Blood Thirsty Book Novels & Stories

Damn. “Yes. I see that. Drink.” She commanded. Her words were so close. I could feel her breath fan my face and soon after her cool skin against my lips followed by a warm liquid. She pressed harder when my lips did not move. “Drink,” she repeated. This time I parted my lips slightly, just enough to allow the smallest amount of the liquid in. Blood. Her sweet, intoxicating blood that quenched my thirst like nothing else before, replenishing some of my energy almost instantly like the drug it was. My eyes shot open and I grabbed the arm that pressed against me pulling her into my lap at the same time taking more of her blood as if I was dehydrated. I needed it and she didn’t fight me.

I reached for a tissue and handed it to her so she could clean up the dried blood. Blinking back her tears, she sat up straight, allowing a better view of her upper body. At that time, I was at a loss for words or actions or anything. Her arms and neck were covered in hickeys, bites, and fingerprints. Those weren't love marks, but angry marks. Her voice shook as she let out a small, "T-thank you," dodging eye contact. She reluctantly dabbed the blood with the tissue, and as she did so, a painful whimper escaped her lips. The cut was deep.

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.

Squeezing them shut, I tried again, but I kept blinking back into darkness. I’d been coughing up blood all day. My vision blurred at the edges, and I could feel the end creeping closer. But I didn’t panic. Not anymore. I no longer feared death—I welcomed it, because I knew that at this point, death was the best thing that could happen to me. A month ago, my very own stepsister, Elizabeth Blackwood, had planned with my own mate, Viktor Thorne and they both handed me over like a lamb to be slaughtered. To Tharros Bloodworth. The very famous deadly lycan king of the west region.

🖱️Victor🖱️ My blood was boiling. Not metaphorically. Not poetically. Literally. I could feel it crawling under my skin, thick and hot, like it wanted out. Like it wanted violence. Like it wanted blood so badly my fangs ached even when my mouth was closed. Every breath felt wrong. Every heartbeat felt like an insult. That pathetic human did this to me. Jayden. That fragile little creature with sharp eyes and too much audacity was the reason I had been cockblocked, humiliated, and left craving blood like a starving animal.

I tightened my grip and replied calmly, “Don’t worry. Even if I strangle a piece of trash like you with my bare hands, those snipers won’t be able to stop me. Trust me—I’m no rookie either.” I raised my voice, locking eyes with him. “Still haven’t figured out what to say to save your pathetic life?” Suddenly, sirens blared in the distance. Dozens of vehicles were pulling up. Nathan, his voice hoarse and cracked, screamed, “You’re done for! They’re here now—just wait for the bullets! Mr. Andy Stormbringer will never let you live!” I clenched my hand even harder. But how could I let him die so easily?

Grace's words kept ringing in my head. ‘He doesn't care about you or your silly emotions. He'll fuck you like an animal. He will fuck you bloody.’ I was Dimitri's whore, till the end of days, trapped in this golden cage. A tear ran down my cheek. I wrapped my arms around my middle, trying to quench the panic. The doorknob twisted and Dimitri came in covered in blood. Human blood. A loud gasp wrenched out of my throat before I could stop myself, I drew backwards, My eyes wide and panicky

"Anything about the bodies. The draining. The empty wolves." "That's very specific." "The killer is specific." She pulled a book from the shelf and opened it and the pages were yellow and the ink was faded and the binding was cracked. She held it up to the candlelight and squinted at the words. "Blood rites," she read. "The art of draining life force for power." "That sounds promising." "It sounds terrifying." She sat on the floor and crossed her legs and Ember curled in her lap. I sat across from her and watched her read. Her brow furrowed and her lips moved silently and her fingers traced the lines of text.

With intestines dangling and blood dripping, she flew into the darkness. A few blocks away from the building a young gorgeous lady is waiting for her bus ride back home. She sat by the bench underneath a semi-parabolic dome listening to Spotify. Engrossed in what she is doing, the lady is unaware of the creature silently flying above her. Smelling the scent of fresh teenage blood, Sarah ejected her long pointed tongue that punctured the synthetic dome and hit her prey on her nape. She then commenced sucking her blood as the victim struggled to set herself free. This time the girl was ready. With a sharp hunting knife in hand, she slashed at the tongue which caused it to be disengaged from he