How Much Blood Is In One Vial Novels & Stories

"May I?" I nod, he then places the tourniquet on my arm. Then, once he finds a vein, he pierces it with the needle, then attaches the syringe. He quickly draws enough blood from me. He takes out the needle, places it on the tray. He then removed the band and placed a bandage over my small wound. He then places the blood in three different vials. One turns pink. "What does that mean?" I asked as I stared at the pink vial.

His face was gaunt with fear and hope combined I pressed the blade to my palm and pulled. The blood welled up immediately, bright red against pale skin. I held my hand over the vial, watching it drip. One drop. Two. Five. Ten. It needed to be enough. Potent enough to work when diluted into medicine. I let it flow until the vial was half full, until my vision started to blur at the edges. "That's enough," Tobias breathed, fumbling with the stopper. I wrapped my hand in the bedsheet, applying pressure. The cut was already healing.

“Ah…I see…so a small vial of blood is 50ml…and lasts a powerful vampire like Lord Echron about twenty minutes, correct?” “Yes, your majesty.” “So how long would a litre of blood last?” Von Dulce baulked and stared at Kat who looked up at Luisette with a sour scowl. “Steward?” Luisette prompted. “Ah…” Von Dulce stammered as he quickly made some calculations on his paper. “Over six hours, correct?” Luisette drawled with a small smirk. “Ah, yes, your majesty…about that to be safe.” “Good…” So I would have about 5 hrs on a litre of blood…I took about two from Kat just before…he mused to himself.

She could only draw a pint of blood from him–it would have been better if it was lesser than a pint. No matter what this man said, which was probably just to spite her, Georgia wouldn’t allow such an amount of blood to take out from him, particularly because of his recent condition. She obviously couldn’t allow that. Drawing two litres of blood or a pint from him would mean another patient in this house.

He just stood vigil by Liliana's bed. In the bloodletting room, a thick needle pierced my vein. I watched my own life force drain into the collection bag, drop by drop. "Four hundred milliliters," the nurse reported to Dorian outside the door. "For a werewolf recently wounded by silver, this is already dangerous." I heard Dorian's voice from outside, chillingly detached. "Keep going." The needle stayed in. Five hundred milliliters. I started to feel dizzy. Six hundred. My vision blurred. My consciousness began to slip away.

She bit her lower lip, feeling cold and weak. A normal person can only donate 400 milliliters at most, but she, a pregnant woman, was drawn 600 milliliters at one time. Susan had... a good strategy! She was afraid it would not be just this time, and there would be more to come! They would not stop until her body was weak and could not keep the child! There were footsteps coming from the door, and Shawn walked in. "Are you done?"

“I’m not buying a donor,” “Think of it as your own personal walking blood bank” I clenched my fists, trying to keep my face neutral. No, I’d keep my pride intact. I wasn’t about to admit that the concept had a strange appeal—like the promise of constant sustenance, always there, always ready. “On tap, available to you 24/7 when you need it, Little brother,” Was I really considering this? The thought hovered like a dark cloud in my mind, tempting, grotesque, but undeniably alluring. He knew I was wavering, but he also knew I was too proud to show it.

He ordered the bodyguards at the door, "Take her to give blood!" I was forcefully pushed into a chair, and a special needle was stuck into my veins. My blood slowly flowed out of me, and not even once did Adrian turn back to look at me. When they finally got 800cc out of me, the doctor hesitated. "Adrian, Ella is too weak. If we continue taking blood from her…" Adrian froze as he turned to look at me and gulped at my pale face. "That's enough," he said. "You should look for other blood sources."

As my blood filled one bag, beads of cold sweat broke out across my forehead. I felt so dizzy and nauseated that the ceiling lights blurred into glowing spots. The doctor noticed something was wrong and said to Timothy, "Mr. Grant, Ms. York is in danger. If we keep drawing blood like this, I'm afraid…" Timothy frowned at the bag of blood. "Is this enough for my daughter?" "Well…" The doctor sighed. "There's only 200cc here. Your daughter needs at least 600cc today."

It was something unfamiliar to Emmet, so used to seeing his own blood samples be taken from him and be put into regular bags to be sent to actual labs for testing, and not a field sampling kit of sorts. The doctor was attaching the bag of blood to the plastic pieces on top of each and every vial. They were only allowing a certain volume of blood inside each one, the blood reacting with the chemical inside the vial with some tubes precipitating small, white solid clumps, and others not reacting at all.