Lilith's POV
The door to his room was slightly ajar when I arrived.
The faint, metallic scent of blood seeped through the crack, hitting me square in the nostrils.
He was badly hurt.
The realization struck me a second before I did, shoving the door open with a sharp cry of, "Rylan?"
He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his shirt shoved down haphazardly around his waist. His bare torso was a landscape of taut, corded muscle, rigid with pain.
A vicious gash tore from his upper arm down to his wrist, the flesh raw and mangled. Dark blood still oozed sluggishly, staining his skin and the bedsheet in ugly patches.
The carpet was littered with empty antiseptic bottles and a pile of blood-soaked gauze.
He was struggling, twisting his arm at an awkward angle, trying to dab at the hard
