Bounty Hunter Bloods Hand Signs Novels & Stories

Yet, seeing the man's grin, so broad it seemed on the verge of tears, a sudden thought struck Lance—could this be…… He clenched his fist, raised it high above his head, and repeated the motion three times. This was the signature gesture of the werewolf warriors from Alpha Bentley's legion. Before every battle, the warriors of Alpha Bentley's legion would perform this gesture, followed by three thunderous chants of "Victory!" The ten individuals, upon witnessing this, were moved to tears and mirrored the gesture, raising their fists high three times as well. They nearly burst into chants of "Victory!" but restrained themselves at the last moment. Lance felt a surge of warmth and his heart qui

She had no weapon but her hands, and the knowledge that Dante was now, impossibly, the only weapon she needed. The upstairs was a single, cluttered office. Through the cracked door, she saw Pete a gaunt man in a stained tracksuit pacing before a heavyset man in a leather jacket. The bookie. Not the killer. A collector. “The girl’s dead, Pete,” the collector growled. “Your debt isn’t. You said you had information to sell. So sell it.” “I need a guarantee! Protection!” “You get cash. That’s the guarantee.” Dante stepped into the doorway. “He’ll take a different deal.”

Her eyes burned with defiance, even as her body trembled. "Shut up!" the man snapped, raising his knife as if to strike her. Hunter's men immediately prepared to fire, their fingers hovering over the triggers. But before they could act, Hunter raised his hand, palm open, signaling them to hold their fire. His calm yet commanding gesture was enough to make them pause.

I’m a spark dancing close to a pool of gasoline. The coppery smell of blood wafts past my nose, and I realize it's my own. I flex my hands open and see four identical crescents on each palm with blood trickling out. I wipe my hands against my jeans, the dark red liquid leaving marks across the light-faded denim. “What do you want to do boss” Grayson was the first to break the silence.

Gravono said after a minute of silence. Rowan specifically had his trigger finger pricked—which affirms that there is symbolism in the gesture. After this, a compadre/buddy was chosen for him. When Rowan's finger was pricked, the blood was transferred to a picture of a saint, which was then burned. Rowan was then given an order to swore that if he disobeyed the rules, "My flesh would burn like this saint. As burns this saint, so will burn my soul. I enter alive and I will have to get out dead." Rowan quoted as told.

Kahvis paused, they looked at their hands as they continued. "Your grim are among the most conspicuous beings in this world. I know why, I just need you to understand that trying to get them information wasn't safe on my part." They gripped their wrist. "I'll give you a hand as penance if you think that reasoning isn't good enough." Death and Lucifer looked at each other. Neither thought it was a bluff. To give one's literal hand to someone is to show subservience until the hand is replaced. It's an archaic form of binding that most would only say as a joke.

He’s holding a knife, and he hands it to me. “We need blood,” he says. “It’s our only chance at fighting them.” He shows me his own bloody palm. I nod. There’s no room to hesitate. Not now. I cut my palm and hold it face up, catching the moonlight in my hand. I see it glint off the blood that pools there. Then I thrust my other hand forward. My shield becomes a battering ram. It knocks a handful of Moon Drinkers back off their feet. Okay. Maybe we have a chance.

As I approach, the dull bitter metallic tang of blood hit my nose, sharp and nauseating. A corpse! "What is it?" I demand. Ethan point to the ground. There, lay a body in pool of black blood, etched on the belly of the body, which i recognize as the body of the young warrior I had spoken with last night, is the infamous spiral symbol of: Vengeance! My stomach twist. Derrach isn't just back. He is sending a message. And we are definitely running out of time!

He says and holds out his hands, inviting us. Kian and I, we both lean forward, meeting the Priest halfway over the altar. He dips both his thumbs into the bowl with blood, chanting something in that same foreign language I used when I cut Kian's hand. Armando pushes his thumb against my forehead, drawing some sort of symbol with the mixed blood. The sensation of him drawing on my forehead leaves tingles that run down my face and neck, stretch over my chest and buries itself deep in my abdomen. It's strange, warm and exhilaratingly powerful.

“I will not bow to shadows. I will not submit to a false god. And I will not let our future be held hostage.” I turned to the bound message still scorched into the fountain wall. Until she kneels. Until he bleeds. I stepped forward, cut my palm with a silver blade, and let the blood fall into the stone. Then I said: “You wanted blood? Here it is.” My sigils ignited, brighter than ever. Not gold. Not crimson. White. Holy. Purifying. A scream echoed through the forest edge not human, not wolf. A shriek of fury as the magic pushed outward, washing over the people.