Of the Healing Blood

When Anna was eight, she saw her best friend get eaten alive in the woods. It wasn't by a bear or anything else, just something sinister. Anna should've died as well-if not for Ky. Ky is two years older than her, and not human.

Suddenly, Anna is thrust into the world of demons and monsters, where everything is real, and make-believe exists.
There's one catch: Anna's blood can make anything heal instantly, which makes her a target for every demon known to man. And not only that, she doesn't belong to Ky, but to his older brother Shane.


Author's note

To all my wonderful followers who have more patience than I do. I'd like to thank you for sticking to this dumbass writer who's slow to update.

7. Out of Nowhere...


    The blood rushes to my face, and suddenly I'm not thinking. I take a step forward, and kick backwards, aiming for the soft spot above his knee. It works, and he lets go of me going down on one knee. I swing my right hand that is now balled to a fist, and aim for the side of his head.

    He catches my wrist with ease, and laughs, even though he's still in pain.

   "Good to see that all those moves I taught you are still in function." he says, grinning at me.

    I say nothing, just rip my wrist from his grasp.

   "I don't know you, mister, but even if I did, how the hell do you greet someone like that? Hello? Why are you laughing?!" I said, leaning away from him.

   "Because you haven't changed. And what do you mean you don't know who I am. It's me; Ky?"

    Something jolts in my mind, and I press my hands against the sides of my temples, shutting my eyes tight. His name echoes in my brain, and I feel something split.

    Warm hands touch my wrists, and I open one eye.

    He's so close to me, I can smell his cologne, and the mint in his breath. One move, and we can be kissing. I don't move, and neither does he. He stares into my eyes, then he frowns.

   "Are you okay?" he asks, placing his other hand on my head.

   Something about him is so familiar, yet so unfamiliar. Like when you hear a really old story, and  you know how it's going to end, but you can't remember the middle, or the beginning.

  "I'm fine." I say stiffly, moving away from him.

  "You don't remember me." he says, rubbing his hands together. His eyes flick towards me, then away. "I was only gone for seven years. There's no way you could've forgotten..."

    I'm to the gates at this point, and I stare at him in silence.

  "Mister, I don't know you. I'm sorry-and just so you know, I only cried for a week." I turn and walk off, wondering what the hell did I mean by that last part.

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