Dried Blood On Concrete Novels & Stories

The droplets of blood were yet to dry on the floor so they came off easily. I was done wiping off the bloodstains from the Beta's floor some minutes later, in fact, I had finished cleaning a while ago, but stayed longer in the room because I was skeptical, and didn't know what the Beta would say if he thought I was leaving too early and didn't wipe off the blood stains from the blood well enough. I was simply preventing anything that would draw his attention to me.

However, Darren stopped when he passed by the stairs. ' That's quite a bloody mess, literally. I'd be in big trouble if anyone were to come in and meet the sight of that. Not that it'll ever happen, but... I have to clean that, right?' He thought as he stared with a disgruntled expression at the trail of dry blood all over the staircase and the floor. ...

"I was just in the woods because I looked at a trail of blood and... at that moment a wolf appeared. I surprised myself, It was huge." I obviously didn't tell him the part where Riley came up and threatened me. "Blood you say? Where? Ride me." I nodded, leading him back up the same stairs where it looked as if I had dragged the body of someone injured. "You see them?" I pointed. "Are you sure it's blood?" Jon got on his knees and touched the floor, the blood was dry since he couldn't even get off the ground. how was it possible? "I don't want to disappoint you, Eva, but this looks like painting."

"Now, we focus. Save mate." I could hear moans and whimpers from the wounded – a worrying discord. I bounded around the final corner, skidded to a halt near a tree, and there lay my mate—unconscious, teetering on the brink of death's clutches. The metallic tang of Brock's blood filled the air, heavy and pungent, mingling with the earthy scent of soil. The ground was now a vivid canvas of red, stark against the greenery of the forest floor. The blood from Brock's wound created a striking contrast, forming a gruesome testimony to the seriousness of his injury. The crimson hue spread out in jagged patterns, seeping into the earth, and staining the once pristine ground with a chilling reminder o

This was it. The ground was still disturbed from the struggle. Claw marks scratched into the soil. Broken branches. A few dark stains where blood had soaked into the earth. But something else caught my attention. I crouched down. The place where Noel’s blood had fallen earlier… wasn’t normal anymore. Instead of dried blood or darkened soil, there was white ash. Not dust… why would ash be in these parts of the woods? I stared at it for a moment, my brows pulling together.

Each step felt like moving through quicksand, my body suddenly leaden with dread. When I pushed open the bathroom door, the scene before me stopped my heart. The tub—that massive marble tub with its gold fixtures that had made Emma's eyes light up with childlike wonder—was empty of her presence but full of evidence of violence. The water still filled it nearly to the brim, but instead of crystal clear, it was stained a diluted red, like watercolour paint bleeding across a canvas. The scent of her blood hung heavy in the humid air, mixed with something chemical and wrong. On the marble floor, a small puddle of water had formed, with partial wet footprints leading away—too large to be Emma's.

I could tell this was where Leonidas and his wolves usually shifted, there was a pattern to it, a rhythm in the dirt, like a trail of their animal instincts left behind. My boots crunched softly as I followed the path. The claw marks led deeper into the trees, almost vanishing at one point, until something caught my eye. Blood. A smear of it, dark red against the pale dirt. I crouched down slowly and touched the edge of the stain, pressing my fingers gently into the dried surface. It wasn’t cold yet. Still damp around the middle which meant it was still fresh. And definitely vampire blood.

I arrived after she left. The parking lot was dark. The body was still there, pieces of it, scattered across the pavement. Blood everywhere. The smell was thick, metallic, clinging to the back of my throat. I worked fast. First, the blood. I had a spray bottle in my trunk, industrial strength, the kind that breaks down proteins on contact. I sprayed the pavement where she had stood, where the blood had pooled, where her paws had left prints. I scrubbed with a brush, rinsed with water from a jug, sprayed again. I wiped down the places where she had touched. The car door of Felix's vehicle. The ground where his body had fallen.

I whispered, clutching the toy to my chest. “Raziela?” Diane’s voice sounded far away, like she was speaking through water. I forced myself to examine the ground more carefully, and my blood turned to ice. Dark droplets marred the stone near where the toy had fallen. Blood. “Oh goddess,” I breathed, touching one of the spots. It had fully dried and darkened, which meant it had been here a while.”

He pressed his fingertips to the concrete. His blood had been here. He couldn't see it anymore, it had been four days, and whatever facilities management protocol St. Catherine's used had presumably addressed the obvious evidence, but the ghost of it was still present in the molecular record that paint and cleaning solution couldn't fully erase. He knew his own blood the way he knew his own heartbeat. That was his. That stain, slightly darker than the surrounding concrete, roughly two meters from the drainage grate. That was where he'd been lying. And overlaid on it, threaded through it, caught in the porous surface of the concrete like something pressed between pages…