The Skin Is Blank To The Bones の小説・ストーリー

The alpha pulled her against him as she resumed screaming. “We’re too late, aren’t we?” Chris asked, his face looking pasty and pale. James nodded; his voice seemed trapped in his throat. “Yes, she is going through the change now. It’s like being injected with acid that starts eating at your insides, which are set on fire. Your skin hurts as if it’s burning, blistering, and falling off your bones. Bones that feel as if they are being broken and jostled,” Greg explained with a surprising, level voice.

Blakely His body was all muscle, lean much like an athlete, and covered in so much ink I had to search to find his porcelain skin. Wolves raced down his biceps, vanishing within a forest printed along his forearms. Each image moved, somehow interwoven with magic. Such a thing felt impossible, and yet here it was. “Eye-fucking me again, little wolf?” The gorgeous bastard sang. I chucked one of my shoes at him and set to work removing the other, ignoring his melodious laugh. There was just one problem with all of this—one I had been trying not to think about on the walk down here.

He moved in the indicated direction. The patient's room turned out to be very small - it barely contained a narrow bed, but unlike the rest of the house, it was dry and warm. Looking at the injured Yarsi, he did not immediately realize that this was a living person, if not for his hoarse breath, which was hardly escaping through cracked lips. From that Tink that he remembered, in this creature naked to the waist, almost nothing remained. On the bed lay a skeleton tightly covered with blue-veined skin. In places these stripes swelled up and turned black, as if they were going to burst, somewhere they merged into spots, resembling huge bruises. The ribs protruded like a sharp palisade, the che

The creatures’ bodies tensed, their clothes rippling under the force, but the most disturbing part wasn’t the punishment. As the whip tore through their clothing, the creatures' skeletal bodies were revealed. Beneath the torn fabric, their bones were exposed, stark white under the dying light. No blood. No wounds. Just bones. I trembled, my breath catching in my throat as the sight hit me like a wave of nausea. This wasn’t a normal world. These weren’t normal people. The whip left deep marks on their bones, but there were no cuts, no screams—only cold, silent skeletons.

No swelling, my skin is soft, clean. Realization churns in my gut. Yesterday, I had one foot firmly planted in my grave. I knew I was dying. No way should I feel good. I sit up too fast and the rush of it knocks the breath from my lungs. My heart starts racing, adrenaline kicking up late to a party. I throw the blanket back and scan my legs, my arms, my hands. Every inch of me should be black and blue and bandaged, but there's nothing. Not a scab, just perfect, unbroken skin. Like none of it happened.

His deep blue eyes pleaded for my support. With a sad smile, I replied, “Okay.” … As we walked into the building I knew all too well, a wave of familiarity washed over me. I took a deep breath, and Tatiana's scent became stronger. Yes, wolves healed quickly, but when a big bone was broken, they needed to start over. Otherwise, the bone would heal improperly. Quick healing was not always a blessing. In cases of severe blood loss, we still needed blood to be pumped back into our bodies. Even though our bodies healed, blood did not replicate itself as quickly as skin, bone, and muscle. It was not easy.

As soon as she scattered wolfsbane powder over the wound, the blood turned purple-black. Nina thrashed within me, but she couldn't manifest at all. The only sound she could make was a faint whimper.

And if he’d just wiped out half of his own MC in one fell swoop – by poisoning their air – then the man hadn’t lost his touch. But what Wolf saw resting on and weighting down Bones wasn’t age, and it wasn’t regret, and it wasn’t exhaustion… it was something else. There was a strange metallic-gray sheen on his skin, like what you saw on rotting meat – and that was when Wolf knew what was going on here. “How long?” he asked Bones. Bones looked puzzled. “How long what?” “How long do you have before whatever the disease is takes you?” “Holy shit, Connor.” Bones managed a tiny grin. “How the hell do you know what you know?”

A jaw, a brow, the deep architecture of a human skull, all of it gone wrong in the slow way that pressure and time and whatever they did to it have rewritten the surface. The skin pale and faintly luminous and stretched too tight, the eyes very large and very dark and lit from within by a banked silver I would know anywhere because I carry the same light under my own. It does not look angry. There are seams along the cheeks where the pressure has split and healed it wrong. The mouth is too wide now, or maybe the lips have shrunk back from the teeth. A strand of hair floats around its skull in the beam, white as thread, moving when nothing else does.

Time fractures. His pupils narrow to slits inside a blaze of gold. Veins pop along his neck. Bones shift under his skin, tendons standing out along the backs of his hands. Claws burst from his fingers. Dark. Curved. Too long. His upper lip peels back, teeth lengthening into sharp points. His breathing changes—shorter, faster, more animal than human. Every instinct I have screams *danger*. Move. Duck. Run. My feet refuse to listen. “I’ll fix this,” Kade spits.