The House That Dripped Blood Cast นิยาย & เรื่องราว

Then Cammie studied my face. "What?" I asked. "Nothing," she said and looked away. "Cam, tell me why Jacques called you a drudge girl?" "Oh, you really don't know what that means? That's one of the reasons I wanted to gut that girl like a fish!" Cammie said distastefully, but when she saw my blank expression, she heaved a sigh, "Well, drudges are human slaves who serve vampires. They follow and listen to whatever their masters tell them to, and they even provide their own blood to them. I have read that in the vampire stories."

DAISY POV Blood dripped from my face onto the cold concrete floor. Drop… after drop… after drop. Warm and sticky, it slid down my cheek, tracing a slow path along my jaw before soaking into the collar of my shirt. The metallic scent filled my nose, thick and nauseating. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I stared at the spreading red spots, my vision blurring with tears. I slowly lifted my eyes and looked at Diesel. There was pure shock written across his face. His storm-gray eyes were wide, locked on the blood covering me. For a terrifying second, the whole room seemed to freeze. Then he muttered, his voice rough and low, almost broken:

Blood sprayed outward in a gruesome arc, painting the polished floors in a grotesque mosaic of red. The shards of crystal impaled him in multiple places, piercing through his chest, legs, and abdomen. His body convulsed briefly under the weight of the chandelier before going still, his lifeless eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. The hall fell silent once more, the gruesome sight leaving everyone frozen in horror. Draven’s blood pooled beneath the chandelier, mingling with the shards of broken glass. His once-imposing figure was now a mangled, unrecognizable heap.

I call again, louder this time, stepping further into the house. No response. Sienna reaches past me and flips the light switch. The lights come on, and everything changes. At first, my brain doesn’t understand what I’m looking at. There’s something on the floor, dark and smeared, stretching from the entrance further into the house. I try to make it something else, anything else. But it doesn’t take long. The color. The thickness. The way it trails. Blood. My stomach drops so fast it feels like the ground shifted under me.

Among the flowers, there is a house key that is used for emergencies. I entered the house using the key I got. When entering the house, the situation looks very quiet. The room looks dark. I called out Frey's name over and over in a slightly low voice. My feet stepped looking for stairs to reach the third floor of this house. From the outside appearance of the house, I estimated Frey's room and walked towards it. The easternmost room on the third floor. I knocked on the door several times before trying to enter. The room was so dark I couldn't see anything in it.

During my three-year-old son's preschool physical, his blood type didn't match mine or my wife's. I had just printed the divorce papers when I suddenly heard my son's voice. [This disgusting man is so stupid. He's raised me, his own little brother, as his son for years and still has no idea!] [Lol, hurry up and get divorced. Once they divorce, I can cling openly to my real mom!] [And divorced men are unwanted anyway. From now on, every dollar he earns will be mine!] My wife was still anxiously explaining, "Honey! I really never betrayed you! Do you really want a divorce?" I looked at my son's tightly closed lips and excited eyes, then tore up the divorce papers instead. "No divorce. S

After hearing the commotion, he rushed over as well. The moment he saw me, all the color drained from his face. Peeking out from behind him, Sheila leaned forward. She had just finished crying in front of Mom and Dad. Her eyes were still red as she spoke in a soft voice. “What is wrong with Harriet?” She stared at the blood on the floor. “That blood is not fake, is it?” A moment later, she let out a small laugh. “After all, Derrick pretended to have ALS for three years. Maybe Harriet resents us and decided to fake fainting with some stage blood to scare everyone.

I was not a murderer. I heaved a deep breath and relaxed back on the chair. •• Eventually, the car turned onto a narrow gravel path that cracked beneath the tires. There were no street lights here, only the car’s headlights slicing through the pitch-black ahead. My stomach tightened even more. Then I saw it. The house. More like a Castle. It stood alone, like it had been dropped into the forest from another world. Enormous, old, and dark. The kind of place that didn’t welcome guests—it warned them.

Ethan's blood—his. I race to the bathroom as soon as I enter the space and turn on the faucet. I repeatedly rubbed my shaky hands together while tasting the salt. I noticed tears starting to roll down my cheeks at that point. I wash my face with a wet towel, wipe it off with the back of my hand, and then exit the bathroom. My husband is only wearing his painted shirt after the doctor cuts through his bloodied clothing, and Zeth waits beside the bed where Ethan is lying. He is carrying a bandage over his shoulder that is wrapped around his chest.

The gates opened—slow, deliberate, gold-plated iron sliding apart. Elena drove through without hesitation. The driveway curved beneath a canopy of interlocked oaks. Ancient. Conspiring. At the final bend, the house emerged—three stories of pale limestone, tall windows lined up like frozen eyes, and doors thick enough to swallow a scream whole. A man in black directed her to park. His stillness was too practiced for a security guard. His eyes never stopped moving. The front door opened before she touched it.