Blood match

Doc The sterile overhead light spat cold shadows across my desk, casting a dismal glow on discarded reports stained with blood-slick notes. Every nerve in me screamed for release, for what I hadn’t tasted in days—and that craving threatened to obliterate what remained of my sanity. I clenched my fists, feeling the sting of restraint, refusing to give in to Shelby’s latest request of buying a blood donor, I told myself I can do this on my own. “I shouldn’t have this much problem trying to source a willing partner,” I muttered to himself, voice hoarse with frustration, But it seems like I’ve been banned from every blood center, every bar, every shady back alley sketchy shit I used to run through. They all heard of what I done. And What I threatened to do to the other agency owners, i mean Who wouldn't use their corpse eye socket for their own personal Cum dumpster? my vision blurred and my pulse pounding in my ears. My veins burned with a primal fury I couldn’t tame, a relentl

Doc I kept my eyes on the table, but I could feel Don’s presence closing in. The air was thick with a nauseating stench. He staggered closer, the scent of advanced rot, mold, the sickly sweet tang of something long past its prime—and it clung to Don like a foul cloud. His face was a canvas of grotesque anatomy, flesh rotting away in patches, revealing glimpses of muscle and bone beneath. Embedded in his decaying skin were nails—rusted, jagged—that pierced through flesh, holding a crumpled scrap of paper in place. The message was unreadable, smeared with blood and decay, yet it was unmistakably meant to be seen. Shelby had orchestrated this nightmare, his twisted signature etched into every detail. Don’s eyes fluttered open, a flicker of consciousness amid the chaos. His hands convulsed, clutching tightly onto a small, familiar red box—neat, pristine, a stark contrast to his battered body. The box seemed almost sacred in his trembling grip, as if it were a lifeline in this sea of de

Emma I edged toward the double glass doors; carefully sliding inside. Taking one step. Then another. Finally Stumbling into the reception area. “HELLO?” My voice splintered against the hollow silence. Fluorescent tubes buzzed overhead; fresh white paint streaked along the walls. "IS THERE ANYONE HERE?” I asked but the emptiness absorbed my words. From here, I could see the first viewing parlor, called The Sunset Room. the dark wood of the door was slightly opened. I stepped in. The drapes were drawn. velvet darkness stretched around a sputtering projector. Antique tables holding tasteful fake flowers. Rows of white wooden chairs with their worn surfaces faced a solitary pure white casket resting on a dais, swathed in a lavender and silver cloth that shimmered. It rested in a natural, quiet, calm. Really now, is there no one actually here? “You lost Bambi?” The voice cut through the hush like a blade. My head snapped around to see a man filling the doorway, at least si

Doc My back was against the wall. I let Emma grab me by my throat with her tiny hands, it didn’t hurt, I pretended it did. Her blue eyes were wild, desperate. Her gaze locked onto mine with a feral intensity. Like she wanted to kill me, for trying to break her against Mr. Frank’s coffin, yet she loved it. Her body told me.. She tried to hide it, the fact she loved being degraded, and treated like mine. Even if she didn’t understand it herself, I would bring every hidden desire of hers out, even the shameful and embarrassing ones. by my fucking bloody fangs, she would feel like a Queen whose been baptized in Blood. By my blood. And the blood of the dead. A spark of that earlier defiance reigniting - her eyes blazing with a fury that was part terror, part wild and exhilaration. “I love that look on your face.” I rasped out. Her hands squeezed harder, fingers pressed into the unyielding muscle. knuckles turning white. “That's it Bambi, squeeze my throat Harder”, lifting my neck to t

Doc Doc The front door of my building suddenly burst open with a deafening crash, I jolted upright, heart pounding in my chest. “Stay in here and hide,” I commanded, as I scrambled toward the chaos at the entrance. shards of glass scattering across the floor like glittering deadly stars. “KNOCK!, KNOCK!, LITTLE BROTHER!” the voice thundered from the doorway, sharp and commanding. The sound echoed through the dim hallway, bouncing off the freshly painted walls A figure appeared in the shattered frame—tall, broad-shouldered, and breathing hard—not from exhaustion, but from a storm of rage that seemed to radiate from him like heat waves. yet it was the expression on his face that chilled Doc. Rage. Pure, unfiltered fury. “Elijah?” His pristine chauffeur’s outfit was soaked in blood, the crimson color. staining the crisp fabric from collar to cuffs, darkening the white with a sinister sheen. The scent of it clung to him, thick and pungent, a sickly reminder of violence. “What’s