He nodded his head toward the door. She rushed over, shoving the door out of the way to find his rucksack behind it. She rifled through his things, tossing his extra clothes aside and searching for bandages and tonics. Gathering it all in her arms, she rose, but the supplies tumbled from her shaking hands. She hurriedly dropped to a knee to retrieve them, muttering a string of curses.
“Take your time, love.” Dominic’s voice was a pained rasp. Coughs that rattled in his chest followed. “Not like I’m bleeding out over here,” he said wryly.
“I should let you,” she muttered, returning to his side, and she meant every word. With Dominic dead, she could take the relicsfor herself, continue the search on her own. Sheshouldlet him die.
But that didn’t mean that she would.
Everything inside of her screamed and begged tosave him. The scar they shared on their palms from the blood oath burned once more, and Adara wondered if it was her own magic that demanded it or the gods. Could he feel it too?
Dominic’s raw, bitter laugh was cut off with another wet cough. He squeezed his eyes shut. Adara’s heart skipped as she hurried to his side. Candlelight flickered beneath the slight breeze flowing through the cracked windows, dancing across his pained expression. Next to him, she kneeled, uncorked a vial, and brought it to his lips.
He raised a brow. “Trying to poison me?”
“Why would I do that when you’re about to die anyway?”
“Because you’d love to be the one to finish me off.”
Despite her distraught heart racing, she laughed—raw, fractured. “Yes, which is the only reason I’m helping you,” she lied. She tipped the vial of liquid to his lips, letting him slowly drink the pain suppressant. His throat bobbed as he licked the rest of the contents from his lips and swallowed. He grimaced at the taste.
Adara drew a knife, sliced cleanly through what was left of Dominic’s tattered shirt and pant legs, giving her enough room to work. A grunt came from him as she peeled away the bloodied material. Scabs ripped open with the movement. Her eyes couldn’t settle on where to look—at the lean, corded muscles that rippled beneath his tanned skin with each harrowing movement or the grotesque bruises and lacerations that repeatedly bled, clotted, and broke open again as his magic tried and failed to heal him.
Dominic’s anguish was soon replaced by a lewd smirk as he caught where her eyes trailed along his bare skin. “I should have gotten this gravely injured a long time ago.”
Adara clenched her jaw. “Shut up and try not to bite your tongue off.” She averted her eyes, instead glancing at the puddle of his blood in which she knelt, and cursed. He opened his mouth to protest, but Adara was already gripping the hilt of the knife protruding from his thigh. Gritting his teeth did little to suppress the scream that racked his body as she yanked it free. Blood spurted, and she pressed a scorching hand to his leg. The pained noises that came from him almost had a thousand apologies spilling from her lips. The scent of sizzling flesh burned her nostrils.
Adara’s eyes watered, and she hated that she’d grown used to the revolting smell of burning skin. Because that meant her tears were from the sight of Dominic’s own leaking from his eyes as they squeezed shut and running down pale cheeks. His nostrils flared with every labored breath. He angled his head, pressing his cheek, damp with sweat, to the sofa cushions.
Breaths hissed through his gritted teeth. His entire body tensed. Adara pulled her hand away and stood. Unable to look at him, at the agony written all over his face, she strode toward his rucksack for the canteen of water inside. She sipped lightly before heading back to Dominic’s side. He lay still, breathing deeply with his eyes closed. He appeared tranquil now, so at ease in a pool of his own blood. How much pain had he endured to look so peaceful in the face of death?
Kneeling beside him, Adara lifted the canteen to his chapped lips. She brushed back his damp hair as he drank greedily. His eyes fluttered open to meet hers.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, throwing a pointed glance at his wounds.
“No,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”
She ran her fingers through his hair, an idle motion she’d forgotten she’d even been doing. He angled his head into her hand.
“Don’t be.”
“I’m sorry.” His tone was full of shame and guilt. “For leaving you.”
“It’s okay,” she replied, knowing exactly why he did it.
Adara glanced around the dilapidated home.Hishome. It was the only reasonable explanation for all his knowledge of the Ruins. For knowing exactly how to lead them here. For knowing it was warded against monsters—he, himself, had probably been the one to ward it years ago. For knowing she was poisoned just by the bite-mark and knowing exactly what vile held the antidote. This was his past, dirty and broken and unkempt. This was his pain, the door thrown open for her to see it all.
Dominic had not left her out there to die. He didn’t leave her because he had intentions to retrieve the ashes and escape without her. He didn’t leave her as bait to the monsters. He left her because he couldn’t stand the thought of anyone seeing him like this. Dominic had stood before that bone arch knowing exactly what the Ruins would do to him. Yet he still bravely stepped into this desert, knowing he’d face his darkest fears.
He did not want to appear weak.
“You’re strong. You know that?” she said.
He glanced down at himself, threw his head back with a heavy sigh, and muttered, “No, I’m not.”
“You are,” she said sternly, knowing pity would do nothing to comfort him. “Now roll over and try to hold still,” she ordered as she threaded the needle.
Dominic closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, obeying her commands. She grimaced as the mass of bloodied, torn, scarred flesh that was his back. Dominic tensed at the sting of the first suture she placed. By the next stitch, the King of Keys waswincing painfully, trying to muffle his groans through gritted teeth. Adara’s heart raced. Clearly, he was much worse than she initially assumed since the pain suppressant she’d given him seemed negligible.
What was wrong with him? They were away from those creatures. Magic worked inside these walls, so why weren’t his wounds healing? A thousand questions raced through her mind. However, now was not the time to interrogate him. She had to focus on something else. Something other than his dwindling strength, than the misery written across his features, with his head angled back to watch her.
