Chapter 230: Chapter 230 Pain That Doesn’t Heal

The air inside Ella’s mansion was thick with tension, the kind that wrapped around your lungs and made it hard to breathe. As Dickson stepped through the doorway, the first thing he saw was chaos—not the noisy, violent kind, but the dreadful, helpless kind. Liam lay shirtless on the couch, his body convulsing uncontrollably. Bandages were wrapped tightly around his lower abdomen, just above his waist, but they were soaked through with dark, fresh blood. His skin was pale, glistening with sweat, and his eyes were open wide, staring blankly ahead, unfocused, the whites clearly visible. Every muscle in his body twitched as though he were being electrocuted from the inside out.

Ann and Ella were crouched beside him, both trying desperately to hold him down. His movements were erratic, powerful, and completely involuntary, forcing them to use all their strength just to keep him from falling off the couch or injuring himself further.

As the door slammed shut behind them, Ella looked up, her expression strained and desperate.

“Lana,” she gasped, her voice cracking. “He’s been twitching like this for the past five minutes. It’s gotten worse. Much worse.”

Lana didn’t waste a second. She dropped her laptop onto the marble coffee table, the loud thud echoing across the room, then rushed to Liam’s side. Her hands hovered above his body for just a second before she dropped to her knees next to him.

Dickson followed quickly behind, halting in his tracks as he got a proper look at Liam. His eyes widened with horror. This wasn’t a scrape or even a bullet wound. This was something else entirely—and it was killing his best friend right before his eyes.

“Good Lord,” he muttered, voice thick with disbelief. “What the hell happened to him?”

Without waiting for an answer, he dropped beside Liam, opposite Lana, and took over from Ella. His hands wrapped firmly around Liam’s wrists and shoulders, pinning him down with strength and stability that came naturally to him. Liam continued to tremble, but the wild twitching was subdued under Dickson’s grip.

Lana pressed her hand over the center of the wound, the blood warm and sticky against her skin. She expected to feel it pulse harder, to bleed more beneath her fingers. But instead, something strange happened. The bleeding began to slow.

Then it stopped entirely.

And just like that, the shaking halted too. Liam’s muscles relaxed as if someone had flipped a switch. His breathing remained shallow, but steady. The chaotic noise of the room seemed to hush all at once.

Everyone looked up at once.

Ella was the first to speak. Her mouth parted in stunned silence before she managed a single word. “How?”

Lana blinked. She stared down at her own hand, still pressing into Liam’s wound. Her voice was just as quiet. “I… I don’t know. I didn’t do anything. I just put pressure on it.”

Ella furrowed her brows, clearly confused. “We tried that. We tried for two minutes. His blood wouldn’t stop no matter how much pressure we applied.”

“Maybe…” Lana hesitated, shaking her head, “maybe it’s because he lost too much blood already? Maybe the body can’t push anymore out?”

It wasn’t a great explanation, and she knew it. But right now, no one had a better one.

Dickson slowly released Liam’s arms and sat back on his heels. He looked around the room at the three women, all of them worn, bloodstained, and exhausted. Then his gaze dropped back to Liam, who lay motionless now, his face deathly pale but peaceful for the first time since he’d walked in.

Dickson clenched his jaw, something burning behind his eyes. He didn’t like being the last person to know what was going on. He looked straight at Lana.

“Somebody fucking explain to me what is happening here,” he said, his voice rising, anger bleeding into his words. “How the fuck did he get that wound? What the hell is wrong with him?”

There was a long pause. None of them answered immediately. The silence dragged on, and the atmosphere in the room grew even heavier.

Lana opened her mouth, then closed it again. She looked down at Liam. Her hand was still over his wound. The blood that had soaked her shirt earlier had dried into a crusty brown stain, and it was only now hitting her that she could still feel the heat coming from his body—like embers slowly burning under the skin.

She sighed, finally. “It’s… complicated.”

Dickson didn’t take his eyes off her. “Try me.”

But before Lana could say anything more, Liam let out a soft groan—barely audible but unmistakably alive.

Everyone turned to him instantly.

His eyes fluttered, his chest rising and falling just a bit heavier now.

Lana remained on her knees, her eyes fixed on Liam’s pale, sweat-drenched face. His breathing was shallow, his chest rising and falling in uneven spurts. Slowly, his eyelids fluttered open, and he turned his head toward her. The second their eyes met, Lana’s heart twisted. That look—weak, distant, but laced with something deeper—pierced right through her. Vulnerability. Pain. A silent plea.

“Liam,” she whispered, gently leaning in, her hand brushing back the damp strands of hair sticking to his forehead.

He blinked slowly, his lips parting as he dragged in a breath. Then, almost humorously, he winced and whispered with a broken smirk, “Hurts like hell.”

A short, dry laugh escaped Lana, though her eyes shimmered. She grabbed his hand delicately, intertwining her fingers with his. “We know,” she said. “I know, Liam. Lilith’s gone to look for help. Just hang in there a bit longer, okay?”

He tried to nod, but the effort was too much. Instead, he just closed his eyes and rested his head against the couch cushion. His body trembled again as he fought back another wave of agony.

Ella and Ann had both frozen in place as Liam stirred. But before they could react, Dickson stepped in quickly. Without hesitation, he slid an arm behind Liam’s back and another under his knee.

“If he wants to sit, then you make him sit,” Dickson said gruffly.

With one strong, controlled movement, he helped Liam rise into a seated position. Liam groaned, a sound more primal than human, the pain lancing through his entire body. His hand immediately went to his abdomen, fingers trembling as they hovered over the blood-soaked bandage.

Ella hovered close, her expression filled with concern. “How do you feel now?”

Liam sucked in a breath, panting. His lips trembled as he fought for words. Then, finally, he chuckled—low, desperate, painful. “Feels like my insides are boiling. Like they’re being cooked alive. I… I don’t know how long I can keep this up.”

That response left the room heavy with silence. No one moved. Lana’s grip on his hand tightened.

And then came the sound no one expected—sobbing.

Everyone’s attention snapped to the back. Ann stood there, her shoulders shaking violently, her hands clutched tightly in front of her chest. Her eyes were red and wet, and her voice trembled as she finally spoke.

“Liam… I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to hurt you. Please believe me.”

Liam’s expression shifted slowly. His brows furrowed as the memories started coming back. Russia. The Sokolov prince. The dark, Vampires. The dagger. Ann’s face—entranced, almost lifeless—staring into his eyes as the blade plunged into his stomach.

He stared at her now, silent.

Ann took a hesitant step forward. That was when Liam, unconsciously, edged toward Dickson. It wasn’t dramatic or deliberate. It was instinctive. He flinched, just slightly, his gaze falling to her hand.

She wasn’t holding anything, yet his body reacted like she was. Like that dagger—Bloodfire Fang—was still there.

The subtle recoil didn’t go unnoticed.

Lana’s eyes widened. Ella’s breath caught. Even Dickson, who knew almost nothing about what really happened, understood wasn’t right.

Liam still thought she had the dagger. Still thought she might hurt him again.

Ann froze mid-step. Her mouth parted as her eyes filled even more.

“No…” she whispered. “Liam, I would never—” She cut herself off, the words choking in her throat. “You think I still have it, don’t you? You think I’ll do it again…”

Liam didn’t respond. He didn’t have to. The silence was its own answer.

Ann’s knees gave out beneath her as she collapsed to the floor, hands covering her face as the sobs overtook her. She didn’t care who was watching. This wasn’t just guilt—it was heartbreak. She had stabbed the man she loved, and now, even though he lived, he couldn’t even look at her without fear.

“I didn’t want to!” she screamed suddenly. “He made me do it! I fought it—I swear I did!”

No one moved. No one even breathed.

Lana reached out toward Ann slowly but stopped herself. She wanted to comfort her, but right now, Liam needed her more.

Dickson glanced around the room, then back at Liam. His features had grown grim, jaw clenched tightly. He placed a steadying hand on Liam’s shoulder.

“Whatever happened,” he said in a low voice, “we’ll fix it. Just hang in there, man. We’ve got your back.”

Liam didn’t speak. But the corner of his lips twitched again—just faintly.

****

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