Pockets Of Blood Under Skin の小説・ストーリー

“Where?” “In the square. She was walking like she owned the village guards beside her, chin high, the usual.” He waited, sensing there was more. And there was. “She looked… off.” I swallowed. “Her skin was pale. Not cold-pale. Sick-pale. But not sick in a normal way, either. And—her hand…” I trailed off, trying to find the words. Lykan stepped closer. “What about her hand?” “There were veins,” I said finally. “Dark. Twisting. Like ink under her skin. Faint, but… spreading.”

Rotten flesh. It was so thick, I paused to cover my nose with my arm. Ian pushed the door open and the smell doubled, I braced myself, but nothing could have prepared me for what I saw. Wolves lay on the floor in twisted heaps. Their skin was gray, their eyes clouded, black veins crawling under the surface as though poison itself ran through their blood.

He halted on his steps as he drew closer and the extent of damage became much more visible. Deep inflamed gash oozing both blood and pus from his exposed peeled skin. The skin on the right side of his upper body had been peeled upward, some of which were covered with bandages. The putrid stench of exposed meat had already summoned a horde of buzzing flies, burrowing under his skin every time it rose and fell with his uneven breathing.

"Check your chest. Now." My hand flew to my sternum before I was even fully awake. I sucked in a breath. It rattled like a bag of dry gravel. The brand—the jagged 'X'—didn't just glow anymore. The skin around it had turned a sick, necrotic purple. Black veins branched out from the center, crawling toward my collarbone like ink dropped in water. It pulsed. A low, wet throb that made my vision swim with static.

The back is almost entirely open, the lace framing bare skin all the way down to the base of the spine. My mother draws a breath. Maeve Callahan says, quietly, from her armchair: "that's the one." Siobhan makes a sound that is approximately "I knew it" in a single syllable. I put it on. I stand in front of the mirror for a long time. %e lace is intricate and dark, the red so deep it reads almost as a threat in certain light. The train pools behind me. The back is bare in a way I've never allowed myself to be in public — not because I was ashamed, but because I was

"Come on, Harlan. We are on the same team. If something is wrong with you, I need to know. Is it drugs? Some kind of medical condition?" Kane let out a short laugh with no humor in it. "Not drugs. Not a condition. Just leave me alone." "You almost shifted or something on the ice," Elias pressed, voice low. "I saw claws starting to come out. Do not tell me that was nothing." Kane stepped around him. "You are imagining things, Voss. Game is over. Go celebrate with the guys." Elias followed him toward the door. "I know what I saw. Your ribs right now. Let me see how they look."

I placed one hand on the mid column of my neck trying to stop the uncomfortable feeling. I looked at my reflection on the mirror of the dresser opposite to my bed. My skin turned paler than a white paper. Blue veins were prominent . My irises were deep crimson red. My canines extended not in wolf teeth but vampire's. It had been a long time since I had blood.

Sweet fuck, let this be over soon. Her left leg pushed into my hip. Shit. Her other leg. Not to mention the backs of her legs. I was going to implode. Or die. Can someone die from blue balls? Is that a thing? It had started out fine. Very platonic. I could feel the fluid sitting just beneath her skin. Felt it move out of the way under the light force of my hands. Her skin was losing that puffiness that accompanied the purple and blue colors. At least in her lower legs. Her ankles looked almost normal now.

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’ve died! This? This is nothing. I braced my hands against the dresser and lifted my head slowly. For a moment, everything looked normal in the mirror. I have the same face, skin and the mark is sitting too prettily sround my neck like a cruel joke I used to adore. Then I leaned closer and mmy breath caught. It was right there though so faint that I would have missed it if I wasn’t searching for the source of burning pain on my skin. There are thin black lines that curled just beneath the skin at the base of the mark like veins but too dark. As though something was spreading quietly where it shouldn’t be.