Dark Matter Coffee Unicorn Blood Novels & Stories

When he returned, he held out a small glass bottle filled with a transparent liquid. “You can use this instead,” he said, his fingers trembling as he handed it over. I took the bottle and examined it. It looked completely ordinary, like nothing more than water. “What is this?” I asked, shaking the bottle slightly. “A poison,” Bennet said, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s called the Blood of Death. One of the deadliest magical substances in existence. The victim doesn’t even need to swallow it—just a single drop touching an open wound is enough to kill. It’s colorless, tasteless, and impossible to detect. If you want Jack dead, administer it yourself.”

She gently took Carter's coffee and placed it beside her own, pointing to the black coffee and labelling it 'Arte', while labelling the mocha 'Apollo'. "They're both coffee. They do the same thing, but their flavours and processes are different, perhaps even the speed at which they work and the strength. If Arte is the darkest of voids, Apollo is the most radiant of lights. Arte absorbs all, Apollo pours in. Imagine them like a yin and yang," Khione smiled. Carter nodded, eyebrows slightly knitted in deep thought.

" Lucas said and Damon groaned. "Oh stop already. I can't take any more of this Betty talk. Let's go grab a coffee, yeah?" Damon said and Lucas smiled. "Yeah, sure." You might be wondering, why would he go out to get his own coffee? Damon's coffee had been poisoned two years ago, by his secretary, But that couldn't stop him from drinking coffee, so he decided to go get his coffee himself. "I heard there's a new coffee place around," Lucas said and Damon looked at him.

Forbs had finished and without waiting for a reply, walked over to the coffee machine. “Well, it‘s going to be harder than I thought,” speculated Darren. But he followed the detective without saying anything. “A strong cup of coffee would not hurt,” he said a little louder, “cream and sugar-free for me, please,” and entered the small room, which looked like the interrogation room of a prison camp, and sat down on an uncomfortable chair next to the table. A minute later, the detective came into the room carrying two cups of black coffee. She closed the door with her foot and placed one of the cups in front of Darren, then sat down on the opposite side of the table.

They passed one to me and the other to Emmaline. "Drink," Vildmair ordered, and I slowly took the cup to my lips, inhaling—blood, but the strangest and most toxic I had ever perceived. Emmaline wasted no time in emptying the cup; I watched her, and then I took mine. It was bitter. I almost gagged; their blood was just as bitter-looking as they were. "What was that?" I asked no one in particular. "That was the blood of a lycan; it would make you strong—like no werewolf in history has ever been."

Large I grabbed mine too and told everyone grab something if they wanted it. Large white chocolate hazelnut iced coffee with light ice and topped with whipped cream. Then I told everyone else to grab something if they wanted it. “Thank you,” she said reaching for it. I slid it away from her because it was not just that easy. She should know me better than that. “What are our new elite members going to think about you seeing how you hold your own mate’s coffee for ransom?” she asked, tilting her head. Her eyes flicked from me to the coffee and back.

Sheep’s blood, Dead mouse, Hyoscyamus Niger, Tamarindicus indica , Deadly Nightshade and last but not least, Human blood. She put all of them into a large fancy cup, as if to appease the demon with her effort and took care of the last ingredient by slashing a knife against her palm. She held it up above the cup and let the blood pour out. The pain was momentarily stinging but the excitement of doing what she was about to do took over her.

I glanced inside without meaning to. Blood — not the emergency-room kind, but the gourmet kind vampires paid ridiculous money for. Private-clinic blends, labeled by source, freshness, and serving temperature, delivered from the city like humans ordered wine or artisan coffee. Some drank it chilled. Some had it warmed. Some probably claimed they could taste notes of cherry, smoke, or whatever nonsense rich vampires said to sound refined. Something stirred at the base of my throat. A pull, like hunger but sharper — and wrong. I closed the bag fast and stepped back.

He wasn't eating — vampires of his caliber rarely touched human food unless it was for the sake of appearances. Instead, he held a delicate porcelain cup of blood coffee. The dark, crimson-tinted brew steamed with a metallic, spicy aroma that would have made a human gag, but for him it was clearly a comfort. He watched the room over the rim of the cup, his red eyes hooded and thoughtful. Every so often, he would lean in and offer a dry, witty observation about a passing student that sent Elara into a fit of giggles.