Page 39 of Of Flames and Fallacies

“Like me?”

“No, they have feathered wings—”

The door swings wide open, and a man stumbles in. I jolt at the violent entrance. He’s tall. Maybe a few inches shorter than Cole. His mass of walnut brown hair is swept every which way, and his cold and calculating green eyes rake across the room. We lock gazes for a brief moment, and his eyes flare with what almost resembles shock. He looks away quickly, gaze darting to the cabinets.

Darian.

“Marge,” he hisses out between gritted teeth and takes a few staggered steps toward me, his hand bracing his left thigh.

A large, dark stain blots his black pants, a glint of metal lodged into his leg. I hurry to him and offer my forearm to brace himself against me. He refuses me with a scoff. Droplets of blood splatter against the ground in his wake as he sweeps the room.

“She’s out gathering ingredients in the forest,” I mutter quickly.

Darian nearly falls into a chair with a grimace.

I scurry over to snatch a rag on the table near the window. “I can go get her—”

“No,” he barks. “Just get me the bottle in the back left of that cabinet over there. It’s a green bottle with no label.”

“I’m not allowed to administer medication without Marge.”

“I don’t give a shit. Do as I say,” he growls. His menacing green eyes dart over to me through lowered dark brows.

My hand clenches around the rag, tilting up my chin in defiance. “I don’t know who you think you are, but I don’t take orders from—”

“Sorry? Andwhoare you?” he sneers. His attention focused back on his thigh as he tries to apply pressure with his hand around the dagger.

I hold out the rag to him. “I’m Katerina—”

“Listen, Kateena,” he hisses. He still doesn’t bother to look me in the eyes as he wipes a bloody hand on his pants.

I’ve met men like him before. Snide, rude, and arrogant. It’s a wonder how he got through the door with that big of an ego-filled head.

“Kat-ER-ee-na,” I correct with an eye roll.

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Anyway, make yourself useful, be a good girl, and go grab that bottle before I bleed to death.” He flicks his fingers off to the corner.

I bite my tongue to keep the ticking anger at bay, temptation luring me to throw the damn rag at him. But before I can, a movement at the door catches my attention.

Marge walks in with a basket stuffed with snipped greenery and foliage. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough, Darian?”

I motion to his leg. “He’s been stabbed.”

Marge waddles over, craning her neck before she sucks her teeth. “Katerina, I’m going to need you to help me by pulling the dagger out slowly. Once we have it removed, I’ll have to stitch it quick and wrap it. Do you think you can do that?”

“Yes,” my voice is small.

Marge works at her cabinet, pulling materials from the drawers and doors. My pulse skitters at the thought that this is the first chance to prove myself. My gaze flickers to the metal lodged into his flesh, and I gulp.

Marge returns and places items on the table next to us. Darian shakes his head at the sight of the needles, and I drop to crouch in front of him. I circle my hand around the handle of the dagger but don’t touch it yet.

“Ready?” Marge asks.

I nod.

“Go.”

In the moments I close my fingers around the hilt, Darian shifts his gaze back to me.

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