Bounty Hunter Bloods Hand Signs Novels & Stories

Who the fuc-I screamed my lungs out in anguish as tears flowed out of my eyes. I let out a gut-wrenching growl as I looked up and to the heavens, ready to ask why when I stopped.There on the top of the door arch was a sign... no, a symbol written in blood. The thick bloodlines formed a circle with three lines forming a triangle drawn in it, right in my face and mocking me. The murder was taunting me and mocking my pain. Heads will roll! I will find this fu**king b"stard and there will be hell to mother fu***king pay...

"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.

My fingers fumble with the hem of my dress as anxiety crept through me. "This blood symbolizes my loyalty to you and the union you and I will share as we rule the pack together as equals. We will get through any hardships together like everything we do. I promise to stand with you while we protect this pack. I grant my permission on behalf the pack for you to join the Scarlet Moon Pack," he says. He takes the knife and slits his hand and lets a drop of blood flow down his hand and into the bowl. The blood swirled around in the water until it became a lightish pink color.

I held out my sliced palm, offering them the payment they demanded. "Drink," I commanded, my voice low and urgent. The Shadows converged on my outstretched hand, their dark forms swirling around my palm as they lapped up the blood with an otherworldly hunger. They drank until they were sated, and then I healed the wound, the flesh closing seamlessly as if the cut had never existed.

Low, ancient, resonant in a frequency that vibrated in the bones. "I have not come for you." He raised one hand. A single finger, pointing through the ranks of wolves directly at me. "The dual blooded one. Give her to me, and I will leave your precious Alliance intact. Every wolf here walks away alive.” His hand lowered. “Refuse, and you all die.” Silence. The kind that has weight. I felt it. The tremor that ran through the gathered wolves. Not all of them knew what the Blood Moon Cult was.

he whispered. "Before the night ends,” I countered, “I wonder if your blood will be on my lips. Amber, check each person's hands." Whoever invited Amon would have a cut on their hand, symbolizing the blood pack—there’s no way it’d heal already. Amber checked the hands of each person and stopped as she approached Godfrey. He looked at her and smiled, then held his out and turned his palms outward. Amber meticulously examined Godfrey's hand. Sweat began to pour down my forehead. I sensed Godfrey was the one who invited Amon into my home, and I couldn't wait until he was found guilty.

Lucian drew his old, bone-handled hunting blade without a word, his eyes reflecting the warm amber glow of the children. Maya didn't hesitate. She drew the sharp edge of the blade across the palm of her right hand then reached down, gently pressing her bleeding palm against her mother’s hand until their blood mingled a raw, analog contract written in the oldest currency known to humanity. Together, they placed their blooded hands onto the bare copper terminal. The twins then let out a long, synchronized sigh. The amber light beneath their skin didn't flash or explode; it flowed down Maya’s arms and turning the dark red blood on the copper leads into a brilliant, golden conductor.

A hunter. “He used a thread,” Zhedya stated, his voice calm and analytical. “It’s definitely not to restrain her. It’s a mark. His signature. He’s not binding her; he’s claiming her.” He pointed a slender finger at the screen. “See her hand? That’s not random. It’s like he was making her point to something only he could understand. That’s a language. A language between him and the dead.” Ian’s journalist instincts kicked in, overpowering his fear.

"To protect, to challenge, to love until the final moon rises." With instinctive coordination, we moved closer together. I extended my wrists, palms up in the ancient gesture of offering. Jackson took my right wrist, Maison my left, their touch sending electricity coursing through me. With careful precision, each pressed a claw to my skin—just enough to draw a small bead of blood. "Blood to bind," I whispered.

"You know what I mean." Deep bayou… Hunter paced back and forth, restlessly, until she appeared. “Caroline, listen, I need to find her—” he started, but stopped short when he noticed her hands behind her back. She pulled one forward, blood smeared across her palm. She was chanting, her voice low and steady as she closed the distance between them. “What the hell are you…” His words cut off as he clutched his head, dropping to his knees. The pain felt like it was splitting his skull open.