How much of it is his?
“Tobias,” I say breathlessly, looking him over. “Are you okay?”
His weapons disappear and he rushes forward, pulling me against him. I instantly sink into his arms, breathing a sigh of relief into his shoulder.
“Fuck, I was so worried—” I start, but stop abruptly.
Warmth spreads across my chest, and not the fuzzy kind. Looking down, I find my shirt soaked through with blood. The front of his shirt is drenched, more red than should be possible bleeding through the material. It’s seeping from a deep gash over his ribs.
“Tobias,” I gasp, pushing away to get a better look at the injury. It’s a jagged cut through the muscle, and my stomach turns when I think I see a bit of bone. “You’re hurt.” I sound like an idiot, but that’s all I can manage. Fear has my brain short-circuiting.
I drag my gaze up to his face again, and my knees nearly give out beneath me. His eyes are unfocused, his expression unclear.
“Joseline,” he whispers, swaying on his feet before he drops like a stone. I'm barely able to get my armsaround him before he hits the ground, and I lay him down ungracefully, doing my best to keep his head from cracking against the floor.
No.
No, no, no.
“It's not… that bad…” He groans before squeezing his eyes shut. His adrenaline must have finally worn off. That, or he’s lost too much blood to keep going.
I press my hand against the wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding, but crimson liquid immediately pools around my fingers. I need gauze or bandages orsomething.
Fuck, I can’t keep my hands from shaking.
Birthing a baby I’ve proved I can handle, but this?
Tobias needs a doctor.A hospital.
More blood spills out of him, despite the pressure I apply.
“You better not die on me,” I say through gritted teeth, bunching up his shirt and applying pressure to the wound again. “Do you hear me? No dying.”
He pries his eyes open to meet mine, and I expect some kind of sarcastic comment. Some wit, some banter.
“My soul can’t die,” he says, his voice raspy. “If I’m sent back to Hell, I’ll… I’ll find you…”
“No. No, no, no. Don’t say that.” I shake my head adamantly, fighting to keep my voice from wobbling. “Tell me what to do. What do you need?” I try my best to stay calm, despite the blood pounding in my ears.
Desperate to see his face, I use my free hand to pull off his mask and toss it aside. I instantly regret it. Thereare cuts everywhere, and his lip is split. He also looks way too pale.
His eyes flutter, and I place my hand against his cheek.
“Stay with me,” I demand. “You’re going to be fine. Do you need energy? Will that help?” I ramble, desperate.
My thoughts and emotions tangle, crashing over me in waves I can’t decipher. I have no idea what I’m doing, I just need this asshole to be okay.
I need him to stay.
With me.
“What do you need, motherfucker? Answer me!” My voice is loud, and it wobbles, but I don’t care.
“You.” He attempts a smile but winces instead. “Just you.”
Yeah, the blood loss is clearly affecting his brain.
“Quick, take my energy.” I grab his hand and press my cheek into his palm, hating how cold his fingers feel. “Take it.”
