Open Wounds Book Novels & Stories

“Your wound needs to be properly disinfected. It seems like you were stabbed with a silver knife, since you aren’t healing at all.” I was somehow glad at that point that I was stabbed with a silver knife. If it were a normal knife, how would I explain my wound not healing as it should? I looked around and saw the wolves with one gnash or wound or the other, just wiping their body with towels. Their wound disappeared. I was so jealous of them. I knew I’d be limping around for a few days. “You can just cut around the wound and disinfect it,” I said, locking my eyes with hers. She was quite pretty.

Maybe due to his memories even during the time when he was born affected it. His body is sweating and his lips letting out small groans from the pain. His wound keeps on bleeding which worries me and that means I must give him stitches. His cut is too open to be able to heal without it and might even call for more infection. I looked for a suturing kit in the first aid kit and luckily there is one. I sterilized the needle and thread with the provided alcohol wipes. I cleaned his wound with a towel soaked with water. I put on the latex gloves and closed his wounds stitch by stitch. After finishing, I wrapped it with gauze to avoid any more infection.

“That makes no sense.” The deeper we get into this outbreak, the stranger it becomes. I push inside room seven. The patient is pale beneath dark skin, breathing hard, sweat soaking through the sheets. His mate stands beside him, crying quietly. “He was healing fine yesterday,” she says immediately when she sees me. “The wound closed, and then this morning it reopened.” I freeze. Reopened? “What wound?” I ask, pulling on gloves. She pulls the blanket down slightly, and I see claw marks stretch across his abdomen.

The antiseptic in open wounds burned like fire. I worked methodically, cleaning each injury with careful precision. My fingers traced the edges of cuts, pressed gauze to deeper wounds, smoothed bandages over the worst of the damage. With each touch, I became hyperaware of the warmth of his skin beneath my fingertips, the way his muscles shifted with each breath.

Owen coldly said as we stopped in the pharmacy to buy some betadine, alcohol, cotton and band-aids. We sat on the bench as he cleaned the wound on my cheeks, my knuckles and on my cheeks, then right after he cleaned it with alcohol, he put the betadine on the cotton then gently tapped it on my wounded area before he put the band-aids. "It's done. It doesn't hurt, right?" Owen looked at me with worry. I smiled at him with assurance and nodded my head. "I'm fine. Now let's go back. Otherwise, my brother might leave, or those people would use their chance to enter our apartment."

He couldn't let her slip away from him like this. The wound on Liam's side was a vicious gash, oozing blood and surrounded by angry, inflamed skin. The jagged edges of the wound were puckered and angry, as if the flesh was rebelling against the injury. Blood continued to seep from the wound, creating a dark pool on the snowy ground beneath him.

He closed his eyes with the pain and when he opened them again, the sight of the dog met him. The dog came to him and healed the small joint injuries that were still left from the time the Guards took him. The injuries they inflicted were permanent, which no one could heal. He felt relieved, but then looked at a book. This was a unique book, not like the one he had seen before. It did not have the names of both of them. It only showed his name. This book was about him.

In three quick strides, she crossed the room and found herself in his arms, her face pressed against his chest where she could hear the steady rhythm of his heart. "I thought I'd lost you," she whispered against the expensive fabric of his shirt, now torn and bloodstained. Alex's arms tightened around her, one hand cradling the back of her head with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the dangerous world outside. "They'll have to try harder than that," he murmured into her hair. When she finally pulled back to examine his wound, her fingers brushed against his skin with professional efficiency that belied the electricity of her touch. "This needs proper medical attention."

“Your wound is not healing.” “No one’s wounds have healed the way they’re supposed to.” He pushes his wrist forward for all to see the deep bloody cut. “This should have closed up at the very least halfway by now, but it’s still there and as painful as ever.” I’m still cradling my arm to my side, but something nags me at the back of my mind. Around us, makeshift beds are being set up and I can see strong men and women lifting the severely wounded onto them, as those with less serious injuries such as me take chairs.

Booke was in sheets up to under his armpits, due to the wounds he had on his arm thanks to the scratches Danielle had given him. He even had bandages on one of his hands because some of his fingers had been fractured from the blows, he'd given Danielle to her face.