Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 109477 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 547(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109477 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 547(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
That answers that, she thought as he slowly stood, like a man on the brink. Each movement took a lot of effort. Agonizing, she knew. His steps were halting, not at all exhibiting the grace with which he so often moved. His sword was in its sheath and each hand flexed and clenched, over and over, as he handled the pain.
His gaze was downcast until he got close, and then it flicked her way. His eyes were bloodshot and the thin gold line around his pupils had turned red. She furrowed her brow at it, wondering why it had changed color. What that meant for a fae.
“It’s so others may assess our state of being in the event we can’t respond ourselves,” he answered, back in range.
“So red means…”
“Gravely injured. In this case, in extreme pain with the possibility of being poisoned.”
“But…” She reached out for him, to give him something to lean on.
“No,” he whispered raggedly, pushing her hand away. “I might have some of the poison on my skin. Keep your distance, dove. You are ten times more fragile than I am.”
She clenched her teeth stubbornly, having heard that since she was fourteen and hating it just as much now. But as with her early days, he was right. In this, she was vulnerable. Any open cut and that liquid might find its way into her bloodstream. She was lucky the other drop hadn’t.
“I thought this plant wasn’t poison to you—”
His head snapped up, and his eyes hyper-focused. “What did you say?” He squinted marginally, and then he yanked her around before grabbing her shirt in two fistfuls and ripping down the back, rending it in two except for a small section at the very bottom.
“What—” she started.
His left hand—the undamaged one—clamped down on her shoulder. The other grabbed her clothed hip. He bent her over. A finger touched down on her skin, and it felt like her knees might buckle from the pain. The finger moved through an area she couldn’t really feel, numbed from the poison, before coming away. He was wiping up any lingering liquid.
“Is it having any other effects besides the pain?” he asked, running his finger over her again. He took up her shirt and analyzed it before wiping her off.
“No. I think it’s fine.” She straightened, needing to slap his hands away to do so. Then she cleared her throat to stave off the shuddering breath at the sight of him. His front was obviously fine, but his arm was swollen and puffy along tracks where the needles had pierced his skin and then dragged along it.
“I thought this plant wasn’t poisonous to you,” she repeated, swallowing heavily.
“It isn’t poisonous in small doses, I think,” he replied, walking stiffly toward the end of the tunnel. “This…doesn’t feel like a small dose.”
As he passed, she got a look at his back. She sucked in that shuddering breath.
The stuff oozing from the wounds was singeing unmarked skin. The plant had released so much poison inside of him that it was now bubbling back out. Given how much it hurt for just a drop to touch her unblemished skin, she couldn’t fathom the amount of agony he must be feeling with it inside his body in that magnitude. To still be on his feet…
He’d endured that poison—he’d stood there and let those thorns empty more and more into him—so she could get out. So she would be safe. He could’ve run and made it. He could’ve pushed his way out when he’d realized it was more than he could possibly tolerate. He’d saved her life at great peril to his own. That was more than a desire to keep a toy in one piece. That was someone looking after the wellbeing of another. Daisy didn’t have the time or energy to dissect what it all meant, or how she felt about it, but she knew his selfless actions deserved her doing everything she could to return the favor. She didn’t have much in the way of a moral compass, but this was the decent thing. The right thing. End of story.
“You’re on your deathbed, fine,” she said crisply, getting to work. “Let’s get this sorted out, shall we?”
She could have used her shirt to wipe away the poison oozing down his side. Instead, she put it back on, awkwardly tied the back to keep it put, then ducked under his good arm. If poison started to soak into her shirt, she’d know. Then she’d use the other side of it to wipe him up before tossing the thing away entirely. They needed to hasten him toward water or something that might help clean this gunk off. Speed was life.
“Where are we headed?” she asked. “Closest safe spot will do. Also, I need your weapon. If we run into trouble, you won’t be much good to me.”