Bloody Sweet Comic Novels & Stories

Just whispers swept under a very expensive rug. That's my crack in the armor. It isn't the full truth about Noah. It won't take the Langstons down. But it's a start. A reminder that even the golden boy bleeds. So I get to work. An anonymous account, scrubbed of fingerprints. A perfectly timed drop on the Blackridge student forum, the one everyone pretends not to read but secretly stalks. I type the post carefully, crafting it like a blade: Did you know your golden boy isn't so golden? Ask him about the fight behind the gym two summers ago. Ask him whose blood is still on his hands.

Xavi asked, snapping me from my thoughts. I glanced at him and with my lips pursed, “Let’s go,” I murmured as I climbed into the carriage. It was not truly my business, and the last thing I wanted was to be entangled in this mess. The ride jolted with bumps, but suddenly something swirled into my nostrils, a sharp, metallic, unmistakable smell, like blood. My eyes darted over my body, yet I was not injured, so where was this coming from?

The room was only about 400 square feet, so the large double bed was only about 10 feet away from where I was peering through the crack in the door. There were several people entwined with each other on the bed. Hermione was completely naked, sandwiched between two men. Her pretty face was now strained and twisted. The entire suite was carpeted, so none of them heard me enter. Even though I had already prepared myself for unsightly scenes, coming face-to-face with the actual scene still shocked me.

Kalb mutters to herself. Khaisha raises her fingers to her nose to block something out. “The smell is getting intense.” “Now she doesn’t smell normal to me,” Kalb sniffs the air. “What smell?” Kalb speaks up when no one else says anything. “Iron. Zinc. Metallic. Whatever blood smells like, only sweeter.” “Almost as sweet as wine.” “You sound like a bloodsucker. What the fuck does that mean?” “She indeed smells like flavored blood,” a voice that sounds like Roxy’s says.

I watch the three other wolves quickly kill the two rogue's. I'm weak, my breathing is heavy, my body covered in blood. I stand up, I'm shaking. The two grey wolves glare at me. The black wolf walking between them, growling, his eyes are silver. My eyes lock on with his, and he stops growling, I suddenly smell a very sweet scent, a mixture of wood and vanilla. I collapse to my knees, my legs couldn't hold me up anymore. I look down at the ground, my vision started to get blurry. I hear the three random wolves, start to shift, My body then hit the ground, darkness surrounded me.

Crimson spots contrasted sharply with its whiteness. Blood... I smell blood... Sweet smell, with the sour taste of magic... Zomzom got a strong whiff. The woman crumpled the kerchief in her hand, eyes glinting with joyful malice. Then, with her other hand, she took a small stiletto from between her breasts, opened her fingers wide and cut herself on the palm. Her own blood soaked into the tissue, exciting the dead man’s sense of smell. The Dark stirred in the air. Greedy and hungry. Not the Dark serving necromancers, but the other, living on Twilight’s lower levels and rarely rising up from their depths.

160 Her grip tightened on my shirt as I shifted forward, allowing her blood a place to escape. I couldn't stop the purr resonating from my chest as her blood first hit my tongue, nor the hum of pleasure that races through one's body when taking from a live host. 90 B negative was famously known for its sweetness, but hers held something else with it. 162 It was perfectly sweet, but it was almost tart as well. 296 Needless to say, it was amazing. 12 Killing her now would be a waste of good blood. 212 I held her tighter, trying to hold her still as she involuntarily began to squirm away from the pain, her cries of agony sounding here and there.

The next day, my body felt weightless. The stomach pain that had been driving me insane was gone. I looked down and saw a body lying on the floor with a purple and blue face, as well as white foam and dark red blood crusted at the corners of the mouth. That was me. That was Layla Lloyd, as dead as a doornail. I floated in midair, staring at my own stiff corpse. It looked almost like a stranger. Now, the girl who had always kept her head down would never have to bow to anybody again.

**Keres POV** I observed my honeycomb from afar as my healer frantically attended to her most severe wounds. Though my face seemed emotionless, I was fucking livid! I'll mindlessly eradicate any poor unsuspecting soul who dares have the balls to approach me now. I looked down at my bloodied clothes. This was not how things should have transpired! This was not part of the plan. I plucked the damp blood-crusted handkerchief from my pocket and began suckling it. Closing my eyes at the decadent flavour, trying to ease my temper. I could not explain it, but my honeycomb's blood tasted so sweet, richer than rare wine, sweeter than any mystical fruit I was fortunate enough to taste. Is this why I w