His Bloody Project Novels & Stories

It's the way her mood switched quickly that always marveled me “Yes,” I said plainly, I was a bit disappointed in myself, like why shouldn't I have known? I held her new wig up in front of her face. “Don't get me wrong…I like it but…wow!” She held her hand to her mouth. I got her right there. “How do you like it now?” I turned her wig into what looked like the color of my heart. Vantablack. Just like my heart. Just like the thick furs of my wolf, I would love it to be the color of my blood, but unfortunately, it is a dark brick of red liquid.

"I’m calling the Gambino family’s Don right now! Let him see your true colors—pretending to talk about business while trying to seduce someone else's husband! You're disgusting!" "I'm calling him now. I'm going to see him now and have him kill you!"

At first, it’s nothing—just shadows in the red. But then? Eyes. Teeth. Mouths locked in silent screams. I smile—wide. The dry skin on my lips splits and bleeds, but I don’t stop. It’s beautiful—my own personal gallery in red and black hues. The blood isn’t just blood anymore. It breathes. It listens. And now, it talks—not in sound, but meaning. Rage. Hunger. Power. Old power. Forgotten. Waiting. I don’t just bleed—I conjure. The figures in the pool whisper without mouths, and the more I hurt, the clearer they become. My blood isn’t just leaking. It’s listening.

He whispered very softly. That was right before the doors of the ballroom blasted open with a loud Bang. The entire crowd, including me and Alex, turned towards the source of the sound. Damon. Damon stood in the door opening, two knives protruding from his chest. Blood covered his chest, dripping on the ballroom floor. There was a head wound on the side of his face. Keddrick and two other guys were next to him. The four men looked absolutely furious but Damon.... Damon looked like the devil himself. His eyes were pitch black and his razor sharp fangs were bared. Blood covered his chin and hands and it was quite evident that he just killed people.

I nodded and asked if he believed that we were mates and he shrugged. "That Harper is probably going to go bring her crazy father who was in charge of the golden blood project. Brenda was going to give me to him like an uber service," I grunted and Noah sighed. He told me to turn around to undo my binds. As he did he ran his fingers along my leaking blood. I was getting light headed and standing was getting painful. Noah grabbed my upper arms to hold me up and asked rudely if I had been shot. I looked up at him and grinned slightly seeing his concern.

Xavi asked, snapping me from my thoughts. I glanced at him and with my lips pursed, “Let’s go,” I murmured as I climbed into the carriage. It was not truly my business, and the last thing I wanted was to be entangled in this mess. The ride jolted with bumps, but suddenly something swirled into my nostrils, a sharp, metallic, unmistakable smell, like blood. My eyes darted over my body, yet I was not injured, so where was this coming from?

The next morning I proved it to myself by actually showing up to class early, sketchbook already open on my lap when Professor Laurent walked in. He was in one of his dramatic moods—scarf flung over one shoulder, gesturing with both hands as he lectured about decay as aesthetic rebellion. Halfway through, he stopped, clapped once, and grinned like he’d just invented the idea himself. “Your next project,” he announced, “is titled Urban Decay. I want you to go out into the city. Find the places most people avoid. The rotting piers, the abandoned lots, the alleys where the streetlights don’t reach. Draw what you see. But more than that—draw what you feel when you’re standing there. The beauty i

One man dropped and another went down after Sergio’s return fire snapped through the hallway like thunder. Sergio looked back at her dubiously. "How come you are so comfortable with a gun and shooting people?" he asked her. Rosy shook her head uncertainly. "I don't understand it myself. My body is just responding to a command on its own." she replied and Sergio smirked. "Surely now you believe the De Luca's blood runs through your view now." "Doesn't prove anything." she muttered focusing on gaze on the men exchanging gunfire. Blood pooled across polished floors. Priceless artworks were torn to shreds. Smoke drifted toward the high ceilings like a prayer gone unanswered.

By the simple fact that where this kind of light goes, the things that hide in darkness cannot stay hidden. I feel it working. I also feel the cost. It is not pain exactly. It is more like weight. Like every drop of the Moonblood I send into him is something I am drawing from a reserve that is not infinite, and I have already spent so much tonight — in the shift, in the fight, in the thirty seconds of absolute clarity it took to face Lysandra and end what she was. I don't stop. I keep sending it.

His dark red eyes reflected in the gloom like a ghostly lantern leading them through hell. Evelyn watched him, her heart a mixture of fresh rage and a trembling something deeper than memory. “You disappeared for three days, Lucien. Do you know what happened at the chapel?” she asked, her tone sharp but a little shaken. Lucien did not look back. He answered quietly: “I know. And I know who ordered the ‘Purge.’ The Black Blood is no longer only a curse, Evelyn. It is a weapon the Guild wants to recreate.” “They already have,” Adrian cut in. “Dr. Alaric’s cloning bio-soldiers. That blood… it’s no longer natural.”