Scraped Knuckles Novels & Stories

Knox is on the floor. Shirtless, soaked in sweat, and something about his body is WRONG in a way that my brain tries to reject before my eyes finish processing it. The muscles under his skin are moving – MOVING, shifting and rippling like something underneath is trying to rearrange itself, and his hands are pressed flat against the hardwood and his fingers are tipped with something that isn’t fingernails. They’re longer and curved and dark and they’ve gouged lines into the floor like trenches, and the word my brain supplies is CLAWS even though that word doesn’t belong in a sentence about a human being.

Sleep State Confirmed. Marcus opened his eyes. The Chrome Diamonds gleamed in the dim light. He raised his hands, staring at the faded, blood-stained athletic tape wrapped around his knuckles. Slowly, silently, he let his silver mana bleed out from his core, soaking into the fabric. The tape shifted, turning into a metallic, liquid state. The Liquid Silver hardened, forming invisible, dense brass knuckles over his skin.

She says. I removed my hand from the light and what seemed to be a skeletal blueprint before, it immediately materialized the moment I removed my hand. Now, there was a shear glove over my left hand. I tried making a fist and saw micro scales moving. I even feel my knuckles hardening just enough but it was not too constricting. “You said you don’t want your knuckles to turn soft. The shell is hard, but it doesn't protect your knuckles that much so you can still keep your calluses.”

he exhaled and cracked his knuckles. Watching him more relaxed, I dared to ask, “What are these marks from? Every time I wake up, I notice my hands and ankles are purple bruised as if they were bound or restrained. Are you into fetich game you haven't told me about? I don’t mind if you have a kink, but I’d prefer if you confided in me.”

I struggled and thrashed under his grip, bloodthirsty and gunning for Zayne and Marcus Novak. I clawed tracks down his back, hardly noticing my sharpened nails had returned to normal. That inability to hurt the twin’s, it was instinctual. Neither Thalia or I could cause the twin’s actual harm, and my retracting claws proved that. Where my claws would have shredded Kade’s skin, my human nails left aching welts that made his cock harden and his chest rumble.

Grub said, beating his chest proudly, and then pointing to another tattoo that was half covered by his rope belt, he had begun to slide his pants down to show the remainder of it as he spoke, “Grub once plow most beautiful Knarl magic thrower in all Kuumakun.” “Ok, ok, we get the point Grub,” Rex said, lifting his hand to block the view Grub was trying to show, “Look! There’s a temporary blade!” he added, pointing to a rusty hunting dagger a few paces away from them in the hand of a deceased cannibal.

I rellied while raising my hands to show my injured knuckles, I had scratched it on the ground earlier. The man looked at my fist and slowly nodded.

Her ankle complained, but less than when she’d been standing. Kael crouched in front of her, bracing his forearms on his thighs. From this distance, the scrapes along his knuckles and the smear of blood at his hairline were as obvious as the way his hands weren’t quite steady. He looked at her wrists first. Carefully, as if they were something fragile, and he hated that they were. “May I?” he asked. “Someone has to,” she said, offering them out. He took them gently, turning them to see the raw grooves the ropes had left. His thumb brushed lightly over unbroken skin at the edge of one, not touching the worst of it.

He nodded and submitted our evidence. It was the complete redemption record for every single scratch card from the book Mom gave me at the start of the semester. 20 minutes passed. The judge frowned and looked up. "We have verified the codes on this book of scratch cards. Indeed, everything the defendant has provided is authentic. "This book of scratch cards cost 500 dollars. The total amount scratched from it was approximately 265 dollars. You intended for the defendant to live on just over 200 dollars for an entire semester?" Mom scrambled to defend herself. "She… She has good luck. Didn't she win five million? Are you sure you didn't make a mistake?"

The timeline from when the power went out to the moment you were incapacitated. The Script Broken Sebastian looked down at his hands. The knuckles were scraped, the skin bruised a deep, ugly purple where he had attempted to strike the man in the dark. For thirty years, his hands had been his trademark—large, powerful tools that had choked out cinematic terrorists, pulled victims from burning helicopters, and punched through breakaway glass walls on a hundred different soundstages. Now, they were shaking.