Weepy-voiced Killer Novels & Stories

he repeated, each word dripping with remorse and anguish. But then, a surge of determination surged through him, pushing aside his overwhelming grief. "No... I'm not responsible," he declared, his voice tinged with defiance. "I didn't kill my love; that's not possible." A deep rage began to simmer within him, fueled by vengeance. "So who is to be blamed then? The Vampire is responsible for this. Eric Damian is responsible for this!" His voice rose, carrying a fierce determination. "Yes, Damian… Damian did this. He took my happiness away from me, and I won't rest until I make him pay." His words dripped with raw fury. "I won't stop; I will kill a million people to bring you back, my love," he

He suddenly grabbed her by the throat and slammed her into the wall and she choked. “Do you not even have the decency to remember your murder victims?” He growled, his lips curved with disgust. Her vision was blackening. She wheezed, trying to drag in air desperately and when he released her she collapsed to the ground and coughed. “No. I don’t.” She panted and her lips curved into a terrible smile. “There are just too many of them, their names overlap.” “Winson Savvey, three hundred and thirteen years old. You killed him at a bar between his mistress’s thighs.” He said and a spark of memory ignited.

he trailed off, leaving the answer hanging in the air. Wyatt grasped the unspoken words in Silas's revelation. "Alpha Zain Black," he finished the sentence, the weight of that name hanging in the air. In the realm of the Appalachian Mountains, Wyatt Romano held dominion over the American border, while Zain Black, known as the killer from the Canadian part of the Appalachian range, stood as his formidable adversary. The room fell into a profound silence. Zain Black was the only one who could stand against Wyatt Romano. "Did he send the rogues to attack me?" Wyatt questioned, his eyes piercing into the depths of the issue.

a pleasant female voice sounded after what felt like a thousand rings. “I need… I need to speak to the High Lykos… now,” his voice felt flat and odd. His lips numb. “Who am I speaking to?” she asked. “I… Micheal Howthorne… my pack… I’ve just found my pack dead.” There was silence on the other end of the phone for a while. “One moment please.” All he could hear was his breathing blowing over the speaker. It felt like the phone had been put down for a lifetime. He felt sick, dizzy, disorientated before a familiar voice came to the phone.

Not even the breeding mare that a werewolf only claim when he’s in need of a good fuck. A Luna is a warrior, a decision-maker. Willing to sacrifice everything for her pack and territory, for peace and vengeance. Everybody might only see a couple of Rogues sneering beneath our eyes. But for me, I see a murderer—one who murdered an innocent friend. Elliot. And tonight, I shall avenge him. As the moon peeked through the branches above, casting its pale light upon the clearing, the Rogues finally spoke. “Valerie Cavitt is my name and spilling your blood shall be my fame.”

Rowen replied without hesitation, nodding in agreement. ----- Third Person POV Thwak! Thwak! The sharp, brutal sound of two back-to-back slaps echoed through the grand foyer the absolute second they stepped foot inside their pack's estate. The force of the blows nearly knocked Seraphine off her feet. It was her father. His face was twisted in absolute, toxic rage. "Honey, please, stop!" Vivienne begged, rushing forward and throwing her hands up to try and shield her daughter.

Simple rule. Zephyr Veyl thinks we offered ourselves up to him on a silver platter. Thinks we’re fools who can be ambushed and erased in one clean move. He has no idea what kind of mess he just stepped into. I watched Ryker from my chair. He sat forward, elbows on knees, fingers steepled. His eyes glowed steady red now, not flashing, not wild, just… constant. Like banked coals waiting for wind. “I’m gonna kill him,” he said, and the chuckle that followed wasn’t funny. It was low and dark. The kind of laugh that promises bodies.

Nobody laughed, because suddenly it didn't feel impossible. "Oh my god... is there a sniper out there?!" Ethan shrieked. The murders were escalating, and the killer had attacked Elena in her own apartment. Nobody knew who was being watched... or why. The knock came again but this time accompanied by a voice, a woman's voice. "Hello?" Everyone looked toward the door. Even Elena stepped back into the room. "I think I have the wrong apartment..." The voice sounded young. Maybe twenty-five, twenty-six but nobody recognized it.

she said in a trembling voice. She suddenly started cackling loudly. She sounded incredibly smug when she continued, "Do you still love Felix because he's your fated mate? Well, your lover is also the one who killed your pup!" Although I already had my own suspicions, I couldn't help feeling as though my heart were being stabbed by blades when I heard what she said. "You're lying," I said, continuing to provoke her. "Felix was also extremely upset when Ryan passed away. Why would he ever harm his own pup?"

"Then answer it." "I can't." "Then go." The words came out harder than he meant them. She flinched. He didn't take them back. "If you can't be in this, then go. But don't come back. I can't keep doing this. I can't keep—" He stopped. His voice was barely a whisper. "I can't keep watching you leave." She stood up. Her legs were still shaking. She looked at him—shoulders hunched, hand clenched against his mouth. He looked less like a killer and more like a man who was about to fall apart.