Milf Hunter: Seducing And Taming Beauties

Chapter 801: Sarah’s Car Accident

I stood there for a moment, watching the road where her car had been, the silence of the night suddenly broken by the distant hum of the city.

Then—

A screech of tires.

A crash—metal twisting, glass shattering—so violent it made my blood run cold.

I whipped around just in time to see it—Sarah’s car was slammed into by a speeding truck, the impact sending her vehicle spinning like a toy before it slammed into a lamppost with a sickening crunch.

The truck didn’t even brake—just reversed, tires screeching against the asphalt, before it fled into the night, leaving behind nothing but the wreckage and the acrid scent of burning rubber.

”FUCK!” The word tore from my throat, raw and guttural, as I sprinted toward the mangled car.

People from the house were already pouring out, their voices rising in panic. ”It’s gonna explode!” someone shouted, their phone already raised, recording, streaming—capturing every second of the chaos.

”CALL AN AMBULANCE!” I roared at Marina, who was running toward me, her face pale with shock.

I reached the car, the door crushed inward, smoke already curling from the hood. The scent of gasoline was overpowering, thick and cloying, mixing with the metallic tang of blood. Sarah was slumped over the wheel, her forehead bleeding, her breath shallow and uneven.

”Sarah!” My fingers clawed at the jammed door, my muscles straining—not with my full strength, not with eyes on me—but enough to wrench it open with a groan of twisted metal.

The second the door gave way, the scent of gasoline intensified, the air inside the car thick with the promise of fire.

I didn’t hesitate.

I reached in, my fingers fumbling with the seatbelt before I yanked her free, pulling her limp body against my chest. Her head lolled back, blood smeared across her temple, her pulse weak beneath my fingers—

”FIRE!” A scream tore through the crowd.

I saw it—the flames licking at the hood, the gasoline pooling beneath the car, the heat already radiating in waves.

I moved.

The explosion erupted with a deafening BOOM, a monstrous wave of heat and force slamming into my back like a freight train.

The shockwave ripped through the air, a wall of searing heat and debris hurtling outward—glass shattering, metal twisting, the night itself screaming in protest.

I could have stood there. Could have braced myself and not moved an inch.

But the crowd was watching. Phones were raised, cameras rolling, eyes wide with horror and fascination.

So I let it happen.

The blast slammed into me, and I lunged forward—dramatically—my body hurled two meters through the air as if the force had overpowered me.

But even mid-air, I was in control. I twisted, my arms locked around Sarah, my body shielding hers as we crashed toward the ground.

I turned us in the air, my back taking the brunt of the impact as we slammed into the pavement.

The breath whooshed out of my lungs on purpose, my body sprawled across the concrete, and Sarah cradled against my chest. The heat of the flames licked at my skin, the scent of smoke and burning metal choking the air, but I didn’t move—not yet.

The crowd was screaming, phones still recording, their voices a chaotic mix of panic and awe.

”JACK!” Marina’s voice cut through the noise, her footsteps pounding toward me.

I groaned—dramatically—as if the fall had winded me, my muscles tensing as I forced myself to roll onto my side, Sarah still clutched tightly in my arms. Her body was limp, her breath shallow, but she was alive. And that was all that mattered.

The wail of the ambulance sirens sliced through the night like a blade, growing louder, more insistent.

But I didn’t wait. Every second counted. My body screamed in protest—muscles stiff, skin prickling with the ghost of burns—but I ignored it. Pain was temporary. Sarah’s life wasn’t.

I pushed myself up from the wreckage, my breath ragged, and scooped her into my arms. She was so light, too light, her body limp against mine.

The weight of her was a paradox—both a burden and something I’d carry forever if I had to. The acrid stench of smoke and gasoline filled my lungs as I staggered toward the flashing red and blue lights of the paramedics, their silhouettes sharp against the chaos.

All I could focus on was Sarah—the way her head lolled against my shoulder, the shallow rise and fall of her chest, the weak, erratic flutter of her pulse beneath my fingers. It was there, but barely. Like a candle about to gutter out.

Marina appeared at my side, her face streaked with soot and tears. Her hands trembled as she helped me lower Sarah onto the stretcher the paramedics had already unfurled.

”She’ll be okay,” I growled, the words ripped from my throat. My jaw ached from clenching it so hard, the muscles in my neck corded with tension as the paramedics took over. Their voices were sharp, clinical, a stark contrast to the storm raging inside me.

I followed Sarah into the ambulance, Marina close behind. The vehicle lurched into motion, the siren’s howl now a constant, grating scream. I didn’t spare a thought for Sarah’s injuries—not really.

I had ways to heal her. My blood, thick with the Healer’s gift, could knit her bones and soothe her bruises in moments. Or, if I chose, I could offer her something more permanent. Immortality. Strength. A life beyond the fragility of humanity.

But that wasn’t a decision to make in the back of an ambulance, with the scent of antiseptic and fear thick in the air.

The hospital was a blur of fluorescent lights and hurried footsteps. Doctors and nurses moved around us like ghosts, their voices a murmur of medical jargon.

Tests followed—X-rays, scans, the cold press of stethoscopes against Sarah’s skin. The doctor’s verdict, when it came, was almost laughable: a fractured wrist, a minor concussion, superficial scrapes along her legs.

No internal bleeding. They wrapped her wrist in plaster, bandaged the gash on her forehead, and wheeled her into the best private ward the hospital had to offer.

Then, we waited.

Marina collapsed onto the narrow side bed, her body curling in on itself as exhaustion claimed her. Her breathing slowed, her features softened, and within minutes, she was asleep.

I envied her that escape. I stayed awake, my gaze locked on Sarah’s still form. The machines beside her beeped softly, a rhythmic reminder that she was still here. Still alive.

But something wasn’t right.