Again. Again. Again.
Blood sprayed in her face and colored the pools of water from where she had left the tub without drying.
Hack. Hack. Hack.
She had to be sure he wouldnevermove again.
For her sister. For herself. For Devin.
Only when her body grew tired, did she stop. Then she turned, sword poised and drenched in gore, to Avery.
He held up his hands. “He can’t pay me if he’s dead. I’ll see myself out.”
And he disappeared. Miranda didn’t care.
She let the sword go and raced to Devin’s side.
He had to be alive.
She felt a pulse. He was breathing.
But for how much longer?
Chapter Fifteen
Mirandahadneverknowntrue terror.
Not before this moment. Devin was unconscious, too much blood oozing from the wound in his side, soaking his clothes, leeching into her. Water dripped from her hair to dilute the puddle gathering beneath them. Dread seeped into her very bones as she screamed for help. For those first precious seconds while she held him, the icy reality threatened to break her. He may not survive this.
She could lose him.
After that, time passed differently. Miranda lifted Devin to the bed. Servants were drawn to the noise and one of them sent for the Watchmen. Another sent for a doctor, hopefully a Healer. There weren’t many Day Fae with the gift of healing, even less that sought to use that gift for others, but even as she was desperately trying not to think it, she feared magic was the only way to save him.
She couldn’t lose himnow.
Not after everything. Not when things were finally going right. She defeated the bad guy. She stopped the evil plot. She rescued her sister. This was supposed to be the happily ever after part of the fairy tale. She was going to marry him and live a life of adventure and maybe someday have children with pointed ears and aura sight who she could love with every ounce of her heart so that they never grew up hating who they were. And she would love Devin. She did love him.
All that couldn’t just be…over.
Miranda knew a little about dressing wounds, her training had always been on how best to keep her body functioning during battle. But there were limited supplies here. Only sheets and clothes and towels. She hadn’t thought to ask the butler or ring for a footman for aid. She hadn’t thought of anything in the last hour beyond her fear that he might stop breathing. Her first aid was amateur, but she was able to keep him stable. Pressure. Keep the wound clean. Monitor him until help arrived.
She paced at the edge of the bed. Why couldn’t she just…attack this problem? There should be a way to fight Death. She would win. She was too fueled by the absolute terror of losing the person who had become her everything.
Voices outside the door drew her attention, the muted tones of an argument just outside.
“Nonsense, I’m sure it’s fine,” Captain Blair’s voice carried over all the others, “We’re his only friends, damn it.”
“Miranda is in there, Gideon.” Rachel’s voice, softer but she must have been close enough to the door for it to carry anyway.
“And? Does she have dibs on his final moments because they’re hooking up?”
A thud.
“What the hell was that for?”
“Just lower your voice.”
“But I may have a way to help, did you even consider—”
