Under Crimson Rain (Book Two)

⋆˖☽ Chapter 15 ☾˖⋆

The mattress threatened to swallow me whole, gravity pulling at my battered frame as I stared at the ceiling.

Ondina. I dug my fingers into the sheets, fighting a dizzying tilt of the room to force myself upright. Every breath was a sharp intake, but I ignored the screaming protest in my chest and swung my feet over the edge. The room was empty. As I bore my weight onto my legs, they shook, the muscles refusing to work.

Lift, I commanded my deadened limbs.

First the heel, then the toes. One agonizing, microscopic step. Then another. My trembling fingers found the cold metal of the doorknob. The sheer effort left my body quivering. I squeezed my eyes shut against the vertigo.

It's only the next room. She needs me. I turned the handle, easing the heavy door open. The breath rattled in my lungs. The hallway was empty. I took a single step out, but my knee buckled. My injured shoulder slammed against the wall. A jagged starburst of pain shot down my arm, and a sharp yelp escaped my lips before I could bite it back. Ragged gasps tore through my throat as the agony seared through my veins, gravity dragging me down until I collapsed onto the floor.

Another wave crashed over me. My vision swam, black spots dancing across the torchlit walls. My head swayed, waiting for the agony to settle into a dull pulse. Clinging to the corner of the wall with my good hand, I dragged myself back to my feet, bearing my weight on the stone. Cold sweat beaded at my temples, trickling down my face. I lifted a hand to wipe it away.

"What are you doing?" Emeric's harsh voice echoed off the corridor walls.

My eyes widened as he materialized from the shadows. "I... need to see—"

"Ondina," he cut in, stepping within inches of me. His green eyes darted straight to my injured shoulder. "At what cost?" he muttered, his gaze snapping back up to pierce mine. "You are bleeding."

I forced air into my burning lungs. "I am fine." The lie came out weak.

"Are you?"

"Yes. She... needs me."

He stepped closer, his large frame looming over me. "She would want you alive. Your bandage has soaked through." Beneath my shirt, the wet, creeping warmth of fresh blood bloomed across my shoulder.

"I—"

"Would she want to see you bleeding out for her?" he interrupted.

My fingers curled into a tight fist against the wall. "Fine. I will change my bandage."

"And then?"

As he spoke, the last reserves of my strength gave out. But his hands were already there. He caught me, his large palms pressing against my waist, anchoring me upright. He let out a frustrated huff of air.

"I will help you," he said, his voice clipped. He shifted his grip, hauling my good arm over his shoulder. I instinctively raised my other hand to push his chest away, but a tearing sensation ripped through my collarbone, stopping me dead.

"Don't think how I feel has changed," he warned, his tone like ice.

"I know you hate me," I whispered through the haze of pain.

Every step back to the bed was a grueling, awkward hobble. He pressed me down onto the mattress and stepped back, his eyes narrowing.

"The feeling is mutual," I added.

He snatched a roll of fresh gauze from the nightstand, stepping back into my space as my chest heaved with exhaustion. I held my breath when his calloused fingers brushed my bare collarbone, pushing the ruined fabric of my shirt out of the way. His eyes remained fixed on the wound. For a second, his hands fumbled with the sticky, blood-soaked gauze, the muscle in his jaw jumping.

A sharp gasp escaped my lips as he tore the last of the adhesive away from my torn flesh.

"Stubborn," he mumbled under his breath, tossing the soiled ruin aside.

I bit the inside of my cheek. He is too close. He stepped back to retrieve a fresh square of gauze. For a brief second, the space he left behind filled with the faint scent of sandalwood—a stark contrast to the copper tang of my own blood. Then he was close again, casting a heavy shadow over me.

"I do not want to do this again," he murmured, his tone dark.

"I don't want you to," I snapped back.

He let out a harsh, humorless laugh. "It seems the opposite, considering you keep ignoring your own situation."

I snapped my head away, refusing to look at his face. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to steady my ragged breathing as his fingers went back to work. Another vicious wave of pain washed over my shoulder. This time, I clamped my jaw shut, refusing to make a sound. It is just a reminder that I am alive.

"How did we survive?" I asked. The hostile anger drained away, leaving my voice broken and soft in the quiet room.

"Mikaeus called back Zarina," Emeric answered grimly. "Her fire caused the Vow to break their formation."

"But Ruslan..." I paused, a cold dread pooling in my stomach. "He was right there. I barely moved away from him." He would not just leave me... he wouldn't, I repeated to myself, my mind racing with terrifying possibilities.

"We saved you," Emeric said, pulling me from my dark thoughts. "Do not worry about the rest."

"Was it we, or you?" I pressed.

He finished taping down the final piece of clean gauze, his hands freezing. "What are you implying?" he asked, a tight crease forming between his brows.

"Just like you saw me," I said, my eyes narrowing to meet his dark, guarded stare without wavering. "I saw you too. You ran to me. And you looked worried... desperate."

"Mikaeus would not be okay if you were not." His eyes drifted away from my face, fixing back on the white bandage. "Do not overthink it."

"And no one else was injured?"

A fleeting look of confusion passed over his features. "No."

I spoke slowly, a cold bitterness rising in my chest. "Do not lie to me. I saw the gauze. A blade met your arm."

A faint flush of red crept into his cheeks. He stepped back, putting a safe distance between us.

"Tell me," I insisted, the demand coming out breathy and weak. "It was Ruslan... wasn't it?"

His eyes snapped back to mine. A storm of emotion I couldn't decipher crossed his face. "Things happen in battle," he deflected. "It does not matter how they happen."

"It does to me." My voice rose a fraction, immediately punished by a sharp, breath-stealing stab in my chest. I sucked in a harsh breath. "What was the cost?"

"What do you want to hear?" he snapped. "That I saved you? That I ripped you straight from his grasp? That he almost took you? That—"

He cut himself off. The raw, bleeding emotion vanished; his face went back into a cold, unreadable mask. I froze, blinking up at him in stunned silence.

"I do not—"

"No, you do not know, Alanah," he interrupted, his voice hollow. "Now, let us take you to Ondina before you make yourself bleed again."

A wave of confusion washed over me, but the desperate desire to see Ondina overshadowed the mystery of his outburst. I braced my good hand against the mattress and pushed up. My weak legs began to buckle.

"Just let me help," he muttered. He stepped back into my space, pulling my arm over his broad shoulder to bear my weight, and guided me toward the door.

My heart pounded against my ribs—a frantic, erratic rhythm that accompanied every agonizing half-step down the hall. We paused in front of Ondina's closed door. He lifted my arm off his shoulder, shifting my weight so I rested securely against the wall. He hovered next to me for a long moment, the narrow space between us thick with everything we weren't saying.

"You aren't coming in?" I asked, my breath hitching.

He took three deliberate steps to the side, leaning his broad back against the wall. "I will be here when you return." His head snapped away, his gaze fixing on the empty shadows down the hall as he shut me out.

My fingers wrapped around the cool handle, pushing the door inward. The earthy smell of crushed herbs washed over me. The room was stiflingly warm. Daylight poured through the windows, a brilliant, mocking contrast to the dark reality of what we had just survived.

Against the heavy wooden headboard sat Ondina. The cuts mapping her face were finally beginning to knit closed, leaving behind angry red lines of healing flesh. Her eyelids fluttered, as if fighting the weight of the air itself, before drifting open. When our gazes locked, the sheer, hollow weariness in her eyes stole the breath from my lungs. But then, a flicker of recognition cut through the fog. A fragile, trembling warmth seeping through the veil of her agony.

"You," she rasped. The word was ruined, stripped of the fierce cadence I knew so well. She swallowed, her throat bobbing painfully, and forced the words past her lips. "You are here."

I remained anchored to the doorway, paralyzed as hot, blinding tears blurred my vision. "You're... you're—" The rest died in my throat. My airway constricted, tight and burning, allowing only thin, jagged pulls of breath to pass.

I forced my leaden legs to move—one agonizing step, then another. The air grew thick with the sharp, astringent bite of medicinal herbs, failing to mask the coppery stench of fresh blood. Ignoring the screaming protest of my own injured shoulder, I stumbled the last few feet and collapsed, my knees hitting the floor beside her bed with a thud.

Tears welled in Ondina's eyes, mirroring my own. Her lower lip trembled, her chest rising and falling in broken hitches. The last of her fierce defenses simply gave way. Silent streams carved paths down her bruised cheeks. My hands shook so violently I had to press my palms flat against the mattress to steady myself. The last of my strength bled out, and I buried my face into the edge of the bed. Broken sobs wrenched themselves from my throat, the sound muffled by the thick blankets.

"I kept my promise," I choked out. Lifting my head felt like moving stone, but I forced my tear-streaked face up to meet hers. "Safe... you are safe."

Only then, through the blur of my tears, did the horrifying extent of her injuries truly register. Thick, linen bandages swathed her entire torso and back, winding tightly all the way down past her elbows. A fresh bloom of bright red was already seeping through the layers, staining the fabric of her borrowed shirt.

"This is my fault." A dark, suffocating guilt draped over my shoulders, heavier than physical pain. "I am so sorry."

"No." Her voice was a fragile thread. "It is Ruslan's fault." A sudden, wet cough racked her frame. She gasped, her hands clenching the sheets as she fought to steady her lungs. "We both knew the risks."

Her chin dropped toward her chest. Violent tremors overtook her battered body. Squeezing her eyes shut, she let out a breath laced with terror. "I do not know... if I can face him again."

"You will not have to." The promise crystallized in my chest, lending a sudden, cold strength to my voice. "I will."

"Everything always bends to his will... exactly as he designs it," she whispered bitterly. "He is always... one step ahead." Fresh tears pooled in her bright green eyes, catching the harsh light of the room.

"Is he?" I reached out, my fingers lightly covering her cold hand. "We are free, Ondina. He did not account for that."

"No," she murmured. She lifted her head. The stark terror in her eyes began to cool, hardening as her jaw set into a grim, unyielding line.

"Now, we take the lead," I told her, the conviction settling deep in my bones. "I will end his madness."

"He won't stop."

"I—"

"Not until he has you. He will burn the world down to get you." She leaned a fraction closer, her voice dropping to a hiss. "He believes you are connected to the dragons."

I sucked in a sharp breath. The air turned to ice in my lungs. How much does he actually know? The chill raced down my spine, and my teeth clamped together so hard my jaw ached. She let her head fall back against the wood, eyes sliding shut. "Are we truly free?"

"Yes." The word felt brittle in my mouth, fragile.

But not entirely, a dark, venomous thought curled in my mind. Not until he is buried. I looked at her broken form and squeezed my eyes shut against a blinding surge of fury. Ruslan had broken her body. But I knew Ondina. He had not broken her spirit.

"Aurenoxious," I breathed, the name a sacred invocation in the quiet room.

Her eyes snapped open. She stared at me, her breath catching in her throat, suspended in desperate anticipation.

"He is here. In Luminethra."

"Is... is he—"

"He is safe," I promised softly, cutting off her fear. A genuine, aching smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. "We did it." The desperate vow I had made to the dragon echoed in my mind, a beacon in the dark. "He is waiting to see you."

She tried to shift against the pillows, a low moan escaping her lips as the movement pulled at her wounds. But underneath the pain, a fierce hope threaded through her voice. "When can I see him?"

"When you can stand," I replied gently.

She nodded, a slow, calculated movement. "That is acceptable. The healers here... their herbs are potent." A shallow breath hitched in her chest. "They claim I will be able to move freely within a week. With pain, of course, but mobile."

That is fast, I thought, a profound, sweeping relief washing over the edges of my exhaustion.

"Can we go to him then?" she asked.

"Yes." I silently prayed my own body would knit itself back together by then. The deep, rhythmic throbbing in my shoulder was a persistent reminder of my own limits.

Her heavy eyes drifted shut, only to pry themselves open one last time to find me. "I am so thankful we are friends," she whispered into the stifling heat. "You have given me strength, yet again."

"And I am thankful for you."

Unbidden, Enkarthos's haunting words echoed through the cavern of my mind: I cannot keep doing things alone.

He was right. I was spent. I let my head fall forward onto the mattress, resting my cheek against the back of my good hand. "Is it okay if I stay like this... just a little longer?"

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