Blood Pooling In Fingers Novels & Stories

I've been anticipating it, and soon, I'll have her singing it to me, endlessly. "Do you understand the damage going on right now?" I zeroed my eyes on the needle, finding delight from how it pierced into the broken skin of his fourth finger, drawing blood. "I'm hurting your tendons and ligaments. Soon, you'll experience swelling and won't be able to move your fingers. Know what tendons and ligaments are?" I tilted my head to the side, staring into his face, but the fucker was too busy whimpering to pay any attention to my words.

Ava moaned as she rolled over. Her body was pounding, and the sounds coming from around her were not helping matters. The sun was too hot glaring at her. Falling to the floor she put a hand to her neck feeling the raw flesh that was slightly swollen. Pulling her hands away she saw her fingers were clear. There was not a drop of blood on her fingers. Standing up, she stumbled into the bathroom where she found a chunk of her neck was red and swollen. Fred’s loss of control was staring at her blankly. Her hands were fine even though she recalled his paws had come through.

I tried to pull my hand free from his grip, but he held on tight. “No, Kira… don’t call anyone. No one…” his voice trailed off, weak and strained. He coughed lightly, and that was when I noticed… his lips were turning a light dry shade of blue. Before my brain could process what to do, the slow, rhythmic sound of dripping filled the air. I turned my head, my eyes landing on his hand. Blood was seeping from the wound, trailing down his fingers and dripping steadily onto the floor. A small, dark puddle had already formed beneath it.

The injury was deep, almost to the bone, and the blood flowed freely from the wound, forming a crimson pool on the cold, stone floor. The blood seemed to pulsate with every beat of Liam's heart, like a grotesque reminder of his own mortality. The wound throbbed with a fiery pain that shot up his arm, making it difficult to use his hand. His fingers felt numb and unresponsive as if they belonged to someone else. Despite the agony, Liam refused to stop.

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.

almost so politely. With the shivering hand, I took the needle out from the small rectangular box and pressed into his index finger, blood oozed out of his finger like a waterfall and I placed a glass plate beside the flow and stored some amount of blood. Quickly, I wiped his finger with the cotton but the blood flow doesn't stop a bit. Without thinking I brought the tip of his index finger to my mouth and sucked until the flow stopped. He, on the other hand, shut his eyes tightly like he is controlling his beast, the vein in his neck popped visibly that sent a chill to my spine.

My body trembled violently, my fingers twitching as if they still felt the warmth of what I had done. The scent of blood was thick, pungent, and metallic, clinging to my skin like a curse I could never wash away. I forced myself to look down. My hands. They were covered in it. Crimson painted every ridge, every trembling knuckle, smeared up my arms, streaked across my bare skin in jagged, grotesque strokes. It dripped from my fingers onto the floor, forming tiny pools that reflected the flickering torchlight. What have I done?

Too tight. I followed the shaking outline of her fingers to her wrist. And there was blood. It wasn’t gushing. But it was steady. Thin, clean lines down the inside of her forearm. The kind of injury that came from quiet, determined pain. Not a cry for help. But release.

We walked in, with each step in my back tensed, and my fingers curled. Something was terribly wrong. The moment we were in fully, I saw it. My heart banged loudly, sweat formed on my forehead and brows. Goosebumps covered my arms solely. It was on the floor. All over the floor. It was fresh. FRESH! Blood. It had pooled in a shallow basin that was sitting comfortably in the middle of this portal, the basin seemed to have a joke underneath it, where the blood spilled into working its way around. Dark magic. No, blood magic.

"But the blood... it’s too dark. It looks like the same stuff we saw in the valley." I leaned over the wound, my stethoscope pressed to the man’s chest. The heartbeat was erratic, a frantic, fluttering rhythm that didn't match the volume of external blood loss. I pulled a syringe from the tray, drawing a small sample of the fluid pooling in the entry wound. It wasn't just blood. It had a strange, milky viscosity to it, a chemical sheen that caught the harsh light of the room.