In Cold Blood Chapter 1 Summary 소설 & 이야기

Rin’s POV There were killers on Verano's streets. Before I even saw them, I could smell the gunpowder, perspiration, and blood. Thorne and I were the prey of the mafia's unleashed band of wolves. Rain was slicking the stones as we hurried along a tiny alley, and neon signs were leaking color onto the walls. The air cracked with the first shot. Just as a bullet chipped the masonry above my head, Thorne pushed me down.

Together. The first light of dawn cast soft stripes across the hospital walls. Dylan’s breath was steady. I ran a hand through his hair, still damp with sweat. I thought of the chaos—the chamber, the gunfire—and felt a tremor pass through me. This blood pact wasn’t the end. It was the beginning. We would need to turn suspicion into solidarity. And do it with blood still on our hands. A nurse checked his IV, nodded, and left. I leaned in. “We need to move,” I whispered.

“Because I know what it’s like to be watched by everyone.” The words cracked something in me. The arrogance was gone for that heartbeat, stripped bare to something raw. I didn’t push. I just turned back to the shelves. And then I saw it. A yellowed page was tucked between the heavy books, its faded ink still clear enough to read. My hand shook as I pulled it free. The title was scrawled at the top in jagged letters: First Blood. My eyes scanned the words, fragments only. Before wolves, before oaths, there was the First. Blood that commands, blood that binds. Not beast, not man, but both. The source. The curse.

The room swims into focus, and I'm not ready for it—this isn't a nightmare I can blink away. The covers are pulled back sharply, and a cold draft hits my skin. But it's not the chill that makes me gasp—it's the stark contrast of crimson against white. The sheets are soaked with blood, and a horrible warmth spreads between my legs, a grotesque prelude to the unthinkable. "This can't be happening again!" My voice breaks the silence, half-strangled with disbelief and horror. "No," I scream, the word tearing from my throat. "Please, no!"

He glanced at his bleeding hand but strangely enough he felt no pain. The anger he felt had surpassed the pain. After calming himself, he turned on the ignition and drove steadily.. ISABELLE'S POV.. “ Cold…. So….Cold…” I mumbled as my entire body began trembling.. I tried to get the image of those dead guards outta my head but unfortunately I just couldn't. It was a gruesome thing for a human to do and unfortunately I'm married to that monster. Even though I acted tough earlier, my body wasn't immune to cold..

My heart pounded, a dark dread settling in my stomach as I looked around, trying to make sense of what was happening. Suddenly, Kim came barreling toward us, his face grim and two guns drawn. Just as he approached, a tiny red dot appeared on Chaol’s forehead. My stomach dropped as I screamed, "No!" But the gunshot came faster than my voice. Blood splattered across the stone floor as Chaol’s head snapped back, his body crumpling to the ground with a finality that made my heart feel like it was being squeezed in a vise.

Chloe's journey back to the Mill Creek house was a nightmare of pain and cold. She crawled through the snow, her body broken, her vision blurred. The wind howled around her, its icy fingers clawing at her exposed skin. She could feel the cold seeping into her wounds, could feel her blood freezing in her veins. She was dying, and she knew it. But she kept moving, her determination fueled by a primal will to survive. She had come too far to give up now. She had survived the apocalypse, survived the cold, survived the beatings. She would not let some stranger's rage be the end of her.

"Isn't the evidence clear? You have no mercy, you collect the bones of your victims, and you drink blood." Hearing the spontaneous explanation, the man laughed dryly. "How could you be so stupid?" he mumbled before leaving and returning with a bottle. "What do you want?" Amber was confused to why Mr. Cold brought "blood" in front of her. "Drink it!" While furrowing her brows, Amber brushed the bottle away from her mouth. "Don’t push me! I'm not a cannibal." Losing control, Mr. Cold grabbed the woman's chin. As Amber struggled, he poured the red liquid from the bottle. The man didn't care if his white sweater was stained. Most importantly, Amber no longer accused him of drinking blood.

“Wind’s wrong. They’ll smell us before they see us.” “Then we use it,” I said. “Let them smell victory.” I stepped into the open, coat plastered to my legs, hair dripping into my eyes. My voice carried, low but clear: “Finch! You wanted proof!” The echo came back twisted, warped by the warehouse belly. For a heartbeat, there was only rain on tin. Then the hunters came. They didn’t shout. They moved like a machine with twelve legs, visors glowing faint green, rifles tight to shoulders. The first bullet cracked past my ear and took a chunk of wall behind me.

The wind howled violently, scratching at my throat until I felt an itch that seemed to make me want to cough. "Enough talking. Choose, or I'll let them both go." At Amber's signal, the men next to us hoisted both me and Tara up. The salty sea breeze hit me in the face, and the sharp smell of ocean water churned my stomach. However, nothing compared to the screaming in my ears. Before I could even draw a breath, Ethan had already made his choice. At that moment, everything went silent. Amber instinctively turned to look at me. My vision flickered and spots of black clouded my sight, but I did not know why.