Blood On My Hands Book Novels & Stories

Huh? Ravi stepped forward to get a closer look at Raymond's bloody hand. There was a long line of thick red blood oozing from Raymond's palm, and dark red stains surrounded the wound, indicating an old injury that had reopened. Ravi grabbed Raymond's wrist and then asked him, "What happened to your hand? I remember you've never been injured there before."

My breath catches as I pull my hand away, bringing it in front of me. It’s red. Coated in blood. His blood.

I exhale loudly and make to snap the book shut but the sharp end prick my finger. With a hiss under my breath, I press my finger tightly as tiny drops of blood trickles down. The blood drops on the page and like a mystery, words begin to form, unraveling themselves. I watch with shock, my heart pounding against my ribcage at the swirling letters that aren't there before. As soon as it starts, the strokes end. I glance warily at my finger which has healed instantly and with my pulse spiking, I read the words; ‘Rare is the blood born beneath the crimson gaze of the moon,

My hands curled tightly at my sides as the heat rushed through my body in violent waves. Something warm splattered onto the dirt. I blinked, confused. Then I saw it. Blood. Lyria’s blood still dripped from the cuts across her palms. And suddenly it wasn’t dripping anymore. It was moving. A thin crimson thread lifted slowly from her hand, rising into the air like it was being pulled by invisible strings. The entire group froze. “What…?” someone whispered. The blood twisted in the air. Another drop lifted. Then another. Lyria’s eyes widened as she stared at her own hand.

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.

Their nerves made me feel disgusted. The man glanced between me, Herman, and Giselle. "You're all suspects. You're going down with him. Her first and you two next." He advanced toward me with his knife. The onlookers quickly scattered, avoiding the confrontation. I had nowhere to retreat; behind me was a wall. Just when I thought my life was over, the patient I had operated on the other day walked over with support. "Young man, don't act impulsively," he said. "I can testify for Dr. Morrow. She was performing surgery on me that day."

“Let’s all boycott Lincoln Enterprise and stop buying their stuff. I’m sure they’ll go bankrupt soon. Maybe they should taste some hardship for once!” One voice rallied another until people started throwing things at me. They were playing on the crowd’s resentment of the rich. Regardless of the truth, most would take Vanessa’s side. I hated trouble, so old me would have paid to make it stop. Luckily, I had been through this chaos in my last life due to my father’s death and knew how to handle it. One phone call, and he arrived with bodyguards, parting the crowd to get to me. He held up a stack of papers. “Everyone, don’t be fooled by this old woman.

Zane's Point Of View I looked down at my hands. They were completely covered in Ronan's blood… thick, warm, and sticky. It seeped into every crease of my palms, working its way under my fingernails, staining the cuffs of my torn shirt a deep crimson. I couldn't stop shaking.

Whenever I touched him, I burned my hands, and my fingers were so cold that each of my touches hurt him. Blood kept oozing from his open lip. Thick, fresh blood: it looked dark. I still remember what it looked like when it changed its color on my shivering hands. It was no longer red at all. but nearly black, and could have been mistaken for ink as it ran over my fingers.

and I couldn’t stop him before he makes a cut on his palm with the knife. Blood began dripping from his hand while I watch with a stunned expression. Right before my eyes, he takes up his hand to the collection of books and he lets his blood drop on one in particular. I couldn’t be more stunned to see it disappear right into the book with no trace of his blood on it before he puts his hand down.