9 Deuce Bloods Novels & Stories

something red She shrieks in horror at what it says as deja CU hits her all over again, it drips down the mirror like blood “I will Avenge My Brother”

taking my hand into hers, she tried to brush the worry, but she knew it could not do anything; “those people, those who attacked, are a strong cult of pure bloods believers, they believe that bloods should not be mixed, it happend to multiple packs, where incidents like this take places, the most recent happened with the Corrigens, where his human mate got killed by her own omegas. I remember that incident, it was a big blow, they said that the used dark magic to save the cups, but no one knows for certain what went down.

The sun is shining. "Isn't she your girl?" Huh? Who? Me? My mind asked that because of confusion. “Yes. He is the one our schoolmates are talking about. They said they couldn't smell her blood so they didn't know if she is vampire blood or not," "Really?!" “Yes. And even if you smell the air, you won't smell anything from her except her perfume," "That's weird," "Bro, I didn't smell anything on her except her perfume," "Me too, I didn't smell her blood,"

I look back at her, just for a heartbeat, and see that her fingers are stained with ink, the sign freshly made. Past the market, the architecture grows grander but colder. Every window is dark, every doorway watched by someone who thinks themselves invisible. We pass a tavern—its sign half-torn, the letters rearranged to spell something obscene—and through the open door I glimpse a crowd gathered around a gaming table, the only sound the click of dice and the mutter of lost bets. No one sings, not even the old campaign songs. Perhaps the memory is too bitter now. Sir Darius leans close, voice low. "We’re being watched."

“Diego!” My scream echoed through the hallway as he dropped to one knee, his hand clutching his side. Blood soaked through his white shirt like red ink on paper. I ran to him, heart pounding, legs shaking. “Don’t move,” I whispered, pressing my hands over the wound. He hissed through his teeth. “It’s not deep.” “You’re bleeding all over the floor—how is that not deep?!” “I’ve had worse,” he muttered, trying to push himself up.