Kiss The Blood Off My Hands Novels & Stories

She says sternly, and I look at her, the haze in my head finally clearing. “Huh?” “Whose blood is this?” I look down for the first time, realizing just how bad it looks. My hands are a deep maroon with cracks of skin showing through where the blood has dried on me. I look at my arms and at my shirt, only to see I have it there as well. “Uh, I had to do something for Alpha Artemis,” I say and her face falls, her lips going pale. “Kira…” she asks in a whisper, stepping back. There is no need for her to expand on the question. I know what she is asking.

"My father had general anesthesia. How could he avoid it? You scum! You killed my father, and now you want to frame others?" He lunged at her with the knife and stabbed her repeatedly. Her blood splattered onto the face of Herman, who screamed and tried to bolt. The attacker grabbed him and sliced him in the back until the police arrived. They quickly subdued the man. Herman and Giselle were not killed. They were still breathing, though barely. The incident was streamed live online, causing a huge uproar. Everyone began defending Herman and Giselle. [I heard Dr. Fisher is a heart disease expert, and now his tendons have been severed. People waiting for heart transplants will be unable to get

Yvette said with teary eyes, "Do you blame me for coming back and taking over your place, Wendy? But I can't help it—I really wanted a family!" I collapsed onto the floor. The pain from my old injuries flared up from Connor's kick, making me black out for a moment. Unable to hold it in any longer, I spat out a mouthful of black blood. Mom gasped and tried to help me up. Connor's expression faltered, yet he still scolded me harshly, "You suck at pretending! You're even spitting out black blood? Do you think you're acting?" I couldn't say a word, and I didn't want Mom to touch me. As such, I could only back away desperately.

“On your feet. Shower time. I want you wet and slippery for the next rounds.” Alex stumbled as Jax dragged him toward the open shower area. The tiles were still damp from earlier, and the air hung thick with steam when Jax cranked the hot water on full blast. The spray hit Alex’s oversensitive skin like needles at first, making him gasp. Jax shoved him under the stream, pressing his chest against the slick wall. “Hands on the tiles. Ass out. Don’t make me tell you twice.”

My breathing was becoming irregular, coming in short pants as I scrubbed and scrubbed my hands trying to get the blood out. My eyes fell to my hoodie which was also heavily soaked with blood. I quickly slipped it over my head and threw it in the waste bin and continued to wash my hands. Somewhere in my mind, I knew it was already clean but I couldn’t stop seeing the blood, so much blood. I stop washing my hands and scream before driving my fist into the mirror. It shatters and shards of glass stick to my knuckles.

His tongue explored boldly, leaving no corner of my mouth untouched. The force of the kiss swept me off my feet, leaving my body weak and trembling. Still, there was no denying it was effective. The burning heat inside me eased considerably beneath his fierce passion. Like a drowning person clutching a lifeline, I refused to let go of Tucker. Instinctively, my hands found his shoulders. I held on awkwardly, desperate to keep up with him. I eventually lost all sense of time. As the kiss broke, I collapsed against him, struggling to catch my breath. My misty eyes and flushed cheeks lent me an unexpected allure.

As I gazed at it, my hands trembled. Unraveling that I was afraid at the sight of blood, he ripped a section of his white t-shirt, wiping it away. "Your hand is free from blood; I've gotten rid of it," he tried to calm me down. I sobbed at his remark and I kept hearing his voice repeating in my mind, Your hand is free from blood; your hand is free from blood until my head felt like it was about to explode with anger. Though there was no blood on my hands, they would never be free of the blood of those I've killed.

The force of it sent Leo stumbling to the ground, knocking over a nearby candelabra. He clutched his face in disbelief, his eyes filled with venom. “You… you dare hit me?!” “This,” I said, my voice pure ice, “is for desecrating what you do not understand. The ground you stand on, the peace you take for granted—I bought it with my blood. And you are not worthy of it.” I slowly raised my right hand, palm facing him. A single drop of blood beaded at my fingertip, hovering in the air, glowing with a faint red light.

My body trembled violently, my fingers twitching as if they still felt the warmth of what I had done. The scent of blood was thick, pungent, and metallic, clinging to my skin like a curse I could never wash away. I forced myself to look down. My hands. They were covered in it. Crimson painted every ridge, every trembling knuckle, smeared up my arms, streaked across my bare skin in jagged, grotesque strokes. It dripped from my fingers onto the floor, forming tiny pools that reflected the flickering torchlight. What have I done?