His Wounded Bird Novels & Stories

He was just standing in the sunlight, and Ravi squinted as he saw something gleaming in the man's hand. Ravi focused his vision further to ensure that the object the man held wasn't what he thought it was. The man's hand moved, still gazing, and Ravi's eyes widened when he could see clearly. Ravi froze, subconsciously gripping Raymond's wrist tightly. He saw a shimmering sword smeared with red liquid that was undoubtedly blood. But it didn't end there. Ravi froze further without realizing it, tightening his hold on Raymond's wrist as he observed the man's wings, which were white and almost identical to Raymond's. The wings flapped, and he flew away somewhere.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••• Journal entry 101 You showed up again today. The usual routine you climb up the stairs of the same unfinished building that is right across our house and you sit on the edge of the building. I get to see you every day for an hour and a half before you take off in your black Jeep. Most times you just sit and stare into space, thinking I guess. Sometimes you come to dress your wounds, and l wonder what causes them. They are not just minor wounds, they look deep and you wince every time you dress them.

The enchanted blade cut through the dark magic infusing the birds, causing them to burst into clouds of black smoke as they perished. Despite her swift actions, the sheer number of birds was overwhelming. They attacked relentlessly from all sides, clawing at her arms and face, trying to wear her down. Blood dripped from small cuts, but Lara’s resolve never wavered. She fought back fiercely, spinning and slashing, each stroke of her dagger taking down more of the enchanted flock.

“I’ll probably start something of my own. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you posted.” Turns out, years of being Silas’s behind-the-scenes fixer had its perks. Maybe I could start my own thing. Maybe I’d even become a little mafia boss myself. The thought made me laugh quietly as I strolled down the street—until pain ripped through my side, sharp and blinding. I froze. Pulled back my jacket. Blood. A thick, dark bloom seeping through the bandage on my abdomen. The wound had probably reopened after Amy shoved me in the bathroom. And I remembered what the doctor told me before I left, “If you see any bleeding, you need to come back immediately. There’s a risk of infection.”

I felt a shudder of horror envelop me. — Scooot!—I screamed in horror. The earth and sky suddenly spun. I didn't understand when we fell together. — Carolianna!— I felt Scott shaking me. — We still fell...—I caught his hand in mine.—You're too reckless. Need... Oh, Scott!Your wing!— I showed him the wound. — It's okay, it's going to be like new!—Scott ran his hand over the wing. The blood from the wound began to evaporate, the feathers that were smeared or otherwise spoiled in it fell to the ground and smoldered.

"The genetic therapy research." "Apparently, I was patient zero." Sonia's hand found his, fingers weaving in silent support. The touch grounded him, a lifeline in the churning sea of revelations. Across the boathouse, Geneva had helped James to a wooden bench and was examining his wound with clinical efficiency. "It's a through-and-through," she announced. "You'll live, though you might wish otherwise when Carlos finds you." James frowned. "He already tried to have me killed once today. I doubt a second attempt would surprise anyone."

I glanced down and saw white bandages covering parts of my body. “Bird wounds weren’t healing right.” At the sound of Jude’s voice I looked up. My mouth went dry. He was leaning against the wall of my bedroom, his fists jammed in his pockets. An indolent smile unfurled across his face as he caught me staring. Thankfully, he didn’t comment. “There was some kind of poison in their beaks, but the salve I made is mitigating it just fine. You’ll be sore, but you’ll heal.” “Thank you, doctor.” I clamped my lips shut, but it was too late. Stop with the bantering, Ophelia. You aren’t here to fucking forgive them. My voice lost its warmth. “My father had nothing to do with this.”

The guards yelling at me to get on the ground. The card slipping from his fingers into my trembling grasp as I forced myself to stand. The keypad glowing beneath my bloodstained hands, the hiss of the door unlocking. The gunshot that ripped through my shoulder, pain blinding and immediate. The growls—low and guttural—as wolves surged into the space, ripping through the guards like shadows come to life. I fell again, collapsing over Riley as my body gave out. My fingers found his, intertwining with his limp ones.

Something in me ached at the sight of it, an old instinct from years spent tending wounded creatures back in Mooncrest. "What do I do?" I asked. "What you did with the stable hand," Mira said gently. "Focus on the injury. Want it healed, the way you wanted his hand healed without even fully realizing you were doing it." I lifted the bird carefully into my cupped palms, its heartbeat frantic and fragile beneath my fingers, and let myself focus entirely on its bent, broken wing. Warmth gathered low in my palms almost immediately, faint and golden, spreading outward the same way it had in the healer's house days ago. The bird's frantic heartbeat slowed slightly, breathing evening out as the war

"It was a drive-by shooting. I was in the way, but he pushed me away and took the bullet instead." Afrah wanted to reach out and touch him. She wanted to console him, and make the pain she saw in his eyes go away. But her hands refused to move. The sight of Adnan in pain twisted her heart painfully. He was so broken, a shadow of his former self. Gone was the confident, cool, calm and collected man she'd known. In his stead was a stranger, lost and afraid.