Bloodied Hands Adelaide Forrest Novels & Stories

Their bodies were torn apart beyond recognition—ragged, broken remains scattered across the blood-soaked ground like discarded meat. Fuck. Caleb stumbled toward me a few seconds later, breathing hard. His clothes were soaked in blood. His chest rose and fell heavily, his eyes scanning the aftermath of the fight. The forest around us looked like a massacre. Bodies everywhere. Broken trees. Blood soaking into the soil. “Where’s Adam?” I asked sharply. Caleb didn’t answer. He didn’t have to because I already knew. My gaze drifted across the clearing. Adam. Gone. Kane. Gone.

I took off Adam's stained t-shirt and stood up to grab the soap. Adam stepped into the stream of water and scrubbed at his arms and chest to wash away Barret's blood. After the blood had finally been washed off us both, I sat back down on the ground. Adam sat down next to me as I glanced at my hands and saw they were still shaking. He reached his arm around me and pulled me into him, letting me rest my head against his chest. The water turned hot, but neither of us moved. I knew that in the bedroom outside of the bathroom where we sat was a disfigured, lifeless body.

Michael was getting ready for his date with this girlfriend, and everything was all good until Michael saw a spirit; he couldn't tell wheater is good or bad...... but that spirit was gone. People move about their everyday life, but their city was like hell, where the soul reaper come and take your soul away, but Naomi, Troy, Sora, and Mike, and we all went to the hunted mansion, were beginning to turn for them........ and this begins to change, Troy and Sora went to find some clues some goes as Mike and

"Want to see something? Come here and open this box." I got up quietly and went to that box. The thought of what would be inside that box made my heart restless. I extended one hand and opened it within the next breath. A dead body, covered from head to foot with new white linen, was lying under the box. He slid his hands and removed the linen. Her clothes were like that of a royal queen with bloodstains over them. There was grief on her face. And a broken bangle tied around her hand with sharp edges. One end of the bangle pierced her vein, and the blood fell off. Her skin seemed colder.

The truck rattled over the dirt road, its wheels spitting mud and gravel into the dark. The night was heavy with the scent of blood, sweat, and smoke. Inside the back of the vehicle, Adrian sat hunched, his entire body shaking. His hands clutched the black satchel of herbs as if it were the last tether keeping him alive. Blood smeared across his cheek and dripped from a gash above his brow. His clothes were torn and sticky with Nan’s blood, Nan’s sacrifice staining him like something he could never wash away.

The stench of blood was overwhelming, thick enough to coat my tongue. I staggered forward, my heart pounding, my breath shallow. The land stretched endlessly, a war-fested wasteland scarred by trenches and craters. Burned villages smoldered in the distance, skeletal remains of homes jutting from the earth like accusing fingers. I saw banners torn in half—werewolf sigils soaked beyond recognition. Lightning struck nearby, splitting the ground open with a sound like bone snapping. And then I saw him. Adam knelt among the dead, his hands drenched in blood that was not his own. His eyes were wild, hollow, glowing faintly as though something else wore his skin. He looked up at me, mouth opening—b

"Hmph!" Madelyn heard a clear laugh that sounded like it came from Forrest. Adrian turned and saw Forrest punch a brick wall really hard. There was a little blood in the cracks from his hand. Adrian looked at Forrest's hand, where he could see the bleeding knuckles. He thought, 'Wow, he punched so hard. He doesn't care about hurting his hand!' Madelyn watched Forrest walk by. She noticed the blood on his hand and how he looked really mad, like he wanted to be left alone.

The droplets hissed softly as they hit fallen leaves, dark and almost luminous in the thin wash of moonlight, as if even the forest didn’t quite know what to do with the Devil’s blood. Adelaide dropped the stone. It hit the ground with a dull thud, coated in his dark blood and hers. Her hands were a mess of torn skin and mud, the half-moon cuts from her own nails now filled with grit. Her shoulder throbbed. Her ribs ached every time she breathed. But she was breathing. Her chest rose and fell in stuttering waves, each one a small, stubborn defiance against the night that had tried to put her in the ground. She pushed herself upright on shaking legs. Her muscles protested with hot, needling p

Once everything was ready, Adelaide gently washed away the blood with a cloth. Her touch was as delicate as if she were polishing a fragile moonstone, her fingers trembling ever so slightly but not affecting the meticulousness of her cleaning. She gently applied the ointment and wrapped two layers of gauze around his hand, from wrist to the back, avoiding the thumb's crotch, and finished with a secure knot. When the gauze touched his skin, Lance's wolf growled again in his mind—a low, almost chuckled sound. Treating such wounds was second nature to Adelaide. She had plenty of experience tending to her own injuries in the Shadow Peaks.