Page 153 of The Doll and The Domination

“But…” he trails off, looking around for help. “What about her legs?”

He might as well take a gaff hook and rip my heart out with it.

“Set them down,” Dessin orders.

Niles’s face twists in despair as he gently lowers them to the ground. I have to turn away from the sight to keep from choking up.

“We’re here!” Marilynn and Skylenna rush into the community shower. Their arms are full of white linens, glass bottles, and a toolbox. Skylenna is still shackled, trembling to hold the blankets up with her arms. “I pickpocketed the needle and small knives from a sentinel.”

“Alcohol.” Dessin holds out a bloody hand, accepting a clear glass bottle from Skylenna. He pulls out the cork and douses his hands in it. “Everyone, take turns disinfecting your hands and the area around us. We can’t risk Ruth getting an infection.”

I grab the bottle next while Dessin takes my place elevating Ruth’s thigh. My hands shake as I dump a splash of alcohol over my skin. Blood smears and drips away. Ruth’s blood. That axe. The desire to hurl snakes up my throat, pushing at the back of my mouth.

How the fuck did we get here?

“First we stop the blood, then I can surgically do my best to rectify the wounds,” Dessin explains to us. His voice sounds so calm. How can he be so relaxed?

“How can you rectify this?!” Niles hisses.

Dessin ties something around Ruth’s thighs, creating some kind of a tourniquet. I glance down at her face, watching the way she stares up at the ceiling, soft brown eyes drained of any emotion. Glassy and lifeless. Devastating to gaze at for too long.

“Support her head,” I tell Skylenna.

“And cover her with a blanket,” Dessin adds. “She’s in shock. We have to keep her body temperature up.”

Niles uses a knife to pick the locks binding Skylenna’s body so she can move freely. And with that, she moves mechanically, cradling Ruth’s head on her thighs, stroking her curly brunette hair as tears run down her cheeks.

“The bone is sharp and jagged on the right leg. I’ll need to round and contour it down, otherwise her skin won’t heal over it.” Dessin pours a bucket of water over Ruth’s wounds, giving me her leg back to hold so he can work. “Her nerves were severed. They need to be cauterized or buried in her bones.”

“Just hurry,” Niles pleads, looking down at Ruth’s face with round, glossy eyes.

Dessin nods, cleaning her up as quickly as he can. Blood stops gushing down his arms as he tightens the tourniquet again.

“Get her to drink the honey of Sweet Nectar Valley,” Dessin says.

Skylenna lifts Ruth’s head slightly, giving Marilynn a chance to pour the milky substance past Ruth’s lips.

“Drink it, Ruth,” Marilynn whispers. “Please.” And there’s a shift in her features, something dead and drowning behind her grimace. Like she’s reading a scene from a book that was already spoiled for her. Like she never anticipated how horrid it would make her feel, even though she already knows how it ends.

Some of the substance drizzles down Ruth’s chin. But her throat bobs as she gulps it down.

After a few moments, Dessin makes a silent decision that the medicine has made its way into her system. He works as quickly and fluidly as I have ever seen anyone work under this amount of stress and pressure. He saws down her bones with a knife, taking away their sharp, piercing edges. His eyes are the color of wet bark, determined and impenetrable. Nothing could break his focus from the goal he’s set for himself.

I’m grateful. So fucking grateful to have his genius on my side. To rely on his many gifts to save her. Yes, I’ve appreciated him in battle, in his many attempts to break us out of a bad situation. But this is different. This is Ruth.

We all turn our heads as he grates his knife against her bones, looking away but unable to close our ears to the sounds of scraping. It’s like a fork clawing the smooth surface of a porcelain plate.

Dessin sets down his tools and works his fingers in her wounds, pushing and arranging.

“What’s happening?” I ask, concerned with the pinching of his brow.

“I’m arranging her nerves. If I don’t do this right, she’ll be in a lot of pain for a long time.”

Do it right. Please, Dess. Do it right.

My hands and forearms grow numb as I continue to hold Ruth’s thigh up, quivering with tension as I try even harder to hold myself steady.

“She’s shaking,” Niles comments, looking at Dessin with tracks of tears drying on his cheeks.

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