Blazing Stitches Novels & Stories

"She's burning up, temp's way too high." "What do we DO?" Elira was wringing her hands, classic healer panic mode. "We need to stop the bleeding, we need to—" "Stitch it." Rhea said it simple. "If it's splitting we close it back up." "You can't just STITCH a bond mark, that's—" Elira stopped cause Rhea was already moving to the supply shelf. "Got any moon-silver thread?" Rhea started pulling drawers open. "Moon-silver?" Serna stared at her. "The fuck is moon-silver?"

he repeated, quieter this time but heavier, like a warning wrapped in calm. I took a small sip, the burn of alcohol hitting my throat. If I was supposed to be composed after taking the drink, it wasn't working. My hands still trembled as I held the needle. Brad watched me, eyes half-lidded with the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It’s simple,” he said. “In and out. Small stitches. Keep it clean.” I shook my head. “It's not like it's fabric.” I murmured.

Like I said this day was the day that I had a very unfortunate accident. I had decided to let my fox take over and was happy to know that I would always have a friend to lean on, to talk to when I was alone or in pain. A friend that could never turn me away and leave me to face the abuse. A friend that I still have today. It was during these moments that I remembered that these were hunting woods and that it was autumn meaning that the woods would be lined with hunter traps. Then I saw the gleaming of a silver thread and my friend was heading right towards it. I began to scream but it was too late, I felt the sting then the overwhelming pain of my eyes being pierced by the wire. I yowled in

When she hesitated, I added, "Please, Angel. I need to see for myself." She nodded slowly and lifted the sleeve for me. I gritted my teeth when I saw the line of black stitches. "The stitches will come out in a few days. It’s really not a big deal. It doesn’t even hurt anymore," she said, trying to make me feel better.

“We’ll take care of that now.” She pulls out a small kit from her bag, her movements steady and methodical. “This will sting a little,” she warns before cleaning the wounds. She wasn’t lying—it burns, and I clench my teeth to keep from crying out as she works. “Almost done,” she says, her voice soothing. Her hands move quickly as she stitches the deeper cuts on my arm and thigh, her focus unshakeable. Callum stays silent nearby, his presence strangely reassuring as he watches.

And once her nanites had sufficiently ran thousands of microstitches across each bullet hole, they cinched the threads and closed the holes tightly. Claired groaned with pain, though it came in dull waves and abated quickly. Mostly thanks to her numbed receptors. “Hold on,” said Amal. “It isn’t quite over yet. It’ll be quick though, I promise.” Amal’s nanites went into the next phase, and swarmed around where her skin and muscles were split and torn. Though she had sewn them closed, there were still open gaps where the blood could easily spill out. They covered each of these gaps with as many biocells as they had left, then each of them vibrated with supersonic speed and superheated themselv