Mc Blood-stained Novels & Stories

Her face had already turned pale. "Emergency!" Mr. Mac's thunderous voice echoed across the hallway. The entire area froze. Everyone turned toward the commotion. Yet even then, Mac refused to leave Belle's side. His eyes quickly scanned her body. Then he noticed the blood staining her hands and clothes. His face instantly hardened. "Young Mistress..." For a brief moment, pure fury flashed across his eyes. "You're bleeding." Belle finally looked down. Her trembling hands were covered in blood. Shine's blood.

That everyone in this room was witnessing. Tai drops the steel bar onto the ground, the sound clattering through me, the last thing I can handle, as he looks into Marek's cell. “Figures. You really are pathetic.” I can no longer hold back the urge to throw up. Bending at the waist, I’m sick all over the ground at my feet, at the foot of the cell. To my horror, it’s blood, scarlet red and spreading across the dark grey of the floor. I feel it hot against my lips, dribbling down my chin and into my cupped hands.

He turned it so his colleague could see. A small capsule. Red-stained at one end, cracked open. “That’s not blood,” the second medic said. A ripple ran through the students behind me. Bianca’s head snapped toward them. “What? That’s not— I don’t know what that is, it’s not mine—”

The Beta's complexion had taken on an ashen hue, and a thin sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead under the warm glow of the restaurant's lanterns. With trembling fingers, Marcus reached into his suit and quickly fished out a handkerchief. He coughed several times into the white cloth, each one more violent than the last. When he finally recovered himself, Emma's medical eye immediately caught the large, crimson stain that had seeped into the pristine fabric. The virus was killing Marcus—rapidly breaking down his internal organs, causing hemorrhaging that no ordinary human could survive this long.

A small, brownish, rust-colored stain, that looks like dried blood. The blood. Reality hits me full force, violent, obscene. I never went home. I got drunk. A man brought me here. And this pain... this stain... I am no longer a virgin. I gasp for breath. The room starts spinning. Nausea rises, uncontrollable, and I lean over the bed, vomiting a mixture of alcohol and bile onto the dirty floor. My whole body trembles, shaken by silent, hiccupping sobs.

On the battered basin before him, nine bloody spikes lay in a haphazard pile, stained crimson, an unsettling testament to what had transpired. “Done,” I muttered, voice strained but steady. I reached for the crumpled piece of paper, now soaked in blood and sweat, tangled in the mess. The note had once been pristine—perhaps just a scribbled warning or plea—yet now it looked like a fragment of a nightmare.

“And you’re worried about messy sheets?” I motioned to the nasty blood, recalling how a few times Robert had practically fainted if he caught sight of a few stains. It didn’t happen often. But it was a normal bodily function, and if my flow was heavier than normal, a stain sometimes occurred. “It’s gross,” I supplied apologetically.

The corridors were dim, lined with portraits of people who didn’t look entirely human — eyes too sharp, faces too still. Every time I passed one, I felt like it turned slightly to follow me. By the time I reached the study door, I caught movement through the crack of light spilling onto the floor. He was back. Malrik stood behind his desk, shirt unbuttoned halfway down, a bottle of whisky beside an untouched glass. His jacket hung over the chair. The white of his shirt was stained — not with ink. Blood. It ran in a thin line down his ribs, dark and half-dried.

After I explained, the doctor gave me a brown envelope with the logo of the hospital engraved on it. It was the lab results. It states there that, aside from an infection that was found inside the kids, they also found a rapid decrease in the kids’ blood platelets. It is to the point that they are both at moderate risk, which would have a high chance of bleeding and the need of a platelet transfusion as soon as possible to stop further repercussions. "21,000/mcl is the current platelet count of each of your kids, Ma’am Zobel. That is not a good indication. At the same time, their red blood cell count is also affected." the doctor explained.

Unfortunately that hindered my work. I turned around, shaking my head. It really wasn't my day. First the thing with Reese, then my extremely embarrassing misjudgment with Virido and then this neighborhood. That was just for ... When I saw a large, rust-red stain on the path in front of me, I stopped. That was blood. Or? To make sure I wasn't mistaken, I crouched down to take a closer look at the stain, even running my fingers over it. But there was no doubt that this was blood. And not just a little. Crap.