Page 89 of Of Blood and Banes
Still, no response. His eyes are sewn shut, cracked lips parted slightly.
“Hey. Get your stubborn ass up.” I shake his shoulder gently. Waiting for him to fight against death with the same vigor he did everyone else.
He’s limp. Too far gone to respond, if he can even hear me.
I open the top of my shirt, fumbling for the necklace holding the vial Marge had given me. Without a second thought, I rip the cork open and inhale all the dragon’s breath. Holding it in my lungs, I scoop his head into my hands and press my lips against his. I exhale into his mouth, the burn of the dragon’s breath lingering in my lungs. My eyes flutter closed. I’m begging the Gods it’ll be enough to save him.
Hold on.
A hand gently scrapes my cheek, dragging my hair back from my face and holding it behind my ear. My eyes flash open at the same time his eyelids drag open. His dark lashes frame his green irises, his pupils abnormally dilated.
His chest heaves with a sharp inhale, sucking the breath out of my mouth until I break off his lips. He coughs, his shoulders hunching in on himself as he fights to regain his breath.
Once he steadies his coughing, he drags a wary glance to me through half-lidded eyes. His voice is smoky. “What did you do to me?”
“I saved your life,” I murmur as I shift away to leave.
He snags my wrist. “Youwhat?”
He doesn’t have to remind me how foolish it was. His tone conveys enough. And knowing how much shit I’ll be in if Marge finds out? Perhaps I can keep it a secret that I used it on someone other than myself.
“Why did you do that?” Darian croaks, his fingers still wrapped weakly around my wrist.
I can’t ignore the slight shake in his hand, trembling around my forearm caught in his grasp. “Because I still need you—” I swallow.
I need the information he isn’t willing to share. The information with the potential to save all dragon and humankind. I know somewhere, deep down, there must be something to convince him. Something to shift his perspective. As far as I’ve gathered, all that matters is his sister, Edith. I can tell by how sensitive he is whenever she’s mentioned—to the point I expect him to snap at the mere mention of her name.
He releases my wrist, his eyes fluttering closed as he sags back into my arms and rasps, “You should have let me go. It would have been the merciful thing to do.”
“I—” I pause, stupefied by his response. Swallowing, I stare at his closed eyelids. I whisper weakly around the guilt still filling my throat, “I’m sorry I left you here.”
He doesn’t respond. The shallow rise and fall of his chest is the only confirmation he isn’t dead. I glance over my shoulder at the door and then the bed. With a grumble, I slowly lower him back to the floor.
After flicking the last wisps of smoke out of the room, I close the door. The trembling in my muscles has ceased, and a new surge of strength lines my steps. The dragon’s breath must have worked on me a bit, too.
Tug by tug, I pull the bed closer to where Darian’s shackles are. Each squeaking scrape against the stone floor has me certain it’ll wake him. But either he’s a damn good faker, or he truly is stuck in a deep sleep. As soon as I get the bed close enough to him, I pull his limp body off the ground and slouch him onto the bed.
Curse him.
Even with the lost weight and muscle over the last several weeks, he’s still a challenge to lift. He stirs slightly with a grunt as I pull him up onto the bed, inch by inch, with the chains clinking from each movement.
Once I finally get him on, his head flops to the side, his eyes still closed. I check his pulse. It’s still a dull drum in his throat. A spike of pity pricks me when I glimpse the discoloration of deep bruises on his wrists. I can’t even recall if they were there before today or not. Unsheathing one of my daggers, I slice off strips from the bed sheets and wrap the fabric gently around his wrists before securing the restraints back on.
I press a hand to his forehead, his skin icy cool. It’s enough of a drastic difference to remind me of how cold I’d been when I went to The White. I brush the strands of brown hair spilling onto his forehead back away from his face, before pulling blankets over him.
“He still alive?”Daeja questions from somewhere off in the distance.
“Yes. Well…for now, anyway.”I slide off the bed and undo my braid, dragging my fingers through the crown of my head to loosen the waves as I stare at Darian’s solemnly still figure on the bed.
“And you’re alright? Last I saw, you couldn’t even stand on your own.”
I pause with my fingers in my hair.“Can you keep a secret?”
The bond wiggles between us in excitement.“Does a dragon not hunger?”
“I…used the dragon’s breath Marge gave me on Darian. And…part of it worked on me, too. I’m feeling much better.”
“I’m not even going to ask you how you also used it…”
