Novel & Cerita Broken Blood Vessels On Shoulders After Working Out

The skin across my right shoulder is black, blue, and painted in dried, crimson blood where the rogue's iron weapon struck me. My breath comes in short, ragged gasps. I dip a wooden swab into the thick ointment and reach over my left shoulder, trying desperately to smear the cooling salve over the jagged wound. But the angle is impossible. Every slight shift of my torso sends blinding spikes of agony through my collarbone, making my left arm shake so violently I drop the swab onto the stone floor. I grit my teeth, tears of sheer frustration spilling over my lashes as I try again, but my hand cannot reach the center of the injury. Sweating heavily, panting from the pain, I lean my head agains

My shoulder begs for my attention, so finally, I go to the downstairs bathroom, shed my shirt, and look at myself in the mirror. The white tank top underneath my button-down drips red. Seb’s blood, mine, Ben’s, Andrea’s, more Russians than I can count. My shoulder oozes a fine crust of the stuff over a deep flesh wound. The bullet didn’t stick in my arm, but it looks like somebody bored a gouge from my flesh with a fat, permanent marker.

His breathing shallow. “Daniel, stay here,” I instructed. “I need space to work.” Daniel nodded, retreating to the side, his expression unreadable but tense. I leaned over him, examining his bruises, noting the swelling. “We need to stabilize the shoulder first,” I murmured, my voice calm but urgent. My hands moved with practiced precision, wrapping the arm gently to minimize movement and reduce swelling. I applied a cold compress, my fingers brushing against the hard planes of muscle.

Tying my hair in a ponytail, I headed to the bathroom to wash up but the moment I saw my reflection on the mirror, my feet were rooted on the floor, and my eyes were glued on the dark marks on my right shoulder blade. No, no, how could these marks be here? To get a closer look and to make sure that I was not imagining things, I stepped closer to the mirror. The black marks seemed to resemble tiny veins branching out. It seemed to have started behind my neck and it stopped right on the middle of my shoulder. Could it be poison from the scratch I got yesterday? But if it was poison, I should have at least felt something was wrong in my body but I felt completely normal.

When his eyes landed on me, the red in their dark depths seemed to flare. "Morning," I greeted. "Morning," I returned the gesture. "Let's begin with some warm-ups." By the time we are done with the 'warm up', I am panting that sweat as though I had just run an entire marathon. My side throbs and I feel a headache coming on. "Your form has been somewhat satisfactory, but we'll work on that as you train more." Then out of nowhere he swung at me, barely had any time to react, and I was hit right on the shoulder. I fell back, hard with a pained grunt, my shoulder in agony.

His white shirt clung to his skin, betraying all the hard lines of his lean, muscled torso. She was taken aback when she saw that his shoulders and arms were bleeding, staining the wet fabric of his shirt crimson.

That’s when I feel a rush of wind on my left followed by a sharp prick in my shoulder. Looking back at my own body, I see a red dart sticking out of my upper arm. “What the fuuuu–” Everything goes black.

So in one go, I push against my shoulder, popping it back into place. The pain that attacks my body after that makes my vision go white for a second. I growl deep in my throat, trying not to scream as it starts to peak. But eventually, it subsides. I tested my shoulder and my arm, and much to my relief, it's working now. Even though it's still stiff and painful. With that, I turn my focus to Carlos.

He must have just gotten back from the gym. His chest rose and fell a little too hard, as he had just come from a fight or started one. Rivulets of sweat traced the sharp lines of his collarbone, his arms, his forearms… and then I saw his wrists. Blood which was still dark, trickled slowly down the insides of his arms. For someone who healed almost instantly, that much damage meant he had been tearing into something or someone very recently. I pushed myself up on my elbows, with my throat suddenly dry.

His thumb gently shifted my cloth to move the fabric away from my neck and shoulder, allowing him to see the redness very well. His face hardened instantly, every ounce of exhaustion draining away. "Rhea," he asked, his voice low and dangerously quiet. "What happened to your shoulder? Why is your arm and shoulder so red?”