Blood Meridian Novels & Stories

He grew quiet for a minute before shaking his head, “You know what you sound like?” “What?” “A fucking hypocritical bloodhound.” If not that he was driving, I would have punched him hard enough for his hand to swerve off the steering wheel and careen the car over the bridge into the black, icy depths of the canal. He knew how much I hated being referred to as a bloodhound. How much I hate being reminded that I was a fucking abomination. Soon we arrived at the Feeders Corp building. The house was solely for vampires of all breeds and was where auctions would be held regularly.

Liam asked, intrigued. “Well, okay,” His father sat up. “Killing a vampire is almost always accompanied by a wooden stake to the heart. Garlic lining your home sends them away, repelled by the smell. Holy Water also burns them. Iron didn’t do much, but that was all we had for vampires. Iron burned fairies, silver hurt werewolves, fire killed Wendigos, salt blocked out demons, wax stopped sirens...you know some of this already, I’m sure.”

"I don’t want to hurt my friends. I think I have to stay away from them." "You had human blood yesterday to recover; that’s why you keep craving for more. Once the human blood you drank leaves your system, you will stop craving human blood." Damon explained. "But what if I hurt someone before the blood leaves my system and—" "Just keep yourself from being hungry by drinking animal blood, and you’d be fine." He placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. "So can you stop being paranoid now?" She opened her mouth to respond, but her words died on her lips when Bryan suddenly appeared before them.

I worked like my life depended on it and became the hardest-working employee there. I just wanted to prove something to the person who once said, "You're just a nobody." Without their so-called support, without that parasitic home, I could survive and live very well. In my third year at the company, after working nonstop for 48 hours, I finally collapsed in a meeting room. My immune system crashed, and I came down with shingles. I dragged my aching body to the hospital for an IV drip. I was alone. The girl sitting next to me had her dad with her. He fed her spoonfuls of soup, his face full of worry.

The entire horde followed right behind it, a twisting, writhing mountain of pale flesh and flashing fangs ascending toward the ridge. "Fire!" the mercenary commander screamed in absolute panic. The night exploded with muzzle flashes. High-caliber, silver-tipped ammunition tore into the ascending horde, but the blood-born didn't even slow down. The bullets sank into their pale, rubbery flesh with wet thuds, the wounds closing instantly as the black, ancient blood in their veins rejected the metal. A pale hand reached over the lip of the cliff. Before the commander could scream again, he was snatched by the throat, his heavy tactical armor snapping like plastic as he was dragged violently over

Blood streamed down along his brow bone. Cecilia froze on the sofa, staring at the vivid red in horror, her mind going blank. Meredith, however, seemed unfazed. He wiped the blood from his eyes with one hand and reached out again, firmly gripping her ankle, his voice steady and unchanged. "Don't move. If the muscle isn't loosened properly, it'll cramp again, and it'll hurt even more." Blood trickled down his jaw, staining the collar of his light-colored shirt a deep crimson.

“They’re interested in the Resonance.” She pointed to a specific marker on the chart—a sequence of genes that was highlighted in red. “The Ares bloodline has a specific genetic anomaly. It’s a hyper-sensitivity to environment. In the wrong hands, it leads to the paranoia and cruelty of your father and Laredo. But in the right hands—the hands of an architect, for instance—it leads to a nearly supernatural ability to manipulate space and perception.” I felt a cold shiver. My “gift” for architecture, the way I could feel the light and the shadows… it wasn’t a talent. It was a mutation.

The storage room was dark. The hallway light poured in from behind Derrick, illuminating a large stain of dark red across the floor. It stretched from the doorway where he stood all the way to the corner of the room. I was slumped against the wall with my head tilted slightly to one side. A dried wound cut across my temple. The area around it had swollen into a massive purple bruise, so swollen that one of my eyes was nearly unrecognizable. Blood from my nose had run past my lips and chin, smearing across my cheeks and ears.

That it was always fine not to attach meaning to anything that’s happened between us— the scotch in silence, the lamp, and the how are you. Lucien is blinded by his revenge, and nothing humane about him towards me means anything otherwise. I am just a tool, one that he monitors to work efficiently. The earlier I drill that into my head and heart, the better. It starts with the Meridian story. I pulled it up two days ago and closed it immediately because opening it felt like pulling a thread I wasn't ready to follow. This morning, I open it again and I read it properly — the full article, and then the related articles, and then the financial records I have access to through the system because

She was bowing at Kaden. My poor brain short-circulated and for the first time in my life, I felt as though I might faint. I desperately needed blood. After tasting fresh blood from a Kaden and Aurelian back at Kingmaker, it was too difficult to go back to drinking from donor blood bags, and it was far from satisfying. I missed him… well not exactly him, just his taste, but I hated him far more, and every single one of his kind. I could practically see the blood pumping in the veins of his thick neck… I gulped and snapped my depraved mind back to reality— why on earth was Meridian calling him King?