Blinding pain spiraled outward from the spot, but she bit down hard on her lip to keep from crying out. Through watery vision, she looked down at the wound, jagged and red and still bleeding.
Her head grew light. Letting go of her shirt, she closed her eyes and leaned back against the base of the tree, working to suck back air.
She was going to die out here, and no one would know. No one would even care. And why should they? All the bad shit she’d done was finally catching up with her. What she’d done to Lykos, the months she’d bent to Zagreus’s will, and Nick—especially all the horrible things she’d overseen with Nick. She’d be the first to admit she deserved every bit of misery piling on her now.
A wave of regret rushed over her, one so strong it made her want to let go, give up, quit fighting this unwinnable battle. The rustling to her right grew louder, and she knew if some kind of animal had smelled the blood, she needed to get a grip on her weapon so she could defend herself. But she no longer cared. Her blade lay on the ground at her side, but she didn’t reach for it, didn’t even want it anymore. All she wanted was peace. And to forget everything she now couldn’t change.
“I see you made it far.”
Cynna’s heart rate jerked. Nick wasn’t supposed to be here now, not when she’d finally decided enough was enough. Dragging in slow breaths, she pried her eyelids open and looked up.
She couldn’t see him very well. He was nothing more than a watery silhouette in the darkness, but she could smell him. That unique sandalwood and earthy pine scent she remembered from his cell. And she could feel his body heat growing closer, warming her chilled skin in a way that reminded her…she wasn’t dead. At least not yet.
He knelt at her side, set something she couldn’t see on the ground beside her, then reached for her shoulders. “You need to lie down.”
Her brain wasn’t working, and she didn’t have the strength to fight him, but she tried. When his hands landed on her overheated skin, she struggled, but he pulled her away from the tree easily, shifted her around, and laid her out on the damp ground. Pain spiraled across her skin once more with the movement, and she bit her lip against a groan.
“Sorry.”
Sorry? He was apologizing to her? Gods, this was so fucked up. “You were supposed to leave.” Dammit. She hated how weak she was. Hated that he’d come back and was seeing her like this. Hated even more that his hands felt so good and that part of her was rejoicing over the fact he’d returned. “Wh-what are you doing…back here?”
“Helping you.”
“I don’t need…your help.”
He lifted her shirt from the wound. She tried to push him away, but he laid her arm on the ground, then scooted closer so her forearm was pressed against his knee, preventing her from moving it. “Oh yeah, because it looks like you’re doing so well on your own.”
She was too tired to try to stop him. He tugged the waistband of her pants down, exposing more of her flesh. Cool air washed over her belly, but she didn’t dare look down again. Was afraid she’d get sick if she tried. Blinking several times, she stared up at the swaying dark fronds above and tried like hell to pull them into focus.
“Hold still,” he said. “This might sting.”
Something wet and cool spilled over her abdomen and side, making her suck in a breath. A sharp stab shot all across the wound, and she bit down on her lip against the pain dancing over her flesh.
“Hydrogen peroxide,” he mumbled, pouring more liquid over her skin. “It’ll clean it out until we can get it stitched.”
Cynna closed her eyes and breathed deep. He rubbed a rag all around the wound, wiping the blood from her skin, then applied some kind of dressing to the gash. When he was done, he pulled her shirt back down and pressed his palm against her forehead.
She focused on slow breaths until the pain receded to a dull throb. Fabric rustled, then she felt his hands on her shoulders, lifting her up. Agony ripped through her side all over again but it was quickly replaced with another sensation. This one of heat and electricity as he slid behind her, stretched his legs out on either side of her, laid her head back on his shoulder, and then lifted something toward her lips.
“Drink.”
He pressed a plastic bottle to her lips, and Cynna immediately opened. Cool, fresh liquid spilled over her tongue, moistening her bone-dry mouth.
Water. He was giving her water. Just as she’d given him water in his cell. She swallowed. This time she couldn’t help but groan.
“Easy,” he whispered, drawing the bottle back.
She’d said the very same to him. The irony wasn’t lost on her. Nor was the warmth growing in her belly over the fact he was taking care of her.