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128 Stay Quiet Baby
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2025-08-17 23:32:43
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He Slept With My Sister, When I Was Giving Birth 128 Stay Quiet Baby
The fist hit the tree again.The knuckles were already gone—not bruised, not bloodied, gone. White bone showed through where the skin had split and peeled back. The middle finger had snapped sideways on the last punch, hanging at an angle that made the stomach turn. Blood ran down the bark in thick streams, pooling at the roots, soaking into dirt that had turned black.Another punch. The crack wasn't wood breaking. It was bone. The ring finger this time, folding backward until it touched the back of the hand. The person didn't stop. Didn't even slow down.Punch.The thumb dislocated with a wet pop. The nail tore off completely, stuck to the tree bark with a piece of meat still attached.Punch.The hand wasn't a hand anymore. It was hamburger with bones sticking out. The pinky finger dangled by a thread of skin. Each impact sprayed blood in a three-foot radius. The breathing came in short, desperate gasps between strikes—not from exertion but from trying not to scream.Punch.The bones
He Slept With My Sister, When I Was Giving Birth 127 The Sherman
EvelynI wanted to drag my palms across concrete until they bled.That was my first thought when we turned the corner and I saw her—some woman about my age, grinding her hands into the ground over and over while everyone else chanted. The blood had gone black under what was left of her fingernails. Strips of skin stuck to the concrete like wet paper. She kept going. Press down, scrape forward, lift, repeat. The sound it made—wet and gritty at the same time.It looked like it hurt in that specific way that makes everything else go quiet."Fuck." Cole killed the engine harder than he needed to. "Who the fuck let her—"The crowd outside the infirmary sat on bare ground in a circle. All of them. Parents who should've been screaming at doctors or breaking down doors or doing something that made sense. Instead they swayed together, eyes open but not seeing us, not seeing anything in this world anyway. And standing in the center—Moon Pack still kept one.I knew what she was before my brain
He Slept With My Sister, When I Was Giving Birth 126 Classic Damon
Evelyn"Take me to them now."I wasn't here for small talk. Not for pleasantries about the drive or questions about Wood Pack. Every second we wasted standing in this parking lot was another second Ava stayed—no. I wouldn't think that word. If there was even the slightest chance I could save my daughter, I was going to take it.Cole stared at me. Something crossed his face that made me feel wrong, like I'd said something inappropriate at a funeral. Which maybe I had. I didn't care."The children," I said again. "Take me to them."Cole stuttered, actually stuttered, before his eyes went to something behind me. Back to my face. Behind me again."We should—you can come in my car." He rubbed the back of his neck. "My men will park yours."Robin nodded beside me, then turned to look at me. He didn't say anything, but I could read his face perfectly. That careful expression people got when they thought you were losing it but didn't want to be the one to say it. The same look Maya had given
He Slept With My Sister, When I Was Giving Birth 125 The Discovery
ColeI left the room.Not walked. Not stepped out. Left. The kind of leaving where you know you're abandoning something that needs you, but you do it anyway because staying would break you.The scary part wasn't hearing Susan say "Help me" through that destroyed mouth. It was what came after."Cole."My name. She'd said my name, gurgled and wet but unmistakable. I'd stood there for three seconds—I counted them—while she tried to lift what was left of her head to look at me. One working eye had found mine, bloodshot and leaking fluid, but aware. Fully aware.And I'd turned around and walked out.All I could picture now was Susan lying there, staring at the door I'd closed, probably in agony beyond anything I could understand, unable to move, unable to help herself. All she could do was beg. And she'd watched me leave her there to suffer.In my defense, there was nothing I could do to save her. The transformation had gone too far. Her body was breaking down and rebuilding itself wrong o
He Slept With My Sister, When I Was Giving Birth 124 The Horror in the Alpha's Quarters
Cole"What the fuck!"Marina stood frozen in the doorway, her eyes wide, mouth open. She couldn't look away. Neither of us could.Hours had passed since I'd first discovered this, and Susan was still making that sound. A wet, rattling wheeze that came in irregular intervals. Still alive. Somehow, impossibly, still alive."I... I can't—" Marina spun and ran from the room.I heard her footsteps pounding down the hallway, then the sound of retching. I couldn't blame her. I'd done the same thing when I first saw it. Thrown up until there was nothing left, then dry heaved for another five minutes. How had I thought she'd have the stomach for this? Because she was a healer? Because she'd seen death?This wasn't death. This was worse.I forced myself to look again at what used to be Susan.You could only tell it was her from the clothes—the silk nightgown she'd been wearing, now stretched and torn in places where her body had... changed. Parts of her were still recognizably human. A section
He Slept With My Sister, When I Was Giving Birth 123 I want to show you something
ColeThe infirmary was too quiet for a place with so many dying children. Nurses moved between beds, their faces blank the way medical staff got when they'd seen too much death. White sheets covered small bodies on stretchers. Six in the last hour. I counted them as they wheeled past—one, two, three, four, five, six—each one lighter than they should have been, each one somebody's entire world.I stood in the center of it all, watching the controlled panic. A nurse with blood under her fingernails guided a stretcher toward the back rooms. Another adjusted an IV drip for a child whose breathing rattled like stones in a tin can. The smell was everywhere: antiseptic fighting against sickness, sweat, and that specific scent that preceded death. My wolf recognized it, wanted to either fight it or flee from it.Outside those doors, parents waited. Some paced. Some sat frozen. Some already knew their children were gone—I could hear the muffled sobs through the walls, that specific pitch of gr
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