Blood Stained Concrete Novels & Stories

" Please keep walking straight inside miss. You will reach your destination! " That place was a visible red flag. It was murky. It was stinking. Though I could not tell the smell. When someone living beside a dump yard says that a place stinks, it should not be taken on a light note. I cautiously stepped forward moving the net mesh with my hands. I kept walking and walking till my right foot slid on something. It was very dark so I had to strain my eyes. A crimson streak on the floor. I bent down with trembling hands. I needed to confirm my fear. I needed to know if it indeed was blood that I had stepped on.

The rogue’s head drops to the ground with a dull thud, rolling a short distance before coming to a stop, his lifeless eyes still fixed in a mocking expression. The underground parking lot is now eerily silent, the air thick with the metallic scent of blood. The harsh fluorescent lights flicker, casting unsettling shadows across the concrete floor. The lights here are becoming dimmer and dimmer. The scents whiter and quieter. My mate's claws are still extended, glistening with fresh blood that drips steadily to the floor, each drop echoing in the tense stillness. I just blink, watching as the blood pools around the decapitated body, seeping into the cracks of the floor, creating a dark, crims

She carefully placed the body into a large black plastic box, typically used for new supplies, to prevent any more blood from seeping onto the floor. Next, she set about cleaning the bloodstains from the floor and walls. The process was grueling, requiring extensive scrubbing and the use of various detergents and chemicals. As she pulled the scepter from the priest’s chest, she winced at the disturbing sound it made. After thoroughly cleaning the scepter, she folded the body’s legs into the box to make it easier to handle.

My wolf shrank, curling tight inside me. The light flickered on. Rows of metal shelves stretched out, packed with frozen meat and sealed trays. The floor was bare concrete with a long drain running down the center. I dipped the brush into the bucket and scrubbed. The smell came up almost right away. Blood. Old. Deep. Soaked into the concrete like a memory that refused to fade. I froze and leaned down, ignoring the sting in my knees. I breathed in again, slower this time. Wolf blood. Blackwater blood.

I could tell this was where Leonidas and his wolves usually shifted, there was a pattern to it, a rhythm in the dirt, like a trail of their animal instincts left behind. My boots crunched softly as I followed the path. The claw marks led deeper into the trees, almost vanishing at one point, until something caught my eye. Blood. A smear of it, dark red against the pale dirt. I crouched down slowly and touched the edge of the stain, pressing my fingers gently into the dried surface. It wasn’t cold yet. Still damp around the middle which meant it was still fresh. And definitely vampire blood.

"Now, we focus. Save mate." I could hear moans and whimpers from the wounded – a worrying discord. I bounded around the final corner, skidded to a halt near a tree, and there lay my mate—unconscious, teetering on the brink of death's clutches. The metallic tang of Brock's blood filled the air, heavy and pungent, mingling with the earthy scent of soil. The ground was now a vivid canvas of red, stark against the greenery of the forest floor. The blood from Brock's wound created a striking contrast, forming a gruesome testimony to the seriousness of his injury. The crimson hue spread out in jagged patterns, seeping into the earth, and staining the once pristine ground with a chilling reminder o

Blood. Dread settled over me like a heavy shroud. The once serene garden now bore the threatening mark of violence. I knelt down, scrutinizing the crimson stain on the ground. Fear coiled in my stomach, and the silence of the garden seemed to echo with the ominous weight of the unknown. Zoey's disappearance had already been a challenging situation, but the presence of blood escalated the situation to a new level of urgency. Every worst-case scenario raced through my mind. I couldn't lose her. Not after all she had been through.

"What?" "Don't hurt Tara. I still need her." I hung up without explaining further. If Ethan was smart enough, he would soon find the clues I left behind. Once he did, that was when the real show would begin. Tara was stashed in an abandoned warehouse. When I arrived, Amber Shaw was there loudly hurling insults at her. She called Tara a homewrecker, a shameless tramp, and worse. Tara was tied to a chair and her pale face was flushed red. When she saw me enter, she glared daggers at me.

That saved me the trouble of wasting precious time trying to cover my tracks. Or rather... The third-floor hallway wasn't clean at all. The sticky residue coating the floor looked like blood that had accumulated over countless years. It looked like bloodstains left behind by victims who had been dragged across the floor. Perfect. The blood dripping from my injured foot blended into the old stains beneath me, making it harder to notice. From upstairs came the sound of pounding footsteps mixed with the rhythmic clang of a hammer striking metal. I quickly slipped into the nearest room I could find.

"Help Micah clear the hallway." Mitchell does not hesitate. He moves past me, his boots crunching on something gritty. I do not follow him. My feet freeze on the bottom step. Right there, in the centre of the floor, is a massive smear of dark, thick blood. It covers a four-foot patch of stone, bright red and glistening under the torchlight. It is Nina’s blood. I know the scent. It is sweet, too sweet for a human, carrying a faint, spicy undertone that makes the hair on my arms stand up.