Bleeding Edge Novel Novels & Stories

BLADE Chapter One Emiliana's POV At the moment, the only thing on my mind was how to get out of this tight, exposing, goddamn wedding dress. The driver pulled over at a huge mansion. The bodyguards alighted and opened the car door for us. I stepped down and turned back, expecting my husband to step out of the car but he stepped out from the other side and slammed the door shut. I was startled by his action. Then he began to walk inside without waiting for me.

She takes my hand, and the moment her skin touches mine, my head snaps back and everything fades— ⸻ We’re standing on an empty airfield, chaos erupting around us. Our people clash with humans and sharply dressed rogues. But it’s the glowing eyes watching from the forest that tell me—we’re not alone. Then suddenly, both Drake and I drop. Darts pierce our throats. Our hearts still. We don’t move again. Baylee and Caden come sprinting across the road, their screams echoing through the air. But the fight doesn’t stop—it gets worse.

“I’d think you’d be begging for more.” When he threw his head back while laughing at his own sick humor, Edwin seized the moment and twisted from beneath him. Before the vampire could grasp what was happening, he grabbed his head with both hands and pulled with all his might. A loud popping sound pummeled his eardrums as the vampire’s body fell limp to the ground. Not wanting to take a chance on the vampire coming back to life, and remembering a scene from the Twilight saga, he tossed a lit match on the headless body. It immediately burst into flames.

He moved his hand on the guard of his sword. Nothing happened. Everything was silent. The whole forest was silent. He moved again. Silence again. Nothing moved. He loosened the sword. Silence. His eyes twitched. Silence was everywhere. Silence was everything. His arm relaxed. A lonely leaf danced on the wind, turned to its side and fell on the trampled ground. His entire body relaxed. He was sure that nothing was there. The wind changed direction. He turned. It was cold as a grave; the feeling was more than real. Small shivers went through his entire body like small needles, all at the same time, tearing through his skin bit by bit. The feeling was getting stronger with each passing moment t

He remembered the coarse cloth I'd been wearing when they sold me off—and the tiny, clumsy ink orchid I'd embroidered on the hem with my own hands. By then, the fabric was so caked with mud and blood you could barely tell what color it had been. But George knew. He found me. Or rather, what was left of me.

Exhausted. Desperate. Rebellion. Escape. Each word felt like a blade carving itself into my heart. I scrubbed harder and harder until every tile in the bathroom shone. When my dad came to check, he nodded in satisfaction and pulled 15 dollars from his wallet. "Not bad. Here, take it." I took the money and slipped the bills into my pocket. Back in my room, I opened my ledger and wrote in it. [Debt: 600.] [Repaid: 15.]

Silver Title: The Bleeding The floor was cold against my back. I could feel it through my jacket, through my jeans, through every layer of clothing that was supposed to protect me from the world. But nothing could protect me from this. Nothing could protect me from the burning pain in my side, spreading like wildfire through my veins. I was bleeding. I knew it before I even looked down. I could feel it. The warmth soaking through my clothes. The wetness spreads across my skin. The way my body was slowly, steadily, giving up.

BOUND BY THE VEIN CONTENT WARNING This novel contains material intended for mature audiences only (18+). It includes themes and scenes involving: Graphic violence Blood and feeding Sexual content Obsession and psychological manipulation Power imbalance and coercive dynamics Death and dark supernatural horror elements 🚫Reader discretion is strongly advised. COPYRIGHT/DISCLAIMER This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

The book slid from her grasp, creeping toward the edge of the roof. Below, a dark van screeched to a stop. Its doors flew open. Is the person coming out of the van a new enemy, or the only person who can save them?

He stirred the fire until it burned hotter, more light pushing back the dark. “What is it?” he asked, only when her breathing had evened out. “We have stories,” she said. “About things that live between. Not here. Not… wherever here isn’t. Tall. Fair. Beautiful. Terrible. They like crossroads, Edges. People who don’t quite belong to one world or another.” “Ashford lodge in the woods with a Beacon inside it probably counts as an edge,” he said. “Yes,” she said. “We call them different things in different tongues. Tamawo. Other names. It doesn’t matter which one it is. They all like to bargain.”