Vampire Painter Novels & Stories

However, it could’ve just been me imagining things. I walked toward the table. The Vampire had a nose piercing and looked still quite young, but the wisdom in his dark eyes told me otherwise. His hair was styled in spikes and his face had a dark, mischievous smirk. The hunter on the other hand was an old looking man with grey hair and a potbelly. He had piercing grey eyes and a look of tiredness on his face. As soon as I reached the table the vampire sniffed and beamed. "A Veneziano. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

My heart dropped as I saw him in that condition. Couldn't stop my tears from falling cause I was seeing my best friend in the worst and miserable condition. I hold him as he was barely standing on his feet. "Who did this to you, Paul?" I asked him sobbing and wrapping him with my arms and laying him down to rest. "The Vampires" he struggled and uttered with a heavy tone and after hearing it, my blood flow rises in anger and vengeance for the creature 'Vampires'

A woman with two different shades of eye color… a big man wearing a suit looking disturbed… two crying infants, and then toddlers chasing each other… He then laid the six year old on the ground as she whimpered in pain and he breathed in her face a little until she was knocked out cold. He stood up and wiped his mouth as his fangs retracted back into his mouth. “Welcome Tammy, to the Vampire world,” he whispered. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as her hair started to transform colors more, making it now a visible auburn color. He opened up her eyelids and saw that her eyes had now become a bright hazel color and he smiled to himself; the venom was winning the battle already.

Seeing him with a sadistic smile as he licked the blood off his lips. But all in all, I am ejoying the meals that the chef is serving and I got to meet new people too. I ate a lot of variety dishes. They were delicious even though I spent it with Mr Vamps whom I am to confirm. I might be wrong after all I have not seen him in the wrong. Only his pale skin nothing else. Those dreams may be wrong or true. I have been avoiding him since the party and when we engage in a conversation, it is him asking and me replying to his questions facing on the floor afraid to meet his eyes.

There was only two kind of people who knew about our existence, the vampires and witches, but we never got across to one another, we all just stayed within our boundaries , we don't meet them, they don't meet us. I got into my black Toyota corolla sport car, I needed to go simple, the last thing I needed was some nosey human sticking in my business and asking stupid ass questions. I sped down the highway, sped was an over statement, the car kept stopping along the road, I was only minutes away from the office, the car backfired again. This was the little consequence I had to suffer for my actions and dad was basically punishing me for refusing to join the family business, and most importantl

Alaric was upset with the deal Adna proposed to him. Not that his blood wasn't weak to perform necromancing but he had no one to teach him. Alaric was sitting in his office, with his head in his hands. Behind the wall hangs a portrait of a woman. She was no other than the famous Zara Knight, Alaric's mother. Below the portrait, there was a wooden decor where all the trophies were placed. It was from her mother, she was a vampire hunter. She hunted more than hundred of rogue vampires who were supposedly a threat to the entire community.

The vision abruptly disappears. Brook-ta-man vomited. The hunter's blood splattered across the floor like a sticky goo. The vampire, full of disgust for what he had drunk, moved his hands creating spell threads, froze for a second. The white-faced's blood flared up like gasoline, the mutilated body caught fire. The vampire set the hunter on fire. Brook-ta-man looks at the burning body of the enemy.

Was it a side effect of his vampirism, or did he just hold that much power over me? “If you need brushes—” “I don’t.” He squeezed the paint out into his palm, setting the tube aside before rubbing his hands together. His steps were slow and purposeful as he approached me, his red hands prepared to stain my skin. I couldn’t help but wonder just how much blood he’d had on his hands over the decades that he’s been a creature of the night. Spilled both willingly and not. But I wouldn’t ask him that, not now as he knelt, looming over me like an artist over a canvas.

This was my first time venturing beyond the confines of my quarters since being brought to this imposing mansion as a captive from my pack. The sprawling mansion was a labyrinth, and I could easily get lost in its vast corridors and for the first time I was grateful for the vampire guards who guided me, providing directions whenever I needed them. As I walked, a stunning painting on the wall caught my attention, and I paused to admire it. The artwork depicted three individuals: Damian, Tristan, and a beautiful woman with fiery red hair that matched mine. I didn't recognize her, but a sense of curiosity piqued my interest.

For months, a shaky truce had held between the vampires and werewolves, forged in blood after centuries of war. Viktor, a tall vampire with sharp features and eyes like polished obsidian, stood guard outside the princess's chambers. His job was simple: protect Lira, the werewolf princess, at all costs. One slip, one breach of the peace, and the fragile agreement would shatter, dragging both races back into slaughter.