Scraped Knuckles Novels & Stories

The scratch on my back painfully pressed into the grass underneath me and my hands came up to try and push him off. "Get off of me!" I yelled, my physicality and tone of voice screamed desperation as I attempted to remove the naked man from on top of me. I punched his chest as hard as I could which caused a grunt to leave his mouth, unfortunately it also forced my fist to snap out of place. A small cry left me as I realized I'd just dislocated my knuckle punching him.

I tried to control my jelly legs but he must have noticed my unstableness because he smiled knowingly. He was completely naked in front of me, and it was incredibly distracting and attractive at the same time as he walked off to the bathroom. *** I squeezed his hand and once more, I was aware of the prominent bruises on his knuckles. I realized now that when I briefly noticed them last night, I had completely disregarded the deep cuts also engraved in his fingers, forming deep red scabs. Jesus, I thought.

Likewise, Knuckles grunted as another palm strike drove into his ribs, forcing a step back. Someone near the railing scoffed. “He’s letting the bastard tire himself out. Watch.” “Doesn’t look tired to me,” another replied. Below us, Misha pivoted low and drove his knee up toward Knuckles’ gut, followed immediately by a snap of his elbow toward the throat. The sequence was so fast, it almost didn’t look real. Vincent let out a soft, thoughtful exhale beside me. “Huh.” Knuckles took it all. Not gracefully, but he absorbed the damage like stone. Relentless. His grin spread, wider now, baring teeth.

He is lying. I stared at his hidden hand. A heavy wooden scrub brush falling from six inches up does not crush a man's knuckles. It does not split the skin open like that. The only thing that could cause that specific, brutal injury was someone pressing their full weight down onto the bone with their heel.

Red and swollen with little scrapes. "Have you been fighting?" she asked. Looking at his face and other visible skin she saw no bruises. He laughed in reply, rubbing each of his sore knuckles in turn. "Yeah." His shirt, untucked from his trousers, was speckled with what looked like blood droplets; deep red but beginning to brown. When he saw her looking, he stuffed his shirt into his pant line. "Are you a strong fighter?" Scarlett asked. She assumed he was, considering the only bruises were on his knuckles.

Seeing them still frozen in place, I thought maybe it didn’t suit their taste, so I held out the half-cooked piece in my hand. "Want it cooked instead?" The three of them flinched violently. "N-No…" Zephyr Noct, the blind priest, suddenly dropped to one knee, his voice dry. "You are the noble Alpha Female. This prey is your trophy. By the rules, we must wait until you have finished eating completely before we are allowed to take what remains." I frowned. "What kind of bullshit rule is that?" Without hesitation, I tossed the meat straight into their arms. They scrambled to catch it, then froze again, unsure what to do.

Since I had deliberately hidden my injured right hand inside my loose white coat, Megan didn't notice it was hurt at all. She strode up to me and, without a word, slapped me across the face. "Donovan, as a doctor, how could you let jealousy drive you to kill your own patient? You're not even fit to be called human!" I pressed my tongue against the inside of my stinging cheek, and out of the corner of my eye, I spotted someone from Megan's group already discreetly pulling out a camera. I chuckled inwardly. "What nonsense are you talking about? When did I ever kill my patient? Pierre's surgery—"

“Good.” My wolf stirs. “What about the other?” Nate’s mouth tightens. “Escaped. But.” He lifts his scraped hand slightly. “Not clean.” He opens his fingers. A sliver of dark wax sits in his palm, smeared with lint, like he scraped it from a seal mid motion. Pressed into it is a mark: a simple K cut deep enough to feel even without seeing. My pulse spikes. “K,” I whisper. Rowan Kane.

Steve was one of my nightmares. He loosened his belt, glanced around, and flipped my skirt open. My panties were made of pink lace. With his finger, he shifted my pants and brought out his huge cock. My body trembled as I watched his balls from under my spread thighs as I bent. “Please don’t do this, Steve!” I begged one last time, tears hanging in my eyes.