Death Scream Bloody Gore T Shirt Novels & Stories

I grabbed the hem of Felix's shirt, fixed a pitiful expression on my face, and mumbled, "I believe you, Felix." Felix's expression softened as he helped me back to my feet. Taking advantage of the fact that the other wolves' attention was still on us, I retrieved a document from my bag and handed it to Felix. "I accidentally recorded your pup's blood type as AB when I registered his information last time. The truth is, his blood type is O." Felix's face twisted as he snatched the document from me. An eerie silence descended upon the hall. Everyone knew that all the wolves of the Blackrock pack had type-AB blood, making it impossible for a pup with type-O blood to exist in the pack.

But I see something else entirely— a target, a life about to be snuffed out, the thought of it sends a rush down my spine. I glanced down at his attire, the black tuxedo perfectly tailored to fit him, the fabric smooth and luxurious against his skin. The red shirt underneath feels like a deliberate choice, the vibrant color bold against the dark suit, and it reminds me of the blood that will soon be spilled, that will stain my hands before the night is over.

Alpha Harlan didn’t say a word to me. He didn’t even acknowledge I was there. He just peeled off his bloody shirt right in front of me, tossing it aside. The fabric landed on the floor with a soft thud, already half-dry and crusted with dark red blood. His skin was smeared with it—streaks across his arms, his chest, even up his neck. It looked gruesome, like he’d been in a savage fight. Or like he’d turned Naomi into a victim of one. My stomach flipped again, a mix of fear and unwanted curiosity bubbling up.

My breasts tingle, my hands sizzle with the need to reach out and touch him. I don't know what he reads on my face but his eyes have gone cold again and his voice is even more intimidating. "Put down the cloth." I'm no good at following orders, never have been, especially those given by men. I have no idea why the cloth slips from my fingers and lands in the bowl. Dagger leans in and picks it up. His chest is inches from my eyes and his tats fill my vision. The ink appears prison-grade, but the artwork is intricate. A Grim Reaper stands over a crying woman holding a swaddled baby. The design weaves into swirls of flowers with branches that turn to thorns as they flow further out across his c

"You're going to ruin me, Kaela," Draven growled against my mouth, his teeth catching my lower lip in a sharp pull before his hands tightened under my thighs. "Let me," I gasped, the air rushing out of me as my head hit the pillows. My fingers slammed into the front of his shirt, tugging violently at the heavy fabric. "Get this off." Draven didn't wait to unbutton it. With one harsh, tearing pull, the linen split down the center, popping the silver fasteners across the bed. He ripped the torn shirt off his shoulders and threw it onto the floor, exposing the broad, scarred expanse of his chest.

He is still shivering hard, and his teeth chatter loudly in the quiet room. "Stay right here," I tell him. "I need to get you something dry to wear." I walk over to the black tactical duffel bag I left near the wardrobe. I unzip the main compartment and dig through my spare clothes. I pull out a thick, long-sleeved gray henley shirt. I wore this shirt yesterday, so the cotton fabric is deeply soaked in my natural cedar scent. I carry the shirt back to the bed. Beau is staring at the wall, and his face is pale. The pain is wearing him down, and he looks scared.

VANESSA Smoke. Leather. Juniper. Spice. Callum’s signature scent barely lingers on this t-shirt anymore, but if I pull the collar up over my nose and breathe in deep, I can still smell it. And yeah, I’m that pathetic girl right now lying in bed wearing my ex-boyfriend’s shirt. I wish I could say this is the first time, but that’d be a lie. I threw this t-shirt on to leave his place once, and when I rediscovered it lying in a crumpled heap under my bed a week after he left, I clung to this damn shirt like a lifeline. I’d put it on to drown myself in the illusion that he was with me; that he never left.

Cold sweat broke out on his forehead, and his voice was hoarse to the bone. Tommy didn't dare to be late for a second, he quickly stepped forward to take off his shirt to help Derek. But as soon as he took off Derek's shirt, Tommy was shocked by the blood stains on his white shirt. “Why are you injured like this?” The silk cloth had stuck to the wound to a large extent, and the blood had gradually dried. Tommy's hands were shaking, after two tries he couldn't completely remove Derek's shirt. Bleeding wounds can be seen even from the outside.

The Roppongi club throbbed like a living heart bass pounding through black marble floors, strobe lights slicing across writhing bodies, the air thick with sweat, sake, and expensive perfume. Aiden moved through the crowd like smoke, the slim leather collar hidden beneath the crisp collar of his black dress shirt. Every brush of fabric against it reminded him: Silas’s claim. The small silver tag pressed cool against his skin, a secret pulse point.

That had possibilities, if it wasn’t all crap. The old man at the front, a bundle of wild whiskers and armpit hair long enough to braid, wiped his nose on his Grateful Dead shirt and thumbed through the book. The image on the shirt caught Jon’s eye. It was a skeleton in blue, carrying a bindle in one hand and a red rose in the other. Arms outstretched, head upwards, it was about to step off a cliff. There was something there. The red rose— “This is kind of a collector’s item,” the old man said, distracting him.