Hot-blooded Youth Novels & Stories

🖱️Victor🖱️ My blood was boiling. Not metaphorically. Not poetically. Literally. I could feel it crawling under my skin, thick and hot, like it wanted out. Like it wanted violence. Like it wanted blood so badly my fangs ached even when my mouth was closed. Every breath felt wrong. Every heartbeat felt like an insult. That pathetic human did this to me. Jayden. That fragile little creature with sharp eyes and too much audacity was the reason I had been cockblocked, humiliated, and left craving blood like a starving animal.

The culmination. I thought about the blood. The blade in my thigh. The pain that had been almost pleasure, or at least that had opened a door to something greater than simple pleasure. That feeling of being alive, truly alive, for the first time in my life. Was I going mad? Perhaps. But madness was better than reason. Madness was warmer, truer, more intense. Madness was this: feeling your blood flow and finding it beautiful. Being afraid and wanting to continue anyway. Desiring the one who hurts you.

"I'm so cold. Julian, please take me with you. It's too cold and unbearable here." I gently placed my icy hand over his mouth and nose. "Don't be in such a hurry to die. Our special training has only just begun. You still have lessons to learn right here in this living hell." I wanted him to spend every night in that freezing cell with his broken body consumed by cold and terror, longing for death but never finding it, for all eternity.

~~~Ryder~~~ My blood was boiling. Every inch of my body felt hot, like fire was running through my veins. My fists were clenched so tight my knuckles were white, and my jaw was locked so hard it ached. The rage inside me was pure, raw, and violent. I wanted to destroy something. I wanted to make someone scream until their voice gave out.

“I have depression—I can’t handle stress. I could kill someone, and it wouldn’t even be a crime! “Touch me again and try it—I’ll make you wish I died and haunt your son for the rest of his life!” Miriam was shoved back, wheelchair and all, crashing onto the ground. Her forehead struck the step, and blood immediately began to flow as she cried out in pain. Lucian heard the commotion, pushed through the crowd, and rushed over. When he saw the scene, his eyes nearly split with rage. “Marisol! What are you doing? That’s my mother!” He could not believe it. The same girl who, in his eyes, could not even harm an ant, the one who had always seemed so fragile and dependent, had attacked a disabled e

Stranger' Heat, a molten current, pooled deep within me. A different kind of excitement, raw and primal, coursed through my veins. He had already begun his insidious magic. His touch, a burning brand against my skin. His murmured voice, a hypnotic whisper that bypassed my ears and resonated directly with my core.

These violent delights have violent ends and in their triumph, die like fire and powder. He scans the crowd, his familiar eyes know exactly what they're looking for, even though 'it' does not know it's being searched out avidly. The lights are dim, so it would probably be difficult to find what you were looking for in such an environment. The music blares, the blur before him is in fact the crowd moving in sync with the unharmonious music of today's youth. He holds tight to his drink above the crowd seated a few steps above the pit that held the frantic hoard, gaining strength from their energy that flowed so freely from all of them, the young usually tended to give their energy freely wi

It read the ground first. The fires still burned hard against the dark. Meat hissed and spat where grease dropped onto the grills, and the smoke had thickened enough that every breath tasted of char and iron and wood. Around me Blackthorn folded itself into smaller groups, little pockets of low conversation, heads inclined, shoulders turned inward. Questions had already begun moving through them, through scent as much as speech. Who had heard what. Which little dealers had started going quiet. Whether the attacks in the news carried the stink of something real or merely outsider panic dressed in fur and claws for cameras. Some of the younger males were too eager, their bodies running half a

Like the Mating Ball. She sighed. But her 18th birthday was tomorrow, and as the last in her school year to come of age, the Mating Ball was a way for local packs to gather and find their mates. A process that she was dreading. No one knew of her past, and she had managed to avoid telling her few friends anything about herself that could put her new life at risk. The Mating Ball threatened to jeopardise everything that she had built for herself. If anyone found out that her father was the King, they would instantly hand her over for the cash reward.

** In the bloom of youth, when hearts are unburdened by the weight of years, desire and passion between a young couple are like an unquenchable fire, fierce and untamed, casting a warm, radiant glow on the canvas of their lives. As their fingers brush against one another, igniting sparks of electricity, a symphony of emotions unfolds. The palpable tension between them is electric, an attraction so potent that it defies all logic and reason. Their love story is a vibrant tapestry, woven with threads of longing, yearning, and the thrill of discovery.