Thin Blooded Novels & Stories

Thalia's POV ​The thick torrent of blood dripping from my chest struck the cold stone floor, instantly igniting the dormant, ancient blood magic runes carved into the labyrinth. ​I froze, staring down in absolute shock as the vibrant crimson fluid flowing from my body refused to simply puddle on the ground. Instead, the blood moved as if it possessed a dark, sentient life of its own. It slithered with terrifying speed across the rough, cracked stone, perfectly filling the deep grooves of ancient, prehistoric runes that had remained buried under centuries of dust and neglect.

Julian’s POV An overpowering stench of blood, mixed with the minus-thirty-degree aura of death, rushed at my face. I stopped dead in my tracks. Inside, the chilling crimson ice flowers almost completely covered the frozen corner. In the corner lay the ashes of the thermal blanket I ordered burned. And in the center of this frozen blood, lay a stark, sickening pool of black blood. That was the dead blood a human mother bleeds only when she is drained of her life force from failing to gestate a vampire.

It threw me off. The fact that he was a silver blood, I scrutinized his appearance in the photo, there wasn't any resemblance to Hannah or her mother, no distinct silver-colored hair, he just looked like an average werewolf. I had seen his wolf a couple of times but it was just a normal brown color, nothing special. When they found out that he was a silver blood, they took him along with Melissa, but they didn't find anything in him. The gene for a silver blood was there, but it was dormant, it could only be expressed in females, and so they killed him, labeling him as waste.

Blood. Dread settled over me like a heavy shroud. The once serene garden now bore the threatening mark of violence. I knelt down, scrutinizing the crimson stain on the ground. Fear coiled in my stomach, and the silence of the garden seemed to echo with the ominous weight of the unknown. Zoey's disappearance had already been a challenging situation, but the presence of blood escalated the situation to a new level of urgency. Every worst-case scenario raced through my mind. I couldn't lose her. Not after all she had been through.

“You know, I’ve lived through almost seven decades, and I know a bloodline that had white hair. Moonblood.” “Moonblood?” She nods. “Yes. The first of their kind was born under a red moon. It altered their chemistry, from what I read. Their powers are similar to the moon goddess.” My heart sinks to the pit of my stomach, chest tightening. “What happened to them?” “They were wiped out.” She flips the page. “These clan of wolves didn’t live among regular wolves because they were hated, envied for their strength. We heard that regular wolves tipped off human hunters, and every single one was killed.”

He cupped her face, tilted her head to the side, and studied the faint bruise still blooming on her throat from the last bite. “Tonight,” he said, voice low and rough, “I’m going to give you my blood. Just enough to turn you for a few hours. You’ll feel everything a hundred times stronger. Every touch will feel like lightning. Every thrust will feel like dying and being reborn. And when I drink from your neck while I’m buried inside you, you will scream loud enough for the entire city to hear.” He drew a small crystal dagger from thin air, no handle, just a blade of black glass. One quick slice across his own throat and dark blood welled instantly, thick and shining.

"Want to see something? Come here and open this box." I got up quietly and went to that box. The thought of what would be inside that box made my heart restless. I extended one hand and opened it within the next breath. A dead body, covered from head to foot with new white linen, was lying under the box. He slid his hands and removed the linen. Her clothes were like that of a royal queen with bloodstains over them. There was grief on her face. And a broken bangle tied around her hand with sharp edges. One end of the bangle pierced her vein, and the blood fell off. Her skin seemed colder.

The abductor watched him silently, then turned and walked back out leaving Lex to his thoughts. The silence after the door slammed shut was worse than the pain he was feeling. He pressed his head back against the cold wall, breathing in shallow gasps as the dagger remained embedded in his shoulder, a constant reminder of how thoroughly he'd miscalculated. The blood had stopped flowing freely but still oozed around the blade, warm and sticky against his skin. Every slight movement sent fresh waves of agony radiating through his arm.

I could smell the rot on his breath—the scent of the Belladonna eating his lungs—and the sharp, metallic tang of the ritual wine. "Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this?" he murmured. "Generations of my blood have withered away, waiting for a vessel as pure as you. They looked for the spark in common girls, in half-breeds, in weaklings. But you... you are the sun trapped in a cage of ribs." "I'm not a vessel, Thorne. I'm a person. Not that you'd know the difference between a woman and a trophy."

My voice quivered. "Yes, Ian.” Thorne’s pelt? In a jar? Inside the shrine? In this kingdom? How? “The pelt,” Ashval went on. “I felt it. An immense rage. Not just anyone’s, Ian…” He paused. My heart stalled. As I struggled to absorb everything he’d already told me, he dropped yet another revelation. “It’s the rage of a True Blood.” “A T-True B-Blood?” I stammered. He nodded solemnly. “Yes, Ian. Thorne is one. The last of his kind.”