Troubled Blood Synopsis Novels & Stories

She collected it a conflicted look on her face. As she read the contents her frown deepened,then replaced with panic and anger. “Who owns this” She asked a slight tremor in her voice,her hands shaking slightly. “Yours I took your blood sample and sent it to the lab, yesterday I had to rule out every option,you know before I could commence proper treatment,I'm sorry” Derrick said soothingly. Summer collected the file,her eyes widened as she placed a palm over her mouth. Scar curled into the couch,she closed her eyes fighting back the tears that threatened to fall down.

I knew he was only trying to help, but some things couldn’t be fixed. I exhaled slowly, staring into the dark liquid. Faint footsteps sounded from the living room. I walked to the kitchen entrance to see who it was. The mug slipped from my hand and shattered on the floor. Tristan stood there, covered in blood. His chest. His face. His neck. “Natasha?” He called. I moved closer to him. “Tristan—is that blood?” Panic rose in my chest. My hands instinctively moved to his chest and shoulders, checking for injuries. The blood was warm. Too warm.

Our pool party has turned into a pool of blood. What started off as a fun and relaxing day has just ended in a deadly gun battle. The four whores that Matt ordered are laying in a row next to each other while a bunch of men in white scrubs are scrubbing everything meticulously clean There is a doctor frantically trying to stop the blood long enough to get Ant all stitched up. I am battling with my own bullet wound with blood gushing from my side. I am standing with Jackson and he has just spoken a whole bunch of words I do not know.

until exactly twenty drops had pooled at the bottom. The elder pulled a strip of cloth from his sleeve and tied it around his hand to stop the bleeding. He then slid the knife across the table toward Travis. "Slice your palm," the elder commanded. "Let twenty drops of your blood join mine." Travis didn't hesitate. He grabbed the knife and dragged the blade across his palm. The sting was sharp, but it was nothing compared to the pain in his heart. He held his hand over the bowl, counting each drop. When the twentieth drop hit the surface, something strange happened. The two different types of blood began to swirl together, forming a strange, glowing line that shimmered like oil on water.

I stopped in my tracks and turned around to look at the scenario. The police officers were pressing Dylan against the floor as he laughed maniacally. Lily was lying in a pool of her own blood, and Peter had peed his pants from fear. This was the so-called family who had caused my previous death. They were killing and hurting each other in the deepest depths of their despair. I looked away and walked toward the sunlight. Three years later, at the national lab, the final green line of code appeared on the screen. My assistant said excitedly with a trembling voice, “We did it! Dr. Brooklyn, we finally succeeded with our experiment with our quantum transmission experiment!

Tristan's voice was so weak he barely managed to say those two little words. His body was cold, even though he could feel the warmth of his blood on his body as it spilled from his wounds. The pain was barely there any longer as his body began to go numb. It was becoming harder and harder to breathe as his lungs filled with blood. Tristan coughs up blood and feels it splash against his face and run down his neck. Harris looks at the mangled mess of a pathetic excuse for a Beta. Frustrated he can't take his anger out on him since the thing is practically dead, Harris lets out an annoyed sigh and turns his attention to the others.

Leonard, meanwhile, sat at the head of the table with the men, his voice calm but commanding, like he was orchestrating a symphony only he could hear. Dinner began. Conversation buzzed. I tried to steady my hands as I lifted my glass, pretending the crystal didn’t tremble against my fingers. And then it happened. The wine slipped before I even realized it—scarlet liquid blooming like blood across the lap of Bianca Moretti, the wife of the rival boss himself. The hall stilled. Forks paused mid-air. “Oh God….” I reached for a napkin, mortified, but Bianca caught my wrist before I could dab at the spreading stain.

The bone cracked beneath the impact. But it didn’t fall. It spasmed. Twitched. Turned. Its eyes were mine. Not metaphorically. They were exactly like mine. Same color. Same ring of faint gold. Corwin didn’t just steal corpses. He stole blood. My blood. I dispatched it cleanly—spine severed at the base of the neck. No flourish. No rage. Rage wastes energy. And I had a feeling I’d need all of it soon. The hallway sloped downward.

He said, his voice was trembling. I was getting tired. So tired. I closed my eyes finally. Everything faded and went black. After what felt like a few minutes, I heard voices again. But it was distant and muffled. Like they were coming from under the water. "...blood loss was severe..." "...lucky the blade missed the major artery..." "...another centimeter and she would be dead..." I tried to open my eyes but they felt so heavy. Then I managed to open it a little wider. All I could see was white. Everything was in white, the ceiling, the lights.