Blazing Stitches นิยาย & เรื่องราว

Cassidy screamed in despair and struggled desperately. But in the end, Zayn pinned her down on the operating table with brute force. "Now, it's time for you to repay your debt to your sister. Don't worry. Kidney and liver extractions don't hurt at all. When Cadence did it, she never cried out in pain—not even once." Cassidy could no longer process his words. She only knew that Zayn had gone mad, but she couldn't fight him off. She could only watch in horror as he raised the scalpel over her.

And right now, that was all that mattered. Ben helped me over to one of the chairs, his hands gentle but firm as he eased me down. I gritted my teeth against the pain, trying to keep my breathing steady as he knelt beside me, inspecting the wound. "You're lucky," he said, pulling out the small first aid kit we’d managed to scavenge from Eagle’s Nest. "It's not deep, but you've lost a lot of blood. You’re going to need stitches." "Great..." I muttered, my voice tight with pain. "Like I didn’t have enough to worry about."

Instinctively, she rolled, patting the fire in the hope of extinguishing it while shouting at the top of her lungs. Hail clenched his fist; the flame vanished. “I told you not to blink!” “What? What t-the hell was that—was that for?” She remained on the ground, distracting herself with the clouds because the first-degree burn he inflected her with was throbbing so badly it’s making her sick. “This is the kind of training you need, Blame. If you can ace this, you’ll stop collapsing from Shraine.” Rolling her eyes, Z snorted. “Yeah right, it will, only I’d end up dead even before I achieve it.”

Not now. Satisfied that nothing is out of place, I step back inside the cabin. She's still where I left her. I remove the makeshift bandage from her throat. She has a deep laceration on the right side, slicing open the delicate skin and exposing her muscle. Now that the bleeding has subsided, I can stitch the skin together. I knit the flesh as best I can with the needle Cassie gave me for repairing tears in my clothing, my stitches tighter than necessary. I hope it holds.

"I'm good. The stitching shouldn't be too bad. Just get it done. I want to get off this granite slab." Raphael nodded. He got the suture kit out, laid it out just so. Before he got started, he wiped away all the blood off his brother's leg. Switched into a clean pair of gloves. "Don't move your leg. I like my stitches neat," Raphael declared, a threaded needle poised over Massimo's leg. Massimo nodded. "Just make it fast." Raphael nodded, took the first stitch. I had to look away at that point. I didn't mind cutting into flesh, but the whole needle thing threw me off. Made my belly twist and turn.

All this time, my eyes laid on the gun in his hand. The sound of my dress tearing apart snapped me out of my thoughts. My head hung low, spotting the front portion completely teared apart, my stomach was facing the cold air of this room. Tears pricked from the corner of my eyes, not in pain but in fear of watching my threat, becoming true. Azrael smirked, watching the fear growing my eyes. My breathing staggered when his fingers caressed over my stomach, whispering something dramatically, " 3 stitches from C-section. I think, this evidence can never vanish."

Precise. The second faster. By the third, her body had taken over. Motion. Instinct. Steel slicing through air in clean arcs. She focused on the rhythm. On the feel of the blade. On anything that wasn’t the storm in her head. Faster. Harder. Again. Again. Again. Her breathing grew heavier, but she didn’t stop. Didn’t want to. Because the moment she did… She’d start thinking again. And she wasn’t sure she could handle that right now.

It burned like fire. She screamed, her body jerking. The thread pulled tight, each stitch a fresh stab. Tears streamed down her face, mixing with blood and water. Her head pounded, waves of hurt crashing over her. She bit her lip to stop the cries, but sobs escaped anyway. The doctor worked fast, no words of comfort. Ten stitches, maybe more. Each one felt like it tore her apart inside.

Whatever you do, do NOT pass out! Squeezing the jagged cut together the best I can with one trembling hand while trying to adhere the butterfly stitch proves to be nearly impossible and agonizing. Sweat beads across my brow as I carefully placed the last strip of a butterfly stitch over the seam of the bloody wound. It's still bleeding a little, but no longer gaping open on the side of my arm.

My lips are swollen, slick with spit and him, and my throat burns like it’s been scoured raw. Only when I taste the salt of my own tears on my lips do I realize I’ve been crying the whole time, silent and helpless, like a doll forced into obedience. But Blaze isn’t finished with me. “Your hands now,” he orders calmly as though he’s simply giving me instructions in table manners. His large hand wraps around mine, guiding my trembling fingers to his length, slick with my spit. It’s still hard and still pulsing. “Grip tighter,” he murmurs, moving me like I’m nothing but an extension of his own body. “Not too much. Firm pressure. Stroke slow…yes. Like this.”