Page 43 of Monsters and Mocha

Her mind was too fractured and overwhelmed to even reach for magic to keep herself from bleeding out, let alone try to reanimate a corpse.

Fransten’s lips curled into an ugly snarl as he threw her arm down, eliciting another cry. “Then there’s truly no reason for me to keep you alive.”

He picked up the second knife, just as the door flew open with a splintering crash. Fitz stood in the doorway, his large frame filling it entirely. His metal hand was curled in a fist, still held at chest height from punching through the wood. His eyes burned, dangerous and full of fury, and he growled at the doctor, who had frozen with his arm hovering in midair over Darby’s stomach.

“If you touch her again, Fransten, you die.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

FITZ

With a howl of crazed laughter, Dr. Fransten plunged the knife down. Darby exhaled as if she had been punched in the gut, and Fitz saw red. He yelled, crossing the room before he even registered he was moving. He reached for the doctor with his left hand, grabbing the man around the throat and throwing him against the wall behind him. He didn’t think about the look of fear in his wide eyes, or the sickening crunch he made as he hit the wall of shelves. All Fitz could focus on was getting that monster as far away from Darby as he could.

Robertson swore behind him, and Henry let out a cry of grief and despair. Merry retched.

The sounds registered in his ears, but all he could focus on was the heart-stopping sight in front of him.

Darby was lying on a table in a growing pool of blood from the knife embedded in her stomach and the stump at the end of her wrist. Her face was deathly pale, and she shivered despite the sheen of sweat on her face. Her breathing was fast and shallow, and her eyes squeezed shut.

His training kicked in, and he ripped off a long strip of his shirt and began tying a tourniquet around her arm. The knife wound he could do nothing for, except leave the blade in and pray that it slowed the bleeding enough that they could get her to help. He pulled the tourniquet tight, and Darby let out a pitiful cry of pain.

“Darby.” Her name was a pained whisper that felt as if it had been ripped out of his very soul. His knee buckled underneath him, and he caught himself on the edge of the table. He dropped his head, touching his forehead to Darby’s.

Her eyelids fluttered, but didn’t open. “Fitz.”

Henry was at her other side, fumbling with the restraints on her other arm and legs. “It’s going to be okay, Darbs. It’s going to be okay.”

Fitz had seen the full range of fear and anger in Henry’s face when they found Darby in her workshop, but it had nothing on the raw, agonized look in his eyes now.

Henry’s eyes looked the way his own heart felt.

Once her hand was free, Darby fished around, reaching for Henry’s hand. “I love you, Henry. Thank you for always looking out for me.” Her words were broken by pained gasps.

Henry shook his head violently. “No. Don’t say good-bye. You’re going to be fine.” He wrapped both his hands around Darby’s and pressed it to his forehead. “You have to be fine.”

Darby finally opened her eyes, and Fitz’s heart rebelled just as vehemently as Henry at the resigned look he saw. He straightened, pulling back so she could see his whole face.

“Will you look after Raven for me?”

“No, because you’re going to do it yourself.” His voice took on an edge of desperation. “You’re going to be fine, Darby. Can’t you use magic on yourself, at least until we can get someone to help you?”

“I’m already trying, Fitz, but I’m not strong enough to keep going like this. I’ve lost too much blood.”

A soundless sob escaped him, and he blinked away tears.

I wasn’t fast enough to save her, but I’m not strong enough to lose her. Please, Deus.

“Tell me what to do.” Merry stood at Darby’s feet, with Robertson’s supportive hands on his shoulders. His face was still green and he avoided looking at the corpse beside him, but his chin was resolute.

“I don’t—” Fitz began.

“I can see the magic, which means I should be able to reach it, right? I think I can reach it.” Merry was looking past him to Darby. “Tell me what to do. Please.”

Darby closed her eyes, her voice tight with strain. “If it doesn’t work, Merry, I need you to promise me that you won’t blame yourself. It takes years at the Academy to learn to control magic enough to heal.”

“I promise. Just tell me.”

Her breaths were coming faster and shallower, and Fitz could tell from her pinched expression that she was having trouble keeping control over her own magic. “For me, it’s like…reaching for a bottle on a shelf that’s just…a little too high.” It clearly was taking every ounce of strength she had left to keep speaking, but Darby soldiered on, braver than any of the men he had ever commanded. “I have to stretch my awareness until I can feel just the edge of it, and then I hook my mind around it and grab it. But be careful, or it will all come flooding down at once. You want a slow trickle at first, and then some way to connect the magic with the person. A physical link is best, like a touch on the arm or hand.”