Old Wounds Novels & Stories

Something that looked like hunger given form. It had no eyes. No mouth. No face. Just a shape. A shape that wanted. Sol stepped forward. That is the first wolf's oldest wound, Sol said. The wound that never healed. The wound that the first wolf carried into death. Luan's claws extended. Can we kill it? Sol shook its head. You cannot kill a wound. You can only heal it. The creature took a step toward the valley. The ground cracked beneath its weight. Trees splintered. The river boiled.

I'd dragged the wide chair out from the receiving room and positioned it in the compound where the weak sun actually reached, and Olive had followed without being asked, pulling a low stool behind her, and now she sat with her back to me while I worked the ointment carefully across her wounds. They were healing. Slowly, unevenly, the deep ones still angry and raised, but the bleeding had stopped and Marta's ointment was doing what it was supposed to do. I worked it in with two fingers the way Marta had shown me, careful around the worst of them, and Olive sat with her spine straight and her hands folded in her lap and occasionally made a sound she immediately swallowed. "Tell me when it's to

It's almost like a 7-year curse, the first replied. We can only hope they make it past it and break whatever 'curse' you're talking about. The first anchor scoffed. You don't think it exists? How about you take a look at this? The cracks are already forming, you're just too blindsided to see it. She motioned to the giant screen behind her. The video that was played showed the fight that happened at the anniversary party. It seemed like an attendee took it, and the slap resounded a couple of times, like it was put on repeat.

"Theo's ointment is working wonders. The wounds are healing much faster than expected." Wendy chuckled. "Ever since your divorce, Theo has been far more thoughtful. He even came by yesterday to bring you more ointment." Something flickered in Sharon's eyes. She reached into her bag, took out the ointment, and offered it to Thomas. "Thomas, this works really well. Want to give it a try?" Thomas glanced at the ointment in her hand. "Alright." His worst injuries were to his arm; the rest were internal, which only time could mend.

He knew I was going to come. I felt so hurt and used but there wasn't much I could do, the pain in my stomach grew even more. Making me forget the embarrassment. I peeled my clothes off my body and noticed deep claw marks on my stomach. They weren't healing for some reason and that caused the pain. 'Were they getting infected?' I wondered. It was too early for the wound to get infected. It was supposed to heal. "V?" I called out to my wolf, why wasn't she healing?

Oliver was so disappointed in his parents that he walked away, leaving the two to dance happily on the money from someone who caused their daughter pain. Olivia was still lying on the bed. Her fever had broken but then her wounds were healing little by little. Omegas have little strength so their healing power is not as fast as other wolf's and again her body was so weak. She just wished she had died from everything that happened. Then she wouldn't have the eyes to face the shame that is awaiting her when she gets out of sick bed.

I could feel my body ache, but being awake made me feel better. After all, reliving countless bad memories from my childhood just puts me in a bad mood. I let out a sigh and ran my hand through my hair, feeling the tangled strands. What is Olivia doing now? I sat on the bed, feeling my belly slightly burn, at least it was almost healed. My eyes wandered around the room, noticing the emptiness. I could still smell her presence there. I got up, only then realizing I was wearing my sweatpants, and the wound was covered with a bandage. She couldn't help but smile; she had done that even though she didn't need to.

I felt like an exhausted older woman dealing with an arrogant teenager. I walked inside my room and quickly changed into comfortable, normal clothes. I really did have to go. When werewolves fight each other, their claws and fangs leave special wounds that cannot heal on their own. Without a healer to use pack medicine, a werewolf will suffer from the open wound for days, just like a fragile human. A few minutes later, I was sitting on the wooden benches at the training ground. I watched Caius easily dodge and fight the huge Betas and Gammas in the dirt.

The guard next. He is a bigger man, older, with the weathered face of someone who has spent years outdoors and the specific frustration of someone whose body has been failing at something it should be able to do. The wound closed wrong and is infected in a way that resists the physician's treatments, and his thread reflects it — the knot I saw from the doorway is tight and hot and angry.

As soon as he left, silence engulfed the ward immediately. With the absence of Elior White’s voice, the hospital at night carried an odd kind of silence, actually. This was a completely different silence than when he spent his time alone at home late at night. Sean Stewart grabbed a high-back chair and sat by the sickbed. His vision fell on her forehead. The wound which she covered with a band-aid and her bangs earlier was eventually exposed to him. Elior White told him that this wound was a fresh wound layered upon an old one. The fresh wound had only appeared in the last few days, whereas the old wound was already there for some time now.