Novel & Cerita Wounds Book

She gave me a soft smile before pulling out her herbs, balms, and books. “This will sting, but it’ll numb the area. Then I can clean up the area and bandage it.” She warned as she opened up a small glass jar. It smelt like swamp water and looked like snot. I held back the urge to gag as she smeared it over my wounds. I winced at the sudden contact. It felt like I was having salt rubbed into the gashes. Slowly a cool feeling replaced the burning sensation.

I was a human sacrifice, yet an ancient blood pact bound me to Lucian Voss, the most feared vampire prince of the Night Realm. Any pain inflicted upon me would befall him tenfold. When consecrated silver cut my palm, the flesh burned from his hand. When a vampire lord forced poison down my throat, Lucian woke screaming, tore him apart, and burned his estate to the ground. After that, no vampire dared touch me. Until Lucian entered his once-a-century blood sleep. Duchess Seraphina, the pureblood vampire who had desired Lucian for five hundred years, broke into my chamber and pressed a red-hot silver brand against my chest. “A lowborn human sacrifice will never be worthy of our prince.” I wat

Not even a twitch. But the strange part—the beautiful, terrifying part is that all his wounds are gone. The deep gash on his thigh, the burn marks on his side, the dark bruises across his ribs… all of them... vanished. Not even a scar left behind. It’s like they were never there, as if someone stitched him back together with invisible thread. His breathing is faint. Barely there. But it’s there. That’s all I can hold onto. That and his hand, cold in mine.

I dragged myself to my room, each step a battle against the growing agony. Inside the bathroom, the cold light exposed the damage. My hand trembled as I pulled off my shirt, revealing the deep wounds carved into my skin. The cuts along my ribs were wide, blood pouring freely, pooling on the floor in a grotesque pattern. Dizziness washed over me, as if the wounds were pulsing inside my skull. I looked at my arm. The punctures from Angél’s claws were precise… almost surgical, as if each mark had been deliberate. That terrifying precision only deepened my sense of vulnerability.

The food was definitely not ordinary, and I wasn't sure I wanted to fall under the influence of whatever poison he'd add to the food. I closed my eyes and leaned on the shelf, stretching my legs to ease the pain in my joints, but I soon noticed that the blood dripping from my wound had begun to sip into one of the books on the floor. In a split second, I already moved my hand away from the book, but in the process I mistakenly flipped the book open. I moved my hand in an attempt to stop blood from dripping onto the pages of the book, and as I was about to push the book away my eyes caught something on it.

“Broken ribs, three, maybe four. Deep lacerations along the left flank and shoulder. Significant blood loss. Claw marks across the back are the worst. I’m packing them now and starting another bag of blood.” I felt pressure, the burn of antiseptic, the tug of bandages. Every touch sent fresh waves of fire through me. My Wolf stayed silent in the back of my mind, only a low, broken whimper occasionally leaking through. He wasn’t fighting me anymore. He was just… empty.

As the wolves released their vice-like grip, I found myself unceremoniously sprawled upon the unforgiving ground. My entire being throbbed with unrelenting pain, limbs aflame with searing torment, and my head pulsating in an agonizing rhythm. Blood and sweat had congealed on my skin, forming a repulsive, viscous layer, while the dirt, with cruel intent, invaded the open wounds that now marred my battered frame. The insidious threat of infection loomed ominously over me, a spectral harbinger of doom that would persist long after the immediate ordeal was over.

The cold forced my body in to a violent shiver. Even though I was damped with cold sweat and I was shivering, my body was on fire. The open wounds on my head, my foot and my ankle were throbing. In the past twelve or so hours, none of my wounds have healed. I'd already lost concious multiple of times and each time I woke up, I felt ten times worse than I did before. The wound on my head had bled heavily and the blood had run down the side of my face.

There are cold metal scalpels in there, alongside the items he’s asking for. When I have them, I kneel by his side. “Put the ointment on the wound.” “What is it?” I twist off the lid. It smells sharp, like alcohol. When I smear it onto the gash on John's side, he shrieks. Blake grabs his shoulders and pins him down. “It’s to kill the bacteria. Wolves heal fast, but wounds can still get infected. Now, sew it up.” “Sew it up?” “Yes. Imagine you’re sewing a dress.”

“Your wound needs to be properly disinfected. It seems like you were stabbed with a silver knife, since you aren’t healing at all.” I was somehow glad at that point that I was stabbed with a silver knife. If it were a normal knife, how would I explain my wound not healing as it should? I looked around and saw the wolves with one gnash or wound or the other, just wiping their body with towels. Their wound disappeared. I was so jealous of them. I knew I’d be limping around for a few days. “You can just cut around the wound and disinfect it,” I said, locking my eyes with hers. She was quite pretty.