vampires turned in the painting and looked at us as the moon in the painting began to rise and turn blue. Their eyes flashed, and the painting began to slide aside.