Blood Trace Intact Novels & Stories

He pulled out stacks of medical documents and legal claims I had trouble wrapping my head around. “White tuff of hair, unidentifiable,” he read aloud, holding a crime scene investigative report to the light. “Considerable amount of blood in the grass, traceable in the soil samples collected as well. All blood connected to that of Helen in Fiery Cross pack.” “What? How could that be?” I gasped, pulling for the photos of the blood that did indeed cover the grass and the tree nearby.

I head back to Ty and Skye and I see Uncle Aiden and some enforcers scanning the area. “Is she okay?” Skye asks and I just nod my head in agreement and bend down to take a look at the arm and the weirdest thing is that the arm has no scent at all, I look towards the ground and look for the leaves that Emma said that she saw the blood on it hoping that maybe we can’t pick up a scent because the limb might be spelled. So I stay low to the ground until I found the leaf with a tiny speck of blood. I bring it to my nose and there is a faint scent on it.

“I have to agree with Delaney, the scent was too fresh for them to have been gone long.” Ken adds, while Oston looks bored and Steven is shaking his head no. “I don’t know why you two are saying that? For you to be able to tell the difference between a pick-up parked here versus the vehicles driving down the highway is not something I will believe!” “What? Steven, the scent started at the end of the blood trail, and is way stronger than anything on the highway as those vehicles are further away!” “Ken, come on, for it to be that strong the truck would have had to be running rich, which it wasn’t”

Maybe a crystal from the bodice? My heart leaps into my throat as I spot the jagged square of bloodstained glass. This is it. The proof I’ve been looking for. Every website agrees, blood evidence is the best thing a case can have. I channel years of watching crime-scene shows. Wearing a fresh pair of the disposable gloves Heather uses to do the dishes, I lift the glass with eyebrow tweezers I haven’t touched in years and drop it into a sandwich baggie. The front door opens. I bolt upright. My room looks like a goddamn crime scene. I yank off the gloves, drop the tweezers on my bed, and skitter out into the living room with the baggie still in hand, making sure to close the door behind me.

Then Rafe’s voice, strained and oddly hushed despite the thick wooden walls between us: “L-Luna… yeah. We found something… off.” Malcolm’s fingers tightened around the edge of his coat. “Save it for more research.” Dr. Liana slowly placed the obsidian shard into a sealed evidence vial. Malcolm turned to me, his jaw set, then raised his voice sharply toward the open doorway. “Rafe.” His tone was steel wrapped in velvet calm, but absolute. “Where does the blood trail lead?” Silence stretched for a heartbeat. Then Rafe’s voice came back, lower now, almost reluctant, “It… doesn’t lead anywhere, Alpha. It stops cold behind the woodpile. Like whoever bled just… vanished.”

' Confusion, that was the only thing that I was capable of experiencing at the moment. I turned to Tyron who had joined the rest of his warriors. I mean he had said that the blood that was on the papers were that of Monica, how come the one inside didn't have any scent? Where was Monica in the first place and who the hell had broken her out? Was she alive or dead? 'Mimi had something of importance to say honey. The scent of an animal's blood can be permanently masked. That of a human can be masked too, but only for a few minutes. Tamara's voice invaded my mind.

“I don’t want to leave any trace behind.” “They know we were there,” she says. “Yes, but they can use any biological matter to track us. No matter how well you clean a place, you always leave a speck of DNA behind.” I almost drive right over Wyatt when he jumps out onto the dirt road, wildly flailing his arms around. “Wait! No! Stop!” he screams. “Please don’t leave!” I don’t swerve, but the twin jumps out of the way before I hit him. When I look in my rear view mirror again, I’m just in time to see Caspian shift and run after us.

Anything that could help us track this woman, but looking at them, the hope I had crumbles to nothing. “What do you mean you found nothing?” Gunner asks, folding his arms across his chest. “Exactly that,” he replies. “No prints or DNA. Not on the syringe, not on the IV tubing, not on the cart in the hallway. Whoever this person was, they knew what they were doing. They were careful.” “That’s impossible,” I whisper, unable to believe that someone can be that careful. “We are telling you like it is,” Calton mutters. “There was nothing. That woman left no trace. No evidence that can be linked to who it is.”

Her voice was flat with a careful control she’d learned under fluorescent hospital lights. The registry person nodded. “They said it’s possible. We can ask the investigative techs to do a cleaner pass. But the manifest trace and the courier logs already link routes. This photo gives you the handoff frame—if it’s clear enough, it will show a match to a uniform or a marking.” Ethan put his hand on her arm—soft, grounding. “We’ll let them,” he said. “We’ll do it right.” Elena let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. “Okay.” The word was a small, intentional step.

And then I saw it. The blood. A small pool, dried at the edges but still dark and unmistakably real, stained the ground beneath the trees. But there as no body, no sign of the car or anything else just the small pool of blood. I froze. There it was. The final trace of me.