Blue Veins In Palm Of Hand Novels & Stories

I just want to hold my baby and melt into that rich pine, earth scent like his father’s. “I’ll get him later,” I said, heading for the bathroom. I closed the door behind me, leaning against it for a moment before I stalked to the sink and took a good look at my arm. I unwrapped the bandage and my stomach dropped. The veins around it were much darker now and it wasn’t spreading upwards. It was spreading to my wrists. “No…” My fingers trembled as I touched it lightly and it burned. Astra’s words echoed in my mind.

POV: Elena The blue vapor didn't just smell like ozone; it felt like needles of dry ice being driven into my sinuses. As the mist coiled around the Grounding Stone, the deep, rhythmic thudding of the earth’s heart began to falter, replaced by a high-pitched, metallic whine that made my teeth ache. The red veins in my arms pulsed frantically, the energy I had pulled from the soil now backing up in my system like a river hitting a dam.

When I turned away, I looked up at Elijah, who was looking at me with great concern . "Is everything okay?" I asked, my brows drawn. He wasn't looking into my eyes, or even at my lips. But on my skin. "Ky…" he whispered, and reached for my hand, "your.. Your arms." I looked down and had to bite back a scream. "What the hell?" I muttered as I stared at my arm. Black thin veins, webbed across my skin like cracks of ink. They ran up my forearms, curling over the back of my hands, disappearing under my sleeves and reappearing at my collarbone.

Alpha Stephan held onto his shoulders, “She cannot die, do you hear me?” As I looked at Lord Stepahn, something weird happened, I felt something pulsing, something calling out to me from within him. He stiffened and looked at me, it was as if he felt it too. He looked at his veins, they were dangerously red and engorged, almost as if they wanted to burst out of his body. “My blood,” he gasped. “What?” Sir Claude sounded confused. “My blood,” his eyes narrowed as he kept staring at his veins as they spread out across both of his hands, all of them coming to the surface and pulsing with a light red color.

So why am I feeling so drained, and why does my arm throb? I pull up the soaked sleeve to inspect the area that is giving me issues and gasp out loud when I see not just a mass of dark bruising, but my veins are a deep hue of purple and angry looking. My throat goes dry when I see a small hole, no bigger than a needle, but bright red, sitting in the center of the bruising and discolored veins. What did they do to me? It’s the logical question, the only one that comes to mind. They, whoever it was that attacked me, must have caused this.

I wiped the tears from my eyes with a furious hand, staring down at my wrist. I touched the soft skin with my fingertips, tracing the cobalt veins beneath. There was no festering wound, that ached it oozed dark blood, nor a scarlet sickle etched into my skin.

His palm was warm, large, and firm, fingers tightening around my skin as if he could easily twist my arm if he wished. “What are you doing?” he demanded. “You're hurting me,” I said coldly, trying to pull back slightly. “I need to make sure you don't see me.” His voice dropped deeper. “Why can't I—ugh!” He winced suddenly, releasing my wrist as his hand shot toward his shoulder. His nails dug into the muscle as pain tore through him. Under the faint moonlight, I could see the ugly discoloration spreading across his arm, blue veins darkening into black beneath his skin.

The pain came without warning. Not the dull pulse I’d gotten used to, the low constant reminder that the curse was there and moving. This was different. This was every nerve in my left arm lighting up at once, a white hot thing that started at my wrist and drove straight up to my shoulder, and I knocked the report off the desk getting my sleeve up. The veins had crossed my elbow. I sat very still and breathed through it, both hands flat on the desk, watching the black lines pulse visibly under my skin. Moving. I could actually see them moving, slow and deliberate, branching.

He holds out his hand, grasping the other man’s in a friendly, peacekeeping shake that lasts less than a second. “Careful, buddy. Looks like you hurt yourself.” The man lifts his arm, puzzled to find thick red blood streaming down his pale flesh, past his wrists and into the sleeve of his suit. He seems to be unable to grasp what just happened, and I don’t blame him, because neither can I— at least, until I notice the two vertical cuts slicing his wrist. They are claw shaped. Deep. And they run parallel to the long vein in his inner arm. In fact, they barely missed it.

"I just... I said no." "It's okay," I soothed, reaching for her hands to pull her up. Then I stopped. Her hands were glowing. Not a reflection of the streetlights. A true, bioluminescent glow coming from beneath her skin. Veins of liquid gold pulsed up her wrists, disappearing under her sleeves. The air around her fingers shimmered with heat. "Tate," Daxon breathed, dropping his machete. He walked closer, his eyes locked on her hands. "What is that?"