I watch through blurry vision as he lifts the hem of the tattered shirt to reveal the silky one beneath soaked with blood. He sighs through his nose before lifting the hem of the tank, exposing my fevered skin to the cool night. There’s a flash of something small and sharp in his hands as he begins to carefully cut the bloodied cloth from around my middle.
His jaw tightens at the sight of the jagged wound stretching below my ribcage, a muscle ticking in his cheek. His eyes, full of an emotion I’ve never seen from him before, trace the bloody mess on my stomach.
And then my own eyes slam shut, sealing the image of him out. Leaving him in the world that is beginning to fade.
“Paedyn.” Kai’s voice is so far away, so distant from where I’m slipping into oblivion. “Paedyn, open your eyes.” It’s an order, strong and stern. And I ignore it. How very typical of me. Even in death my body refuses to listen to the commands of the future Enforcer. “Open your eyes, dammit!”
Tired. I’m so very tired.
Far, far away, I hear a male voice muttering panicked words.
“If you die, I’m going to kill you.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Kai
She’s too stubborn to die, and I’m too stubborn to let her. I brush a hand over her forehead, her fevered skin hot to the touch, her breaths coming in shallow pants. She’s dehydrated, delusional, dying of hunger...
Just dying.
My eyes flick back to the bloody gash slicing under her rib, inflamed and no doubt infected. I pull out the remains of my crumpled shirt and begin dabbing at the wound, trying to sop up some of the blood so I can see exactly what I’m dealing with. The skin is torn, jagged, and likely looks much worse when it’s not concealed by shadows.
But what’s even more concerning, is that I have no idea how to help her. I have no supplies and no healing ability around me to draw from, making me utterly useless.
I’m holding her life in my useless, unequipped hands.
I stand to my feet, searching for my canteens in the dim light.
She needs water.
That’s what she came here for after all, why she risked walking straight into someone’s camp. She needed water. Needed it to drink, to wash out her wound. But that won’t save her.
I can’t save her.
I sigh in frustration, threatening to lose my temper as I run my hands through my hair, still searching for those damn canteens. But my mind won’t stop replaying the scene, won’t stop reeling over what just happened.
I knew something was wrong when I saw her arm trembling. Saw it shake with the strain of keeping the bow aimed at me, ready to make good on her threat to shoot. Then I saw her knees shake, saw the fire extinguish from her burning blue eyes. But above all, she wasn’t playing with me, wasn’t teasing me or twisting her mouth into that sly smile of hers that I enjoy so much. And that’s what worried me the most.
And now I’m suddenly furious with her.
She wanted me to leave. She was going to try and deal with this alone. She would have died alone. She’s so damn stubborn that she would choose to fight me until she collapsed rather than let me see her injured.
The image of her crumpling to the ground sends a chill through me, icing over my burning rage. You would think I’d be numb to witnessing hurt by now, watching Death claim another victim. But when she crumpled, something inside of me cracked. The sight of her so weak, so vulnerable, so unlike herself, was enough to shatter a piece of the soul I’d forgotten I had.
My feet stumble over something in the darkness.
Finally.
I bend down to snatch up the canteen only for my fingers to fold around a small, tin box. I step closer to the firelight, casting a glance over my shoulder at the wheezing Paedyn.
I don’t have time for this.
I’m about to chuck the box as far as I can out of fury and frustration when the symbol painted onto the lid catches in the light, catching my attention. A faded, green diamond stains the top, and I don’t hesitate before ripping open the lid to reveal a small vile of inky liquid.
I stare at it. Stare at the miracle in the form of a healing salve crafted by the Healers themselves, strong enough to mend even the most menacing wounds.
And then I’m laughing dryly, unable to stop. The absurdity, the sheer impossibility of this all has me hysterical. Braxton must have picked it up in the forest somewhere and dropped it during our fight.
Paedyn’s salvation has been hiding in the shadows this whole time.
“Thank the Plague,” I mutter, shaking my head in disbelief as my foot finally meets one of my canteens on the ground.
I’m on my knees beside her in a matter of moments, her chest barely rising with shallow breaths. I yank the salve from the box, revealing a needle and thick thread for stitching wounds lying beneath. I find myself laughing again.
Unbelievable. Bloody unbelievable.
I carefully pour some of the dark liquid onto a clean corner of my remaining shirt. This is going to sting, so it’s convenient that she’s unconscious when I press the cloth against her wound, letting the salve seep into the gash. Slowly, I make my way across the cut, watching as the steady flow of blood already begins to slow. I dab the fabric against a particularly deep part of the gash and her eyes fly open before her hand flies towards my face.
Damn.
Her slap is shockingly hard for someone who was just dangerously close to meeting Death. My head is still turned to the side from the shock and impact of her hit, but a slow smile pulls up my lips.
“Ouch.” I finally look at her, finding wild blue eyes staring up at me. She’s panting, clearly confused. “Is that how you thank me for saving your life?” I scan her face, relieved to already see some color blooming on her cheeks, see her eyes gleaming again with that familiar fire.
“I’m the one who should be saying ouch. What the hell is that? It stings.” She’s breathless and shaking all over. Her eyes dart from her clean wound to the salve still clutched in my hand. And then she’s trying to sit up. It’s a good effort, despite her grunting in pain.
“Easy, darling.” I place a hand on her uninjured side, fitting right into the curve of her waist as I slowly press her back down to the forest floor. “You can slap me all you want once you’re healed, but until then, try to keep your hands to yourself.”
“How am I alive?” Her voice is so quiet that her question is nearly drowned out by the chirping crickets surrounding us. Her eyes are trained on the sky, not daring to look at me.
“We have Braxton to thank for that.” I grab the water canteen and push it to her lips. “Drink. You’re dehydrated. Though you are quite fun when you’re delusional.” She glares at me as I tip the canteen back, letting her gulp down the water greedily. She eyes me expectantly, and I sigh, elaborating, “Braxton paid me a little visit earlier, and he must have dropped the salve he’d found during our fight.” I sigh. “And I doubt he’s too happy about that, seeing that he could have used it for himself.”
She pushes my hand away, refusing to drink any more until she gets some answers.
Stubborn, little thing.