Novel & Cerita Blood Sign With Fingers

I pull the robe back up, suddenly feeling chilled. “Like I said, it’s nothing I can’t handle. But I do need your blood.” “Now?” I raise an eyebrow. “Yes. Only a small amount.” “Uh, okay.” I extend my hand. Lucas takes it and brings my finger up to a fang. “Wait, no!” He flicks his eyes to mine. “No?” “Not my fingertip. Do you know how much I use my fingers? All the time. Even a paper cut takes forever to heal on your fingertip.”

That should do. I honestly miss the old Derrick. I lay on my bed crying myself to sleep as I hold the cold bottle against my heavy cheek. Derrick's POV; I adjust myself in my bed to a more comfortable position pulling my blanket over my body. I move my hands under my head and a foreign feeling engulfs my fingers. I lazily pull my eye lids apart to view the warm substance on my fingers. Just then do I see what has smeered my fair fingers. Blood! I raise my fingers up to my head and I feel a stinging sensation. Like the one you get when sweat slides into a wound.

A small dot of blood puddled on my index finger. “Are you all right?” he asked as I stuck the finger in my mouth, the tangy metallic taste of my own blood bursting on my tongue. “It’s just a splinter,” I murmured after pulling my finger out of my mouth. But even then, I couldn’t help but shiver inwardly. Was this some sort of omen about what was going to happen with our future? Was I going to see blood in my future, and whose would it be? Mine? Gavril’s?

It stung, but I didn’t flinch. “See?” I said with a small smirk, holding up my hand. “Nothing happened. You’re full of—” Before I could finish, Adrian lifted his own hand. His expression didn’t change, but as his fingers turned upward, I froze. There was a thin red line on his fingertip. Same spot. Same shape. Blood trickling in the same slow rhythm as mine. My smirk vanished. “That’s not possible,” I whispered, staring at his hand, then at mine. “You—how—”

ARIA The warm blood spatted on my left cheek, the metallic smell filling up my nostrils instantly. I sighed out as she wailed in pain, her loud noise, a nuisance to my ears. She used her left hand to hold her now four fingered right hand tenderly as the blood gushed out. Her mouth was wide and her eyes were raw with unshed tears. I looked down at the butchered little finger on the floor and tsked at the amount of blood that gushed out of it.

He slowly came around to looking at his throbbing fingertips. In the sad light of the moon Brandon looked at his hands for the first time in hours. Ignoring the stiff sting of wood under his nails, he stared grimly at his blood soaked fingers and forearms and then sighed. Brandon knew without looking at the rest of himself that his entire lower shirt, and right pants leg were drenched in coppery fresh blood. His blood. And he also knew that there was enough blood in the soil behind him that it should have killed him by now. Surely he was already dying.

, I ask and he looks at me with tears in his eyes. “Come on. I’ll get a taxi for us”, I say calling the taxi company. I grab our coats and we walk out of the flat, once we reach outside the taxi is already waiting for us. We get in and we rush to hospital. Leo is going extremely pale and I am getting worried on the amount of blood he is losing. How is it possible for someone to bleed so much cutting their finger?

Then it pulsed. Thin lines branching outward from a central point beneath her flesh. Veins of shadow spreads slowly, faintly glowing red beneath her skin. That had not been there before. I stepped closer. “What is that?” I demanded. The doctor barely glanced at it. “Subdermal hemorrhaging. Possibly a vascular reaction to trauma.” “It was not there,” I said sharply. He leaned closer this time, frowning. One of the nurses angled a brighter light toward her arm. The dark marking reacted, It shifted. Spreading slightly higher.

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.

The decision settled in my chest like a stone heavy but certain. A deep breath filled my lungs as I readied myself to exit the shower. During my movement my fingers unexpectedly made contact with the area between my legs— I found myself suddenly immobilized without warning. An entity of thermal comfort. My pulse spiked. My stomach twisted violently as I pulled my hand back staring down at my fingers. Blood. My fingertips displayed a thin red streak that stood out dramatically against my pale skin. My gaze remained fixed while my cognitive functions failed to interpret the visual input before me. The substance before him appeared minimal yet it unmistakably constituted blood.