Blood Trace Intact Novels & Stories

Most never made it out alive. The plunge from heaven to hell was a torment few could endure. Moreover, once they lost their usefulness, their captors would simply dispose of them. Aria looked ahead. "Sam, see if you can pick up any trace of blood." The incident had happened more than a month ago—any signs of violence would have faded by now. Sam sniffed the air, then shook his head. "Boss, there's too much blood here. I can't tell them apart." Aria frowned. If Sam couldn't distinguish it, the search would be even harder.

"On what grounds?" Tamsin finally turned her cold eyes toward me, a vicious, triumphant smirk pulling at her lips as she raised a sealed parchment document. "On the grounds of newly surfaced pack blood evidence," Tamsin stated smoothly. "The blood found on Everett's shattered steering column three years ago didn't belong to a wild rogue. It matches the exact DNA profile of Maisie Harcourt."

They were also all of awakened bloodlines. Were any of them members of Moon Shadow? If they were, how would I know who they were until I tried to call them? I sent out a check-in message across the network before going on to the results of the scene canvas. There was a trace of some unidentified substance on the ground and splattered on one of the walls, but the analysis hadn’t been completed on it. From the color of it, it seemed like blood, but there was something off about it. It was darker and if I looked closer, I swear there was something shimmering in it. What the hell could it be?

Blake looked at the team of forensics on the scene and then at me curiously. “You’re going to find her,” she concluded, drying her tears. “I’m going to turn the whole world upside down to find her.” - - - - “What the fuck is taking so long?!” I demanded. “Mr. Cane, the traces of blood found in your dog’s mouth were heavily diluted by her saliva. It’s taking time to extract the genetic material from such few…” “I don’t care! Make it happen and make it quick!”

“I don’t have to tell you that.” “Asher?” Thomas looked at him. “I don’t know either, Pops,” Asher said, with a shrug. “Sheriff Connely, you’ve known Asher his whole life. Murder?” Blair looked furious as he stood next to his father. “Sheriff! We found blood!” The crime scene technician was standing in the doorway of the shed. “I’ve got trace amounts of diluted blood on the bed of the truck as well,” the second technician said. The sheriff lowered his head and sighed. “Anything you want to say to that, Asher?”

I didn't know if that was better or worse. --- The trail opened onto a ridge. Below, Ashveil sat in its valley. The maples blazing red. I found the blood twenty feet from the ridge line. Not a wound. A site. Something had happened here and been partially cleaned. The way you clean when you want to remove evidence but are working fast. Dark staining on the rock. Disturbed earth. A broken branch at the wrong angle. The kind of break that happens when weight falls rather than when wind pushes. ---

A small vial, glass I pick it up carefully, holding it under light. A broken vial, thin, medical grade, I focus inhaling again, deeper and focused, separating the scent layered into the fabric. One is familiar, Julian the driver, cataloged dead, but there's another, sharper. I straighten slowly, clutching the broken ID in one hand and the vial in another hand. The other scent belongs to someone else, the driver didn’t act alone, speaking into the comm. “Finn, the person who rode this truck is still alive,” my fingers tighten around the evidence.

"I can take a photo and check on the evidence." "Please do," I answered with a nod of my head. He took out his camera and shot a picture while I did the same. I wanted evidence in case this somehow disappeared in the black hole of the evidence chamber. The print was small, much smaller than Alessio's footprint and it gave me hope that we did have a chance of winning this case after all. I just had to pray that I could find the evidence I needed before someone managed to destroy it. I walked through the living room, taking note of where the blood trail went. Alessio was right, the trail was apparent and it followed the direction he claimed it went.

Vincent Moretti had been his father's right hand before he became Antonio's, and in thirty years of navigating the kind of business that didn't get discussed in boardrooms, he had never come up empty for this long. "Whoever this is, they're exceptional," Vincent said, his voice carrying the grudging respect of someone who recognized quality work even when it was aimed at him. "Every trail we follow disappears cleanly. No loose ends, no digital footprints that survive more than forty-eight hours, no witnesses who saw anything they can articulate." "Everyone leaves traces." "This one doesn't." Vincent set the tablet on the table. "Or they leave exactly the traces they want us to find, which is

"No." Aldren looked through the glass. "What about his blood?" "We ran another analysis." "And?" The nurse hesitated. "It doesn't make sense." "Explain." "His blood appears normal for several minutes." "And then?" "Then the Crimson markers spike." "How high?" "Too high." Aldren's jaw tightened. "Could it be contamination?" "We thought so." "And?" "We replaced everything." The nurse lowered her voice. "The result was the same." Aldren stared at Elias. "Does he have any physical changes?"