Blood On My Hands Book Novels & Stories

I try to gasp for air, noticing the copious amounts of blood on my clothes and hands. Turning on the faucet, I vigorously scrub my hands with soap and get the blood from beneath my fingernails out, watching as Cassandra's blood circles around the white sink before disappearing into the drain. I can barely manage to dry my hands because of how badly they are shaking. My hands white-knuckle grip onto both sides of the sink, trying to hold myself up. My entire body trembles while I reimagine what had transpired.

I let out an exasperated groan. "Why bother hiding all of this..." I muttered. "...when there's nothing here?" As I snapped the book shut, the edge of a page sliced across the tip of my finger. "Ow." I looked down just in time to see a bead of crimson welling from the tiny cut. Before I could wipe it away, the droplet fell onto the open page. My breath caught. The blood didn't soak into the paper. It spread. Like a spider's web. I watched, transfixed, as the crimson veins crept across the parchment before falling still.

What is one more life when your hands are stained with blood? As it spoke, Nathaniel felt a warmth coating his hands. Looking down, he saw blood sliding from every pore on his palms, coating them a rich red. Only a tiny amount of the countless pints he'd spilt over the years. The cloth fell from his grip, landing with a soft thud at his feet.

someone said. She repeated her motion, casting her eyes downward while glaring at his hands. “What?” According to the proverb, “blood is on your hands” in this situation. She spoke in a hardly audible tone. He was looking. There wasn’t a lot of blood; it was mostly just a few spots here and there and a tiny spot on the sleeve of his white shirt. However, it was sufficient to pique her interest in the topic.

I don't know but someone tells me here all the information I need. Suddenly my hand moved alone and touched the strange symbol. I suddenly felt my palm hurt. There was nothing sharp in my hand so why did I get wounded? I saw how the color of the book changed. From a simple dark brown book, it became light brown with a green diamond on each side and an aqua blue crystal in the middle.

I dipped my hands into the water and gently washed away the blood, despite the intense pain that made my hands tremble. Jamie walked into the bathroom and asked, “What have you done?” Their face reflected deep concern as they stood by the doorframe, their eyes wide as they took in the scene. I didn’t respond; I was lost in my thoughts, barely registering their presence. “Show me your hands,” Jamie said cautiously, their voice barely audible over the rustling of the wind and birch tree branches outside. I reluctantly pulled my hands out of the water. They trembled uncontrollably, and even though I had washed them, blood continued to seep from the cuts. Jamie reached into their pocket, pulled

It was over. I stood in the forest with the blood moon completing its arc overhead, and I looked at my hands. They were covered in blood. Some of it Sera’s. Some of it Lukas’s, dried brown in the creases of my palms from when I had pressed them against his neck in the clearing to the west. Some of it mine, from my leg and from places I had not yet had the strength to catalogue. My hands were a record of the entire night, written in the language the Voice had predicted for them months ago.

Chapter 102 Rohan POV The blood on my hands didn’t belong to just one person. It never did in a fight like that. It layered itself composed of mine, theirs, hers until it all became the same dark, sticky proof that something had gone wrong, that something had gone too far.

“They would love to meet you. I know they will.” “Tomorrow,” I promised. “I’ll come tomorrow.” After the call ended, I retrieved the books once more… My fingers hesitated over Lunareeth. When I opened it again, the old and sharp page edge caught my skin. A sharp sting… Before I could react, a single drop of blood fell onto the blank parchment. “Oh no!” I immediately reached for it instinctively— but froze. The blood— it didn’t smear. It sank! And then— words began to form before my eyes.

Sharper this time. I swallowed. My hands were shaking. I hugged my sketchbook tighter. He exhaled through his nose. Looked at the blood on his knuckles like it had personally offended him. Then he reached into his jacket, pulled out a black bandana, and started wrapping his hand. I watched, stupidly mesmerized. “Why were you there?” I asked quietly. His eyes flicked to mine. “I was passing through.” “Twice in two days you’ve ‘passed through’ exactly where I am.”