Bump On Skin Filled With Blood Novels & Stories

Purple and ugly, painting across her skin like fingerprints I want to break. My blood boils. My jaw clenches. “Who the fuck did that to you?”

Huge. Thick, veiny shaft that curved slightly upward, the length easily nine inches or more, pulsing visibly with every heartbeat. The head was fat and flushed a deep, glistening pink—swollen, slick already with pre-cum, the slit weeping for me. It looked almost obscene how perfect it was: heavy, ridged with veins that stood out under the skin, promising to stretch me until I couldn’t breathe.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE — The Board Meeting POV: Elena Voss The bruise had violently darkened overnight. By morning, Marcus's fingerprints had become an unmistakable anatomical map—five distinct marks curving around the delicate inside of my upper arm, blooming in deep, aggressive shades of violet and necrotic blue beneath the skin. I stood in front of the bathroom mirror studying the marks with the detached, sterile curiosity of a physician. Contusion. Soft tissue trauma. No fracture, no nerve damage. Clinically speaking, it was a simple, superficial injury. Emotionally, it was a lethal weapon.

My breathing grows heavier as the images reappear. Aerin’s hands on her waist. His mouth near her ear. My vision flashes gold. A low growl tears from my throat before I can stop it. Then my back burns. “Ahh!” I staggered to my feet and ripped my shirt off turning to the large mirror. Black veins have spread from where the Hollowed Vale vine had pierced me when Elara was pulling me out. I touched it and it pulsed. The edges look darker and thicker now. “What is this?” I whispered as I looked at the thing beneath my skin pushing outward.

My vision blurs for a second, and I just stay there, stunned. I press my hand to my nose. Blood. It’s already running, warm and thick, slipping over my fingers. It hurts like hell when I touch it. I grit my teeth and partially shift, letting the change move through me just enough to fix the damage. The bones settle. The skin pulls back together. The pain eases slowly, fading into a dull ache that lingers behind. I wipe the blood on the hem of my shirt, smearing it without thinking, just wanting it gone.

Each extraction was brutal, a little surgery on living flesh, Blood—thicker and darker—welled up in the neat holes punctured into his collarbone and ribs. It pooled in the hollows, dark and thick, staining the whiteness of his skin and the cold surface beneath him. Don’s agonized sounds, a guttural growl mixed with muffled shouts, filled the room, echoing off the sterile walls like a grim symphony. “Grr, Grr, Grr,” he rasped, voice strained and trembling, as if fighting against an unseen force clawing him from within.

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 teeth were clenched so tightly that a thin trickle of dark blood began to leak from the corner of his jaw, dripping onto the yellowed pages of the master register below him. Beneath his skin, the permanent silver veins were no longer just etching lines—they were waking up. The jagged, lightning-like tracks that had lived beneath his collarbone began to rise, bulging against his flesh like thick, iron wires trying to burst through a leather casing. The light radiating from his chest shifted from a faint, latent violet into a blinding, volatile silver that cast sharp, skeletal outlines of his ribs directly through his clothing.

His breathing grew rapid and uneven, and he muttered to himself, "I'm burning… Hot… So hot…" He started pulling at his clothes violently. The tight gym shorts stretched over his muscles tore with a loud rip. He seemed unaware, just scratching at his chest until thin lines of blood appeared. His skin turned an alarming shade of red, like a boiled shrimp, veins throbbing visibly beneath the surface. His eyes, which had once been fairly clear, were now bloodshot in shocking deep red. His pupils were unfocused, staring into nothing. His gaze was reminiscent of a beast with nothing but hunger.

Blood. Looking down, the skin around my wound was red and inflamed. The actual rune marks themselves looked damn near festering. It hurt like hell and I groaned. Pressing my hand against it, I let out a roar as it shook me. There was no way this was how it was supposed to be. Something was wrong with the magic.