Waiting To Exsanguinate Novels & Stories

like a broken prayer. Kiran clasped her hands together so tightly her knuckles turned white. She whispered prayers under her breath, her lips trembling. Her whole body shook from exhaustion, but she wouldn’t allow herself to collapse. Minutes dragged like hours. The ticking of the clock was louder than anything else in the room. Every second felt like a death sentence. Finally, the doors opened. A doctor came out, pulling off his gloves. His expression was grim. “She’s stable for now,” he said quickly, and for a second their hearts lifted. But then his voice dropped. “We stopped the bleeding, but she urgently needs a blood transfusion. Without it, she won’t make it through the night.”

I hear a smirk within the creature's voice while my fighting hands fall away from the gripping beast’s own, allowing my vision to slowly fall into darkness. Wriggling in agony, the creature unexpectedly releases its hold. Opening my unswollen eye as I heave a deep breath, I reluctantly look up to see the creature pulling its blood-soaked claw behind him while raising it past his head, ready to send it thrashing down once more. Anticipating the savage blow, I close my eyes, wincing expectedly, defenceless and ready to take the next hit. Preparing to accept my fate. A swooshing burst of movement rushes past my ears, leaving me in a state of confusion when no apparent pain seems to follow. Than

“She is going into hypovolemic shock.” Susan felt her stomach drop. Carla was losing blood, too fast. A nurse changed the absorbent sheets; the new one turned red in seconds, soaked. “Blood typing.” Igor ordered, his voice sharp. “Prepare transfusion. Now. We can’t wait.”

“His pressure’s dropping.” “Get the OR ready, he’s not stable, he won’t survive another collapse.” “Where’s the blood match?!” “Find more blood, O-negative, we’re out of it!” “Then GET SOME!” someone roared. “You find it or I swear I’ll rip your spine out through your ass!” It was Ghost. He stood above me, face carved in steel. “If this man dies,” he told the doctor, “I’m cutting your fucking intestines out and feeding them to your wife.”

I start to calm down. Only to realize that even his chest has stopped moving. “He’s not breathing anymore,” Janus points out. “Fuck!” Hyden splutters. He’s never been this upset. We both check on the guard, but his body is already getting cold. The black substance is starting to drain out of his skin too. “Step back!” He pushes me away from the body. All we can do is watch him die and deflate in real time, unable to do anything in fear of getting infected, up until the very point where all life leaves him.

Wyatt Clark, my fiance; Wanda Stone, my adopted sister; and I get into a car crash on the way to register our marriage. Wanda and I are both taken to the hospital. Mom, a renowned surgeon, glances at my back, which is covered in blood, then urgently gathers the doctors and nurses to treat Wanda's two-inch cut. "Wanda's injury is in a visible spot. If we don't treat it immediately, it will leave a scar. "I'm your biological mother, after all. If I were to treat you first, people might accuse me of favoritism. I'll treat your injuries once I'm done with Wanda." I have no choice but to grab Wyatt, who has just changed into his white coat. "S-Save me—" Wyatt coldly pulls away from me before

The silence in the narrow hallway was completely suffocating. The only sound was the heavy, wet drip of Julian’s blood hitting the wood panels from his torn sleeve. Silas Vance stood perfectly still, his eyes glued to the red transfer bar on my phone screen. The bar was stuck at ninety-nine percent, pulsing like a live bomb under the dim light.

He turned to see Max who clearly had some pained expressions. "Enzo"! Stephen signaled Max and he stormed out pulling Max along him. Zee and Saint looked at each other and turned to their food. "Wh… What happened to Max". Callum stuttered. "Nothing. He can't bear the sight of blood. Here the blood is stopped. Go wash it before the lunch gets cold. Saint, call Max and Enzo". Callum nodded and left for the ensuite washroom to wash his thumb.

He hits the floor with a heavy thud, thrashing, his heels drumming a frantic rhythm on the linoleum, kicking over a stack of chairs that fall noisily. He clutches his throat, trying to stem the flow, but blood pumps between his fingers, pooling around his head. I stand there, breathing harshly while I watch him die. I watch the light fade from his eyes. I watch the struggle slow down. And I feel nothing. No horror. No regret. No panic. Just this cold, clinical observation. The carotid artery, my brain supplies helpfully. High pressure. Rapid exsanguination. Weeks twitches one last time, then he goes still.

"You knew. You didn't tell me he could do that. You just sat there and watched." Vane shrugged, a movement that shifted his battered leather pauldron with a groan of rusted metal. "I wasn't sure if he’d survive the draw. Most people who try to siphon that kind of cold end up with their organs turned to slush inside ten seconds. The fact that the brat is still breathing is, frankly, a statistical anomaly."