Wounds Novels & Stories

It was a savage wound, a gash that seemed far too brutal for the grace of a human hand. The torn flesh was surrounded by a furious red, angry and inflamed, different from the normal hue of the skin. The edges of the wound were jagged and uneven, like a rough tear through fabric. It was as though something powerful had torn into the flesh, leaving a scar that was anything but neat. Traces of dried blood still clung to the edges, evidence of the violence that had occurred. It wasn't just a superficial cut; it had dug deep, exposing layers of muscle beneath. The mark seemed to throb with an unsettling intensity, causing so much pain.

The bleeding had slowed and she could see four wounds, each one inch long and a quarter of an inch wide. Karen grimaced at the sight of the wounds, realizing that she was about to add a new scar to the collection of wounds that had been there since she arrived at Moonlit Grove. She never thought her back would be as scarred as Maya said it was, but it was painful every time she moved.

She’s running on fumes. “Good, now on to your wounds. Any further bleeding, redness or any other fluids coming from them? Anything that could be signs of infection?” He prompts, his hand still carding unconsciously through Anders’s hair. The man is lapping the attention up, leaning into Thomas’ hand further and I hear a distinct purr coming from him. “I checked him about ten minutes ago and the wounds are looking clean and finally closing and showing healing.” Willow answers for me, her tone factual but I can hear the hope in the undertone. She wants out of here too.

He was young, maybe twenty-five, with a kind smile and easy laugh. Now he was dying on my table. "Push more fluids," I ordered, my hands moving automatically. "We need to control the bleeding. Get me sutures and clamps. Now." The wounds were worse than I'd expected. Deep gouges across his chest and abdomen, like something with massive claws had tried to gut him. The edges of the wounds looked strange, almost burned, preventing normal healing. "These aren't normal injuries," I muttered. "Something is stopping his wolf from healing."

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.”

I say, looking at her and feeling revulsion that something’s alive in my wound. “Bacteria. You don’t have as much as Lane had, but his injury was over a week old, as I said. Raif has done a good job so far of keeping the wound clean, but that would have changed over time. With warrior training, running, pretty much anything and everything you do allows bacteria to get into an open wound,” she says. I frown and sit as I look back at the slide, watching the nasty little blob squirm around. “Is that what I’m supposed to be looking at?”

It was deep, as a little blood still seeped out of it. I inspected her back and my anger rose. She had more than five big and small fresh wounds all over her back. “And you said that they are just scratches.” I confronted her angrily. “It should have been healed by now, but I guess they had wolfsbane coated on their claws and on their weapons. That’s why these are taking time to heal. But you don’t worry. They will be gone by this evening,” she tried to assure me, but it only made me grimace.

Then he was gone, racing toward the battle with his sword raised. Wounded started arriving within minutes. A young female with her arm hanging at a wrong angle, whimpering as Thea set the bone. An older male with claw marks across his chest, blood pumping out too fast. A teenager who couldn't have been more than fifteen with half his face burned from something I didn't want to imagine.

Brady and Marcus joined them, forming a protective circle around the rest of us. I lowered Bree to the ground as gently as I could. She was barely conscious now, her breathing shallow and labored. The wraith wounds were bad, deep gashes across her chest that weren't bleeding as much as they should. Wraith claws didn't just cut flesh, they cut deeper, into whatever made us exist. "Medical supplies," I snapped. "Now." Marcus was already moving, pulling bandages and healing salves from our packs. I worked quickly, pressing cloth against the wounds to slow the bleeding but my hands were shaking. Not from fear. From anger.

Shivers ran through me when his fingers grazed my back. His next action was unexpected. I winced in pain as he peeled off the bandages from my half healed wounds. Cold air flushed across my back skin. The next thing he did was even more shocking. He licked the wounds on my back. I gasped, wanting to speak but remained silent. He finished licking my wounds and I discovered the discomfort on my back was gone. I touched my back out of curiosity and was shocked. The wounds had disappeared, leaving no scar behind. Wh—what is this? A miracle?