Carnage Black White And Blood Novels & Stories

The ceiling shots were intentional — not panic, not desperation, a tactical choice to stop movement without casualties in a room full of civilians. And there's something strapped to her other thigh that is not a gun. The chaos resolves. Cian has two men on the ground. Ronan has the third. Marco's people have the service entrance man zip-tied before he can blink twice. The room is breathing again in that shell-shocked way that comes after something violent and brief — the specific silence of I’ve hundred people who are all realizing at the same moment that what they just witnessed was real. Seraphina lowers the gun. Smoothly. Like she's been holding guns in

Meanwhile, Carla was in the thick of the fight on the other side of the battle. Her gun was blazing as she led her men with fearless resolve into the fray, her voice hoarse from shouting, "Hold the line! We've bled too much to give up now!" It was a ferocious fight, the product of their shared disdain for one another. As daylight came, streets lay scattered with leftovers of battle-ash, wrecked automobiles, smashed glass panes, blood-splattered pavement-and a city still had all its wounds; and it could already remember to view streets grimly against all this as overnight's carnage spilled on it. Smoky haze emanated from burned automobile hulls and morning air held that burning sensation, sha

He was stroking her hair, which was comforting, but it didn’t do much to keep the vivid images out of her head. “There were these creatures crawling down the sides of the buildings, on both sides of the street where I was standing. There had to be dozens, maybe hundreds of them.” “What did they look like?” “They were all black—like they’d been burned, but not charred. Just all the color of a black crayon. Their clothes were all black, too. And some of them looked like they were wearing costumes, like clothes from a really long time ago or something. Anyway, I tried to back down the street, to get away from them, but they caught up to me. Bullets took them out, but there were so many of them.

Bandages, now crimson rags, were scattered like morbid confetti. Carlos was standing frozen in the center of the carnage, his broad shoulders slumped. He was staring down at a woman lying prone on the floor. Her back was to us, clad in a simple grey t-shirt that was now dark and saturated with blood, a horrific Rorschach test centered around a deep, penetrating wound.

I knew for sure that this day was my death, just had to wait for the painless wound. A man carrying a machete stared at me with a red eye then started slowly towards me , his machete dripped of blood, his hand tied with a scarf. Everything about him reflected “death”. I could not bear the thought of being hitched to death, it was surely not the painless death that I had prayed to come.

“Thank you” He waved me off, then I got in. The first wave of attack was the filth, the strewn pieces of paper, the rat traps and the empty containers of take away packs. The second wave was the stench, the warm, clogged metallic stench of blood. It seemed to be coming from the seats and emanating from the very being of the man. I scrunched my eyebrows but said nothing. Had he been injured?. I sniffed again; that was too much blood to come out of one person and survive.

Like something I have been gripping so tightly for so long that I forgot I was gripping it and then I let go and my hands don't hurt anymore. Like oh. Like yes. Like this. My wolf is not what they expected from an omega. She is not small. She is not quiet. She is white, the white of moonlight on still water, and silver at the edges where the Moonblood runs closest to the surface, and she is standing in the center of a clearing full of wolves who have all, in this moment, gone completely still. The battle does not stop. But it slows. The involuntary, instinctive slowing of people who have encountered something their bodies are trying to categorize before their minds catch up. Something old. S

Callum POV ********** It’s painful. It’s so much pain. It’s like my whole body is shutting down. I feel a rush of blood to my heart and it’s suffocating me. Each and every tissue of my body is ripping apart. It's all black. And blank. I am in the pit of an endless depth. With darkness and silence surrounding me. Where am I? I can't see or hear. I want to scream but my throat is blocked. My lips are dry and chapped or may be bleeding. I can taste blood.

Chaos explodes. Engines rev loudly and uncontrollably. Wolves shout. A body slams into the dirt beside us. Fernando fires again, pulling me lower as more bullets tear through bark and soil filling the air. I smell gunpowder and blood, hear snarls turning feral as wolves shift mid-fight. A sight too gruesome to behold. “Bang!” and the next thing I saw was black and quiet emptiness.

I stared at the rough outline of his profile, charcoal smudged where my thumb had tried to soften the line of his jaw. “Stupid,” I whispered to myself, and started to tear the page out. That’s when I heard the low rumble of an engine. I looked up. A black SUV had pulled up at the far end of the lot. Two men stepped out—both in dark jackets, both moving with that careful, predatory awareness I’d only ever seen in security footage or movies. One of them lit a cigarette. The other scanned the area, gaze sliding right over me like I was part of the scenery.