I didn’t wait for him to finish the sentence. I was already moving, fueled by a frantic adrenaline that made the world feel sharp and bright. He looked so small on the stone floor - not the god of shadow I’d known last night, but a man made of porcelain and blood.
“Stay with me, Kaspar. Don’t you dare close your eyes,” I commanded, my voice steadier than my hands.
I hauled the heavy silk sheets from the bed, the fabric cool and slippery. I grabbed the jug of mountain water, and I knelt in the spreading pool of his blood. My emerald robe soaked in the red, but I didn’t care.
The gash across his ribs was deep, the edges ragged. It was the burns from the creature’s blood though that looked the most painful. Angry, blistered patches of skin seemed to be fighting to knit back together and
