"I only stabbed you in the chest, but I'm sure even now your body is trying to vigorously heal!" Nathan whispered to the man sprawled on the floor. His voice was calm, almost casual, but there was an edge to it—a dangerous glint in his green eyes that contrasted sharply with the blood pooling beneath the werewolf.
The bound man's eyes flared with anger, his muffled attempts to speak cut off by the gag Nathan had secured over his mouth. Blood stained his chest, the silver knife still embedded deeply in his flesh, keeping the wound open. Each breath rattled weakly, his strength drained not just by the injury but by the metallic poison now coursing through his veins. The werewolf's limbs twitched in vain, his body desperately trying to regenerate around the silver—a futile effort as long as the blade remained.
