Novel & Cerita Mc Blood-stained

Flesh curled back and blood gushed out in a torrent, quickly creating a dark red stain on the ground. “Zoey Stone, you little troublemaker!”

He whispered Madeline's name, stroked her face in the photo, and could not help but cough out loudly. He quickly took a painkiller, but he still could not stop the bloody taste coming from deep in his throat. Jeremy wiped the blood from his lips with a tissue and glanced at the bloodstain. It was a deep brown and did not look like normal fresh blood. Besides that, there was a stabbing pain in his heart, and his fingers were trembling involuntarily.

My breath caught painfully in my throat. Claire’s expression changed immediately. “Bella.” Marcus moved closer fast. “Doctor. Now.” “I said no.” Then warmth spread suddenly between my thighs. Wrong warmth. Wet and alarming. My entire body went cold. A chill ran down my spine. No. No no no. I looked down slowly. And saw blood soaking through the thin hospital blanket. The red stain spread slowly across the white fabric, unmistakable under the room lights. The monitor beside the bed started beeping faster and louder, matching the panic rising in my chest. My hands trembled as I stared at the blood.

I stepped over a fallen archway and entered. My foot crunched onto broken tiles, and immediately I saw it—dark stains pooled at the center of the cracked floor, almost too old to be noticed unless you looked closely. I knelt down. The stains weren’t just dark; they were deep. Almost etched into the floor itself. Blood. Old blood. Dried and yet… still holding its shape. My breath caught as I brushed my fingers over it. The texture was grainy, sticky with age. Not paint. Not rust. It was blood. And it had formed into something.

"I’m calling the Gambino family’s Don right now! Let him see your true colors—pretending to talk about business while trying to seduce someone else's husband! You're disgusting!" "I'm calling him now. I'm going to see him now and have him kill you!"

The blood wasn't mine. That was the only good thing I could say about tonight. I scrubbed the pink stain on my apron with a wet paper towel in the bathroom of Mickey's Diner. The fluorescent light buzzed like a dying fly. It was two in the morning. My hands smelled like bleach and bacon grease. The stain was from a drunk trucker who'd cut his hand on a broken ketchup bottle. He'd waved the bleeding palm in my face and called me a "creepy bitch" when I didn't flinch.

He sees the dried, dark red bloodstains on my light-colored dress. His tall frame shudders, and his eyes instantly turn bloodshot.

The air stalled violently in his lungs. The man on the screen was ruined. Marcus's crisp, expensive corporate suit was torn and dirty. His face was heavily bruised, swollen, and covered in a thick layer of terrified sweat. But the most glaring detail was the massive, terrifying stain of dark red blood steadily pooling around his right thigh, dripping audibly onto a concrete floor. "Explain the photographs." Sebastian’s off camera voice roared clearly from the tablet speakers.

One fumbled with the keys. “Sir, he’s… not responsive.” Jethro didn’t stop moving. “He will be.” The iron door groaned as it opened. The smell hit him first—copper and rot. Malric was slumped in the corner, head bent unnaturally forward. Blood pooled beneath him, soaking into the mattress on the floor beside him. His lips were blue, and he couldn’t see his chest rise. Jethro stilled. “No,” he muttered, crossing the space in two strides.

He’s staring out the window, hands in pockets. Vincent is nowhere in site, probably gone to take a break. “Dad.” I swallow the dryness in my throat. Gods, I need water. “You’re awake.” Cary turns away from the window and approaches my bed. His suit is pristine as usual. But his hair is tousled, like he’s been running his fingers through the tresses. There’s also a crimson stain underneath his left ear. “What’s that? Is that blood?” I stare at the stain. The longer I stare, the more I’m convinced that it is indeed blood.