The Healing Novels & Stories

Before he created another damage. But he wasn’t here for devastation this time; he was here to heal. Both himself and her. “Don’t do this to us,” he pleaded. “There is no us, Devin Crighton. Leave me alone!” “I can’t do that Ana,” he whispered in a voice so husky that he could hardly recognize as his own. “I simply can’t get away from you. I am trying to save our relationship, if ever there’s a hope for us to have one.”

When the maids moved, he started to perform the healing spell. “To the Gods and Goddesses of this world, please heed my prayer, heal what has been hurt, close the wound of this lady’s back, remove the stain from her body, and cleansed her soul to not make her berserk for when she wakes up,” the high priests said as his body glows. The staff that he’s always holding shot a bright light on the lady’s wound.

"No contact, no proximity, digital or physical." "Thanks," Rita said, and meant it in her bones. That evening, the family settled in to watch a clip from Amiriam's interview that had aired during their drive. She was herself on screen—no tricks of make-up, but a truth that would not apologize. "People think healing is an arrival," she said on screen, "but for many of us it's a practice. Like breath. You do it again and again, and one day you realize you're living." Later, when the house settled, Luke stood with Amiriam on the porch. The moon was pale, the trees black stitches against it. “You’ve done something wonderful,” he said. “Whatever else is happening, nobody can take that away.”

Everything was a blur to him as he drove himself to August Club. Before he came over to my wedding ceremony, he found a contractor who could help with the renovations in the clubhouse such that the place could be restored to its original look. He also planned to allow all the employees from the clubhouse to come back to work. He even thought that he would bring me back today, and that it would delight me when I saw that the clubhouse had been restored. He could also propose, and he was prepared to stay by my side for the rest of his life. As Tyler surveyed the restored clubhouse before his eyes, he realized that his relationship could no longer be restored to its original state.

I ask, hoping he doesn’t think I’m as crazy as I sound. He studies me for a minute, like he’s considering how to respond, and yeah, I’m pretty sure he thinks I’ve lost the plot. But to my surprise, he doesn’t say that at all. “I can’t say anyone’s ever described it to me that way before. But it’s a proven fact having a mate close improves healing, the same way a recent rejection can prevent it. “But what I can say is this, if that’s what you experienced and it led to this, by all means keep it up. Healing damage like yours is part hard work in therapy and part Moon Magic. No one really knows how it works, just that it does.”

Just as we neared the cab, I heard the mansion door slam shut, the sound echoing ominously. I stopped in my tracks, sensing Ellis flinch beside me. I already knew who it was. Steeling myself, I turned around. There he stood—a wounded man. Not physically, though. His casual clothes were fine, and while he was upset, there were no visible injuries. But I could see it—the pain, the inner turmoil. He was bleeding internally, emotionally. His anguish was palpable, and it explained the oppressive sadness surrounding this place. Alexandria whimpered in my mind, recognizing his wolf’s pain. We knew it all too well.

Victor Vane. Tucked into the corner of the photo was a digital note, written in that sharp, elegant cursive: “The Master Key was a beautiful prototype, Julian. But Zurich is where we build the Lock. See you at the 300-level.” The gold hum in my arm spiked for a fraction of a second—a warning. The "Healing" was complete, but the "Hunt" had just moved to a global stage.

The Healer's Network Sister Margot knelt beside a wounded loyalist soldier in the temporary field hospital established under the wreckage of St. Lucia's Abbey, her omega healing energies flowing through hands that worked to cleanse infected sword wounds while her empathic senses felt the spiritual corruption consuming his pack bonds from the inside out.

Nicholas thought so too, and he could not help caressing my ankle. I was wearing strappy high heels that day, and I hadn't taken them off when I had lain down. I felt my heart twist into knots as Nicholas' gaze darkened. He looked at me like a predator eyeing its prey before devouring it whole. He suddenly pulled a screen across my waist. It blocked my view of anything below my waist, including Nicholas. I could not see anything, and I began to feel even more uneasy. "What are you doing, doctor?" Nicholas explained patiently, "This is a normal procedure. It's to prevent you from feeling nervous when you see the tool."

She just shakes her head and His hand moves to her face, thumb brushing her cheekbone. How old were you when you go out? She looks deep into his eyes and says out of the gun running and cooking 16 but out of all of it not until I was 21 but I didn’t really start healing until I was 35 that’s when I finally found true recovery and worked on my mental health and trauma. Val holds her there, suspended in the quiet of his office. 19 years of healing, 19 years of building herself from rubble. His voice barely a whisper. You were broken for longer that you were whole and you still chose to help people, still chose to fight for purity in a dirty world.