Obsidian Blade Surgery Novels & Stories

The rogue wolf Beck had kidnapped me and stabbed me ten times with a silver dagger. Now he was forcing me to call my brother, the Alpha of Sterling Pack, and trade the entire northern border for my life. I knew Cain wouldn't care. But I dialed anyway. The line rang for a long time before he picked up. His voice came through, raw with irritation. "What stunt are you pulling now?" "Cain, help me. I've been taken—" I didn't get to finish before he cut me off, cold and clipped. "You'd really stoop to faking a kidnapping to ruin Selene's Chief Healer ceremony tonight? Iris, I swear to god, if you don't show up, you're out of this pack for good." Click. The line went dead. Beck let out a low laugh. Then he drew the silver blade across my throat. Pain swallowed everything. My heart stopped. But my soul drifted up, light as smoke, out of my body. You don't have to throw me out anymore, Cain. I'm never coming back.

Damien, last name unknown, better known as the Devil's son. The heir to the Kingdom of hell, well, that is until some brave soul drives a silver blade through his dear father's heart. A heart whose affection he has never known. With a body carved to perfection, biceps that clench and flex, abs tighten with every movement to give nothing but pure pleasure. He is powerful and elegant. He is drawn to danger and a determination to conquer. Yet, there is one that he has not conquered yet. The things that humans crave…love. As he does on so many nights, he defies his father's rules and returns to the surface in search of what this monster cannot have. And it is on one of these nights when he creeps through the gates that he lays eyes on her. Mirabelle Rose, an exquisite beauty; she is mysterious and the girl that every man desires. She presents all the things that Damien cannot have, and this is the very thing that draws him to her. They spent several glorious nights of bliss together until the Devil learns what his son has been keeping his time with. Both Damien and Annabelle are punished for their deception. The only thing that keeps them hoping is their letters.

She was born of two worlds… and belonged to none. Wolfless and rejected by her own kind, Freya, the hybrid daughter of a witch and a wolf, was sold by her father to the most feared Alpha in the land—Logan of the Northridge Pack. Her only purpose? To bear his heir and strengthen his bloodline. But love was never part of the deal. Torn between his lingering feelings for his first love, Lucia, and the bond he cannot deny with Freya, Alpha Logan spirals—cold, cruel, and indifferent. And when tragedy strikes and Freya loses the baby, his words cut deeper than any blade: “You’re just a breeder.” Shattered and betrayed, Freya flees to the human world with the help of a mysterious ally. There, she finds peace… and perhaps a new beginning in Daniel, a kind stranger who sees her as more than just a tool. But fate isn’t done with her yet. A prophecy looms. A war brews. And when Logan’s brother returns to claim the throne, only Freya—his true mate and the key to his power—can save his legacy. But will she ever come back to the mate who broke her heart… or choose a new path, and a new love, forever?

I had been dating Lily Foster for three years, and she strictly insisted on splitting every expense. When my mother needed surgery and I was short twenty thousand dollars, she looked troubled. “Aaron, we agreed on financial independence.” I went everywhere trying to borrow money, while she turned around and bought her brother a Ferrari outright. When I confronted her, she answered without a hint of guilt. “That’s my money. What does it have to do with you? “And besides, you’re a man. You can’t always expect a woman to support you, right?” Her brother drove the sports car right up in front of me, showing off. “My sister said it herself—your money is her money, but her money is still hers.” I laughed. Because just a moment ago, I had activated the “Malice Cashback” system. For every trace of hostility someone directed at me, I would receive a hundredfold cash return. Lily stood in front of me, frowning in disgust. “What are you laughing at? You look like an idiot.” [Ding! Received 20 hostility points from Lily Foster. Cashback of $2,000 has been credited.]

My mother has volunteered at our neighborhood church for over a decade. Christmas drives, Sunday service, any neighbor in trouble, she's the first one there. Everyone says God sent her to us. She thinks so too. She says God wants her to be generous, so she is. The thing is, when no one's watching, the generosity always comes out of my pocket. After she remarried, she doted on my half-sister Serena. Serena picked up a box of cold medicine for her, and Mom handed Serena the keys to my Tesla. Serena mentioned she needed to renew her car insurance, and Mom wired her the surgery fund I'd been saving for two years for my daughter Emma. That afternoon, Emma collapsed on the floor, lips turning blue, gasping for air. Her medicine was crushed into the carpet. Mom fished the last pill out of her pocket and dangled it in front of me. "Apologize to your sister, and I'll give Emma the pill." I got on my knees. But that same day, she gave away the cardiology appointment I'd spent three months getting. She gave it to Serena. What she didn't know was that the name on the appointment was her own.

I gave birth prematurely, just twenty days before the due date. Two hours after I entered the surgery room, I had a stillborn baby. I did not cry at all. I did not even spare a glance at the dead baby. I endured the pain from childbirth and calmly walked into the hospital nursery. After the door was tightly shut, I turned down the temperature of the air-conditioning. The temperature inside the nursery would be too cold for newborns to bear after an hour. The doctors and parents were begging me on their knees to let their babies live. They screamed and cried. They said I was a mother and hoped that I would understand. Instead, I laughed and said, “Yes, I was a mother. But my baby died!” The gynecologist knelt on the floor and begged, “We may be at fault for not being able to save your baby, but these babies are innocent! “Please don’t be reckless just because you lost your baby! You’re so young. You’ll have more babies in the future.” I gritted my teeth and roared, “But my baby isn’t dead! “She’s still alive. I’ll give you one hour. Bring her back to me!” But I was unsure if she would still be alive after an hour.

My mother fell critically ill and was rushed to the hospital. Desperate, I knelt before my fiancé—the department's chief surgeon—and begged him to take charge of her operation. But outside the ICU, he was carefully tending to a scraped knee. Lucy Wendell's scraped knee, to be exact. Just as I was drowning in hopelessness, Cameron Mitchell—the hospital director and my childhood friend—pushed open the operating room doors and handed me a marriage proposal. "Marry me, and I'll personally perform your mother's surgery." With trembling hands, I signed my name, clinging to the last shred of hope that she could be saved. But she never made it through that stormy night. Cameron handled all the funeral arrangements himself, and our wedding proceeded as scheduled. Seven years later, in the hushed silence of the hospital archives, I overheard Cameron speaking with the deputy director. "Cameron, why did you transfer your mother-in-law's organ to Lucy's mother during that surgery? Weren't you afraid of getting caught?" "I owed Lucy," he replied. "If I hadn't hesitated back then, Lucy never would've chosen medical aid work in Africa… and her mother wouldn't have fallen ill from the grief."

Van and Demani's story began like any other typical love story you read in books or watch in movies. They met, fell in love, got married, and planned a future together. They seemed perfect for each other, and their family even called them "the perfect couple." But like any regular married couple, Van and Demani went through a series of arguments and misunderstandings. They had their ups and downs, too. But because they loved each other so much, they tried to get through it all, hand in hand. Until Demani had a miscarriage... and Van cheated on their marriage. From there, everything began to unravel. They couldn’t fix their problems, and eventually, they separated. They went through a bitter breakup, and Demani thought she would never hear from her husband again. Until two years later, Demani received a letter from Van’s lawyer. Van had been involved in an accident and needed surgery in the United States. One of the requirements for him to leave was to have a family member accompany him. And who else could it be but Demani? They were technically still married because Van had never filed for annulment. Despite her doubts, Demani agreed to help. But there was one condition: They would legally separate after the surgery. But Van had other plans...

For five years, Dr. Valerie Cross endured the freezing isolation of the Blood Moon Pack. Despite being the fated mate of Alpha Killian Vance, she was stripped of her title, forced into lowly medical servitude, and systematically humiliated by her husband and his dead brother’s manipulative widow, Cynthia. The ultimate betrayal occurs on her wedding anniversary, when Killian abandons her in a crisis to comfort Cynthia, leaving Valerie to face a public, degrading pack trial for a crime she didn’t commit. Severing her own fated mate bond with a silver scalpel, Valerie flees into the lawless borderlands, where she is claimed by the Iron Claws MC—a ruthless outlaw biker pack ruled by Alpha Dominic "The Ghost" Vance, Killian’s legendary, exiled uncle. Blending modern cardiothoracic surgery with forbidden Lycan medicine, Valerie saves Dominic's life and begins her ruthless ascent from a broken outcast to a global power player. When a genetic heart defect threatens Killian’s lineage years later, the ex-mate comes groveling back for the only surgeon who can save his son. But Valerie is no longer a victim; she is the fiercely protected Queen of the Outlaws, and Dominic is ready to burn the old pack structure to the ground to keep her.

The day my daughter was rushed into emergency surgery after a car crash, Richard Herrera's ex, Grace Molina, came back to the country. I called Richard ninety-nine times. He rejected every single one. While Chloe was dying, Richard was shopping with Grace and her son, celebrating the boy's fifth birthday. Then the OR doors flew open. A nurse rushed out. "Mrs. Herrera? Your daughter is crashing. Sign this consent form now. Do you know where Dr. Herrera is? He's the best at this. If he operates, Chloe has a real shot. But we can't reach him." I covered my mouth before I fell apart. My hands shook as I signed. On the 110th call, Richard finally picked up. "Richard, Chloe's hurt. Only you can save her—" A kid's voice cut through the background. "Mr. Herrera, come on! The airplane ride won't start unless all three of us get on. Hurry!" "Selena, I'm handling something important. The hospital has doctors. They can deal with a minor injury. I have to go." Click. The line went dead. Right then, the OR light shut off. The doctor came out, wrecked and exhausted. He looked at me. Then slowly shook his head.