Blazing Stitches Novels & Stories

Within a blink, the rogue lunged at her and bit her shoulder. Triana wailed in pain. Blaze’s heart dropped to the pit of his stomach when he heard her whine. He glanced back and saw a rogue on her top, biting her shoulder. He turned to rush to her, shoving the rogue he was about to kill down. Two rogues hurried up to him and stood in his way. Blaze scrunched his snout, displaying his sharp incisors. In a blink, he punched one in the sternum and kicked down the other. His movement was so fast that the two rogues didn’t get time to block the blow.

The pain felt like a hot, sharp knife, covered in salt, slicing through his skin and into his muscles and bones, as though his stomach had been frozen and a bolt of lightning had struck his body from head to toe. Lilith jerked in pain when she felt those three thrusts into his stomach. It filled Lilith with an agonizing pain that tore through her upon realizing that Blaze must be feeling tenfold of what she was feeling right now. Watching from the window, Raine gave an involuntary shudder when Blaze let out a wild howl, a sound that shocked her attention away from Lilith. Blaze was badly injured. “Please, let me go out.” Lilith teared up as she tried to unclasp Raine’s fingers from around he

Blair pleads. “Then let’s hope for her sake that she speaks the truth.” “Where are you taking me?” Blair asks as Damien marches her across the grounds. Thankfully it was quiet but she still got a few stares. It wouldn’t be long until everyone knew she was here. Damien pushes her onto the chair and reties her wrists to the wooden arms. Her breathing is heavy and she screws her face up while twisting to one side. “What’s wrong with you?” “It’s called a stitch.” She mutters. “Sammie said it’s part of being Human.”

I abandon the stash collection of numerous zigzagged bladed twin daggers I was gawking at and begin heading towards her. Sometimes, I get too lost in my head whenever I am talking about weapons. When I reach her, she points at the array of a few oddly shaped, bogus fat guns before us that I have never seen before. They are just five. Their barrels have very transparent curved channels that look like empty see-through water pipes, transversing all way from the mouth of their barrels throughout the rest of their bodies. “What are these?” I ask, lifting my hands to touch them. “They do not have a name yet, but I love calling them the ‘Blitz’ because of the swift balls of molten silver they can

He sounds tense at the prospect. “But, you need stitches.” I insist. Sebastian shakes his head adamantly. “I can sew it myself.” Astounded by his suggestion, I shake my head. “No, I’ll do it. Just give me a minute.” Sebastian gives me an imperceptible nod, never taking his eyes off me while I gather all the necessary materials. Thankfully, he leads me through the process as I sew up the five-inch gash. Sebastian doesn’t even flinch.

"Two more to go." I worked continuously for three long, agonizing hours, cleaning the deep gashes, stitching the torn muscle with silk thread, and boiling fresh bandages to wrap tightly around his broad torso. By the time the last needle had been pulled through his skin, the storm outside had settled into a steady, quiet drizzle against the tall glass windows.

It hurt the most. It wasn't too bad. I could have been a pincushion, but thankfully phasers were notoriously terrible to aim. I sandwiched the smoking paper between my lips, inhaling the numbing herb inside as I disinfected the raw, angry skin. It wasn't bleeding as bad as the ones on my arms, but it still hurt like a bitch. I used the sterile, self-healing thread to stitch the gash closed. It wasn't as effective as the sealant, but it was a better option when the skin wasn't completely scorched like it was last time. Then I slapped a bandage on it and called it a night.

Blaze cried out as he was tossed around like a trash bag. Blaze fought against the sheer force of Alessia's attacks, but it was like struggling against a hurricane. He was thrown around like a rag doll, defenseless against her relentless strength. His pleas for help and mercy were drowned out by the deafening roar of Alessia's madness, and she remained unresponsive to his agony.

“Do you want him to live?” Camela took too long to respond. The Bride lowered her voice. “Because if you do…the stitches must be in place before the next moonrise.” “Stitches?” Camela's voice trembled. The Bride pointed at the mannequin. “The dress is stitched with threads pulled from promises, and you, my dear, have made quite a few of those.” Camela felt a tightness in her chest again, as the intense heat from the seal within her pulsed hard, almost painfully.

Blood spurted out, warm and frantic. He screamed, thrashing, but the ropes bit into his ankles and held him firm. I dropped the blade and turned to the table. I picked the needle and thick black thread dangling from its point. I didn't wait for him to stop crying. The stitches were rough and piercing into his skin, I yanked it together without care. He whimpered with each pull, his body twitching. “You won’t bleed out,” I said quietly. “But you’ll wish you had.” “This is how it's going to be, I'm going to almost kill you, them make sure you live for another round of torture.”