EZRA
I woke up to the sharp scent of iron. It was thick, cloying, unmistakable. My heart, still sluggish from sleep, stuttered when I turned my head. The sheets were soaked. Dark, wet patches bloomed around Malachai's still body, and for a moment, my mind refused to process what I was seeing.
No.
No, no, no.
"Malachai?" My voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper. My hands shook as I reached for him. His skin was clammy, too pale, his lips slightly parted. He didn't move. He didn't react.
"Malachai!"
Panic surged like wildfire, burning through my veins as I grabbed his shoulders and shook him. He didn't stir. My breath hitched, my throat constricting painfully. He was warm, he was still warm…..but there was too much blood. His shoulder, his torso, everywhere was bleeding . Why? Why hadn't I treated them before falling asleep? Why hadn't I realized how much he was bleeding?
No, this can't be happening.
A choked sob tore from my throat. My fingers curled into his shirt, gripping onto him as though I could anchor him here, stop him from slipping away. "Wake up! Malachai, please wake up!"
I shook him harder. Desperation made my hands violent, made my nails dig into his skin. My vision blurred. Tears streamed down my face, hot and unrelenting, dripping onto his face, but he didn't flinch. He didn't move.
I was losing him. I was losing him right in front of me.
"HELP!" I screamed, my voice raw, frantic. "Somebody, please help! He's dying!"
The mansion was silent. Too silent. And the weight of it crushed me. No one knew Malachai was here. No one knew he had spent the night with me. No one was coming.
I threw myself off the bed, my legs nearly giving out beneath me as I bolted to the door. My shoulder slammed into it as I wrenched it open. "HELP! GUARDS! ANYONE!"
Footsteps. Rushed, urgent. The sound of metal clanking, men's voices barking orders. Within seconds, guards swarmed the hallway, their faces shifting from confusion to horror when they saw Malachai's unmoving form on my bed.
"What the hell happened?!" One of them pushed past me, reaching for Malachai. My hands clenched into fists.
"Get a doctor! Now!" another one snapped, grabbing his radio.
"No," I croaked, barely able to hear myself over the roaring in my ears. "No, don't take him."
My body wouldn't move. I stood there, watching as they lifted him off the bed, watching as his blood smeared across their gloves, watching as they carried him away. My knees buckled, but I didn't hit the floor. My hands had wrapped around myself, squeezing, pressing down like I could keep myself from shattering completely.
I couldn't breathe.
It was my fault.
I should have checked his wounds. I should have called for help the moment he stepped into my room bleeding. I should have…
No. I couldn't think like that.
I staggered forward, my body moving on its own. My legs felt like lead, but I followed them. I followed Malachai.
I wasn't going to let him die.
Not now. Not after everything.
I wasn't going to lose him.