Blood Bender 소설 & 이야기

Quenten Yilmaz: Blood. Violence. Gut-wrenching, paralyzing screams. They follow me everywhere, including in my sleep. It’s like a reel of snippets flashing before my very eyes. Splatters of blood paint the walls. Screams of terror intertwine and become a single, continuous harmony of devastation that rings in my ears. Flashing balls of light ignite in the dark as illuminated bullets slice through the air, hitting everything in their path. Men drop to the ground swiftly, followed by a hush of silence.

Myron's office…. “Miss Beatrice, I've got to be real with you so you can know what we're dealing with. Her life is on the line right now; she has lost so much blood, and the list we can do to help her now is to do a blood transfusion.” He said as he ignored the fear that was displayed on the face of his patient's aunt. “And the prices of blood pants have increased over the week due to its high demand. You would need to sign this document in the absence of her Dad.” She took the piece of document that was given to her across the table. Signing on every signature-needing space with shaky fingers. She sniffled and wiped out some tears that threatened to wet the papers in front of her.

He puts lids on them and straws and then holds the cup out to me and says, “You’re welcome to it, if you want it.” I’m hesitant, but my grumbling tummy doesn’t give me much of an option. As I take the cup from his hands, my fingers brush against his and I’m alarmed by how cold they are. It felt colder than ice and I wish I could hold his hands and warm them up in mine. He tells me, “We get the blood from blood drives or animals we’ve caught in the forest. We try hard not to have to drink from tap. Especially with humans, although, some of us has more restraint than others.” He rolls his eyes with that last sentence and I can’t help but wonder what he means by that. Who has less restraint? I

It's impossible that he's a vampire because I know he doesn't believe in vampires. “Fourth, the Bervels. Bervels can control the weather. They are the fourth strongest in the vampire clan. They can change the weather easily. You can tell if a vampire is a Bervel if they have attractive blue eyes. And don't make them angry, you might just be hit by a lightning bolt." Weather? Hmm... sounds interesting. I want to meet someone.

Ironic. The thought dragged a dry, humorless laugh from my throat. It echoed in the sterile silence of my office, a place that smelled of lemon polish and an underlying decay. My vision was now swimming on the edge of a crimson haze, each blink more laborious than the last. My hands trembled uncontrollably, and I curled them into fists, nails digging into my palms—useless pain that did nothing to steady me. Then it hit me: Bloodmatch. The name pressed against my consciousness like a shadow that refused to lift, a curse and a promise all at once—dangerous, illicit, irresistibly seductive.

I grabbed the hem of Felix's shirt, fixed a pitiful expression on my face, and mumbled, "I believe you, Felix." Felix's expression softened as he helped me back to my feet. Taking advantage of the fact that the other wolves' attention was still on us, I retrieved a document from my bag and handed it to Felix. "I accidentally recorded your pup's blood type as AB when I registered his information last time. The truth is, his blood type is O." Felix's face twisted as he snatched the document from me. An eerie silence descended upon the hall. Everyone knew that all the wolves of the Blackrock pack had type-AB blood, making it impossible for a pup with type-O blood to exist in the pack.

Like he’d already decided something. “You sure about this?” I asked low, when the others were focused on the road. He met my eyes in the mirror. “You asked if I was in it. I said yes.” “This isn’t painting or club openings. It’s blood.” “I know.” His voice was steady. “I’ve seen blood before. Just not… yours.” The words landed heavier than I expected. We parked two blocks away, hoods up against the rain. The target was a rundown auto shop front looked legit, back was where they stored guns and product. Four Irish inside, maybe five. We had surprise.

Fear making him brave in the specific stupid way that fear does. She looks at him for a moment. Then at me. Something passes between us — not a question, not a request. Just information. Your turn for a moment. I push off the worktable. I cross to Caruso slowly, the way I cross to everything I've decided to deal with, and I take his right hand — zip-tied to the chair arm, fingers splayed — and I look at it the way I look at structural problems. Practically. Dispassionately.

I bent over dapping my fingers in the blood, inhaling the long-forgotten scent of Fenrir blood. It's time to go home.