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He cupped her cheek. Thank the gods! She was breathing, but barely. “Stay with me, June. Stay! With! Me!” He barely recognized his own desperate tone.
Orik rushed in then, sword in hand, flanked by a handful of soldiers. Tristan recalled June had used the intercom to call for help. Orik assessed the carnage with disbelief. “What the fuck happened here?”
Tristan lifted June in his arms. He needed to get her out of here, away from this slaughter, away from all this blood and gore. The best he could come up with was to take her back to the apartment next to his. At least it was a clean and there was functional bed for him to lay her on. As he went, he told Orik. “We were attacked by Belinda and seven others. Six of them are still at large.” After relaying their identities, he ordered. “Find them and execute them. Bring me their heads.” He pointed to four soldiers and ordered them to stand guard in case the traitors return to finished what they’d stated. Then he instructed another to call for a physician.
He didn’t even know if one resided in the city. Dragons healed swiftly on their own, usually without the help of medical aid. Last time June had been hurt, they’d been on Evlon. A Faieara healer had taken care of her. He wasn’t used to the idea of someone not being able to heal on their own, let alone someone he loved. He realized he hadn’t thought about June’s needs as he should have. He should have employed a castle healer as soon as they’d returned. He should have employed several healers.
If she did not survive, he would never forgive himself if his lack of foresight.
As his troop carried out their orders, Tristan gently laid her on the bed. Then he tore the sheet into strips to tie her wounds.
“June? Can you hear me? Open your eyes, love.” He tied one around her upper leg, slowing the blood flow. The other, he wrapped around her shoulder as best he could. He then scrunched the third into a ball and used it to apply pressure to her shoulder wound. Her skin and lips had gone pale. “June, baby? Please. I love you. Don’t leave me.”
Her eyes fluttered.
“June? That’s it. Look at me.”
Her lids cracked open, revealing bleary eyes. “Tris?” She sounded so weak. So tired.
“I’m here, love. I’m here. You’re going to be okay. Stay awake for me, alright?”
She lifted her hand to cup his cheek. “I l-love you.”
He felt wetness tumbling down his cheek. “Don’t. Don’t you dare say that now. Don’t you dare say it like you’re saying goodbye!”
Her eyes closed once more. “I’m s-sorry.”
He roared, “No! You canna leave me. You will no’! Iforbidit!”
Her body went limp and he bellowed in agony. He would lose her because of his own stupidity. Because he had failed to see what was coming. He had failed to see the danger. Yet again he had failed to save someone he loved. Even if they found a physician, they wouldn’t get here in time. It would be too late. Generally only witches required the use of healers and doctors. Even then, much of the time they relied on magic…
Magic!
“Guard!” he hollered. All four guards rushed into the room, alert and ready to defend against danger. “There’s a witch in the dungeon. Bring her here.Now!”
Minutes later, two guards escorted the young witch into the room and set her on her knees before Tristan. Her long hair lacked pigment, making it nearly white, though her smooth skin made her look young. However, her eyes, shockingly gray, like clouds before a storm, held a hint of age. There was something otherworldly about the girl, like all witches. Something that set his instincts on edge. Even the guards seemed uneasy to be near her.
Her eyes nervously flicked around the room until they came to land on him and June. She gasped, taking in the sight. “I don’t know if I can help her,” she said, instantly understanding. “It will take strong magic. I don’t have my supplies. All I owned was confiscated.”
“Your belongings will be returned to you.” Tristan nodded to one of the guards, who left to carry out the order.
“Still, I have not the ingredients for a powerful healing spell.”
“Your people kill dragons for power, yes? Use bits of us in your spells and brews?”
She swallowed, her impossibly pale skin taking on a green edge. “Some do. I have not, my lord—”
“There are two dead dragons in the other room. Can you use them to heal her?”
Her jaw dropped. “I-I could try. I will need to—”
“I don’t need an explanation. Take what you need from them before they return to their two-legged forms.” It would happen any moment now, if it hadn’t already.
She nodded and then turned to leave, escorted by two loyal guards.
“And, witch.” She glanced back at him. “If you doona save my mate, I will kill you.”
* * *
