It Hungers For Blood Novels & Stories

A gigantic stone door that was painted gold with mini-statuettes of the ancient beast, the kirin and various symbolic carvings stood in their way. The travellers understood from Xiyu’s explanation of the mechanics behind the access door that only her blood was able to open the door. She believed that because she was a descendant of Muxue Yan, her blood was worthy enough. Dongyue felt his chest ache slightly upon seeing her bite hard on her finger to yield a few drops of blood, which she smeared on one of the mini-statuettes. This, she confirmed, was what was required to open the door.

I’m crawling out with a trail of blood: their blood. They think I’ll crawl when I leave, but they’re wrong. I’ll drag myself out by the teeth, trailing their blood behind me. I’ll rise like a curse, wearing their blood like a crown. And maybe by then, my blood won’t just answer to me—it will devour for me. Let them keep carving. Every cut is a summoning.

Hunger. Not the cold, mechanical hunger of a predator dispatching prey, but something hotter, more personal—something alive in a way it hadn’t been for years. The Lycan’s lips kept curving at the corners, small and sharp, every time August’s sword rang against his own. Every time their bodies closed distance, every time August snarled through gritted teeth, Winter’s gaze sharpened with dark delight. He was enjoying this and August hated that most of all.

she cursed out loud, forgetting for a moment where she was. "Blood." Her abductor growled, a deep sound that sent shivers down her spine causing her to feel dread. "I hate the sight of blood." Hers was a rich red and thick blood that smelled nice and caused his nose to pucker. He tried so hard to contain his fangs but couldn't. They bared themselves out in agitation and he turned away immediately. It's been so long since he had any contact with human blood. The beastly side of him had become excited when they perceived the richness of her blood and had reared up its ugly head.

It sloshed around until it filled to the top. Veronica removed the needle and the smell of her blood wafted up to me. I was still in my demon form! Shit! My bloodlust started to come out as my eyes instantly went to the spot where a drop of blood seeped out over her fair skin. My throat started to burn and itch as it began to crave for blood. I gulped and forced my eyes to look away. After the second vial was full, it felt like pure torture. Veronica bandaged up Arisa, stopping the bleeding but it was too late. The smell of blood filled the room.

I woke in a cold sweat. Moonlight was streaming in through the window, piercing the darkness. Hunger rose within me; a hunger like I’d never known before. I needed blood and I needed it now. I rose from the bed and stalked toward the door. I could smell blood … and it smelled luscious.

The blood moon raged in my veins, filling me with hunger so sharp I could taste it on my tongue. Blood. That was all I wanted. All I craved. The hunger was unbearable, the chains the only thing between me and slaughter. I pulled again, the stone floor cracking beneath my claws. Drool dripped from my snarling mouth as my breaths came fast, rabid, feral. But the chains held. And I was left thrashing, howling, a monster shackled in iron. A beast caged like he deserved to be.

The taste of blood lingered on his tongue, the metallic tang a reminder of the stakes they faced. Sangre, his eyes ablaze with a mix of dominance and sadistic pleasure, loomed over Fester. He stood like a colossus, an embodiment of unyielding power, his presence commanding the attention of all. His voice, a chilling blend of triumph and malice, filled the air, echoing through the clearing with an air of absolute authority.

“Ignis vitae is not yours to keep, it is ours to bleed.” I snarled, blood dripping from my chin. No. It wasn’t theirs. It wasn’t Everley’s. It wasn’t the Interregnum’s. It wasn’t even ours. It was hers. But gods help me, I wanted it. The next merc came at me with a blade instead of a net, and I let the hunger loose. Fangs buried deep, shadows threading through his veins as I drank deeper than I should have, the heat rushing through me, molten and powerful. His lifeblood filled me until he fell limp, boneless, and still I hungered.

His focus was on the hungry faces staring back at us, faces that made my stomach twist with disgust. For all their centuries of existence, they resembled starving animals more than dignified immortals. Bloodlings, they said, were ruled by primal thirst. But watching these so-called elders, I wondered who the real monsters were. Still, I couldn’t fault them entirely. Hunger had its many shapes, and I knew mine well. I had no desire for humans, no taste for their fragility. My thirst was different. Darker. More dangerous. I craved the blood of wolves. The thought of piercing a dagger through their chest had haunted me since I was old enough to name desire.