Blood Ink Novels & Stories

"Relax, Sai, it's only three days. You will be discharged by next tomorrow. You will take your last dosage at home." She sat up. "Really?" Hither nodded. "I have kept you here some more days so we could ensure there is nothing else wrong in your system. You are doing well. With that being said, you will need to be making pints of donation for storage." "Storage?" He nodded. "Yes. Your blood test results shows that you have Rh-null blood type, also known as golden blood. And you know that such blood type is rare to find. If you don't make storage for yourself, the day you may need it, you may regret it. Better to plan ahead of such scenarios."

I blinked at him. "What do you mean?" "The blood," he said as he pulled out a vial of AB. The black ink on the vial read Rh-negative, and I felt myself salivate at the look of it. "This blood type is very rare in human society. It's also delicious for us, well, not as tasty as yours. More importantly, it's from a healthy and energetic human donor. You would love it once you tried."

My hands trembled slightly as I prepared the needle. “Just a little, Liam,” I murmured softly, steadying my voice though tears pricked my eyes. “Mama’s here. Just a little.” I pricked his skin carefully, drawing the blood into the thin glass vial. My movements were quick, practiced. But the moment I tilted the vial to the light, my entire body froze. The blood… it wasn’t the right color. It wasn’t bright red. It was darker. Almost black at the edges.

Even Madeline, Bailey, and the others watched silently as Sebastian continued to administer treatment to Rex. After three whole minutes, Sebastian finally managed to squeeze out a drop of stagnant blood from Rex's left hand. "Look, it's bleeding! It's finally bleeding!" a student exclaimed. "Why is the blood black?" his person asked. "Yes, why would there be black blood?" another questioned. The students around them all stared nervously at Rex's finger. They couldn't help speculating when they saw the black blood being squeezed out.

Red. But something looked strange. Not like blood. Zane's brows pulled together. “That’s not blood.” I blinked. “What?” “That’s ink.” I stared at him. “Ink?” He nodded seriously. “Grandma told me something like that before.” My mother walked in carrying a plate of fruit. “What are you two staring at?” Zane pointed at the screen. “That red mark. It’s ink.” My mother froze. “What did you say?” “Ink.” He looked proud of himself.

​The smell of the new batch was rancid and heavy, filling the locomotive shed with the sharp, toxic tang of industrial petroleum and old friction. Yusuf hoisted the tin bucket onto the workbench, splashing a thick, viscous dollop of the black sump-sludge onto our mixing slate. It didn't look like ink; it looked like the blood of a dead machine—viscous, iridescent under the cracked skylight, and clinging to the wooden spatula with stubborn weight.

Dark veins showed through his pale skin like black ink spreading under glass. Multiple IV lines ran into his arms, feeding something directly into his bloodstream. The liquid in the bags wasn't clear - it was deep red, almost black in the harsh lighting. Vampire blood! I realized. They were pumping vampire blood into him. But for what? "How much longer?" Blake gasped between ragged breaths. His voice was hoarse, probably from screaming. Standing beside the table, Dante looked every bit the predator he was. His pale skin seemed to glow under the medical lights, and those red eyes held the detached interest of someone watching a particularly fascinating experiment.

Of course you did. *I can't explain everything here. But you need to know: you are not who you think you are. Neither am I.* *What's in this town — what these people are — it's real, and it's old, and it has something to do with us. With our blood.* *I'm not dead. I don't think. But I'm not free either.* *Find Blackwood. Not to trust him — to read him. He knows what you are. Watch his face when he looks at you and you'll understand.*

Black. I touched it with my finger. The blood didn't wipe away. It had soaked into the fabric, staining it like ink, like oil, like something that didn't belong in a human body. My blood? But I'm not bleeding— I looked down at myself. No cuts. No wounds. Nothing. But the blood was there. Black. Spreading. Growing. And carved into the headboard, in letters that glowed faintly in the dim light, were four words: THE BOND IS SEALED.

Connery murmured. The rust-colored liquid’s color deepened to the rich red which had caused it to be called “blood” by ancient witches. She used tongs to lift the vial from the stand, and carefully added it to the bowl of ingredients that would complete its transformation into the spell component known of as “Dragon’s Blood.” As it mixed, veins of glowing orange and cinder black spread through the liquid, giving it the appearance of hot lava, although if a person were fool enough to stick their finger into the mixture, it would be cool to the touch… before it melted the flesh from the bone and turned the bone to ash.