Blood Meridian Novels & Stories

A group of people who had been forced out from their hiding place, poisoned and left to die. The fisherman switched off his torchlight. “Well I guess we’ll either be killed by a bullet or die out of hunger” he said with a serious tone. He was right, how much more time do we have before we go out of extinction. How much more before the colour of our waters become reddened by blood just like the river nile but just one difference – “Peoples real blood” *** The fishermen was quite generous to stop me in the city. The city was nothing as I had anticipated it to be. The markets were almost vacant, the soldiers were trouping around the streets in their large numbers.

"Blood of the Wise is a very rare wine, Your Highness. It's one of our collection, but we only have one..." Fear was evident on Orion's voice but he sounded like he was implying that he can't give it to us because it's the only one. "I'm willing to pay. How much?" Demitri got something on his pocket, a pouch of gold I suppose, and it fell down before Orion's feet. "We can give you more if you want. Just give us the wine," Prince David said.

Or maybe I’d only just started noticing. Something was simmering beneath the surface. Not the usual sharp edge no, this was quieter. A slow leak. A hairline crack in the dam. He blinked. Slow. It cost him something. His hands gripped the handles of Orion’s chair tightly, the knuckles pale and trembling just barely. He never used to shake. “…We’re going this way,” Alex muttered, steering Orion forward. The mermaid was bundled in a thick blanket, tail obscured beneath another layer drenched in seawater. He didn’t seem to mind. Orion never did, always too busy marveling at the world, finding wonder in the cracks.

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.

I stand in the hallway with the emerald on her finger and the certain knowledge that I just lost the opening move of a game I didn't know I was playing. I don't lose games. S e r a p h i n a ✦ Sloppy. Say the word and mean it. Four hours of sleep and the adrenaline of a breakthrough — the second piece I needed, the link between the shell routing and an actual name and I walked out of my room without checking the hall first.

she said, her voice now her own—clipped, with a faint Eastern European accent. “We had a detour,” Sabe replied, his eyes scanning the room. It was empty save for them. Too empty. “This is the front?” Anton asked, stepping forward. The digital art was hypnotic, waves of indigo and silver bleeding into each other. It felt alive. “The front, the back, and the laundry,” Leora said, finally turning. Her eyes, a startling pale grey, assessed them with cold curiosity. “The Meridian uses a dozen fronts like this. High-end galleries, auction houses, rare book dealers. Places where vast sums of money change hands are unremarkable. But this one is special. It’s where they wash the crypto.”

Hearing that, the neighbors started cursing. "She already wired the funeral money and still won't admit it." "That really sounds like Lydia's voice. How cruel! Three people are dead because of her!" "The world has gone mad. She was speeding, and she's blaming the victims for the accident? I saw the video. She hit them before they even stepped on the crosswalk!" I turned to Maeve. "You told me the car was scraped and asked me to transfer ten thousand for repairs. How did it become funeral money? Besides, I've been sick the past few days—that voice is clearly edited!"

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.

During my three-year-old son's preschool physical, his blood type didn't match mine or my wife's. I had just printed the divorce papers when I suddenly heard my son's voice. [This disgusting man is so stupid. He's raised me, his own little brother, as his son for years and still has no idea!] [Lol, hurry up and get divorced. Once they divorce, I can cling openly to my real mom!] [And divorced men are unwanted anyway. From now on, every dollar he earns will be mine!] My wife was still anxiously explaining, "Honey! I really never betrayed you! Do you really want a divorce?" I looked at my son's tightly closed lips and excited eyes, then tore up the divorce papers instead. "No divorce. S

James’ eyes widened, and he exclaimed, “Oh! It’s working! But I’m not sure how to do this right. Can you get me a map of meridian points?” Lesia did not reply, but a red light quickly flashed in James’ eyes. Then, the map of a human body’s meridians appeared before him.