The Demon King Davian

“Jade,” he whispered. “I love you. And I know I don’t deserve you, but…I don’t want to lose you.”

Another short breath fell from her trembling lips. “You don’t play fair. Telling me you love me…”

“I wouldn’t lie about it, you know that. I’ve been very forthcoming with my feelings for you. Right now, you’re devastating me.”

Her gaze slid to his. “I actually can feel your heartbeats. They’re erratic.”

“That’s because I’m completely freaked out.”

She gave a frail laugh—to appease him, no doubt. Large snowflakes began to fall on them and they shared a few tranquil moments as they stared at each other.

He wouldn’t—couldn’t—let her give into the pain.

“Davian.”

He heard Morgan behind him, along with Thunder, who nudged his arm.

Without taking his gaze from Jade, he said to his general, “Get the village doctor and take him to the cottage. She’s going to need help.”

“He can’t help me,” she muttered.

“We’ll see.” To Morgan, he said, “Go.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Davian carefully swept Jade into his arms and she shrieked, shattering whatever serenity their delicate moment had brought her.

“Sorry,” he said as rage ripped through him again over her battered and bloodied state. Thunder seemed as deeply affected by her suffering. He knelt so Davian could easily mount him with Jade nestled against his body.

>

The horse slowly rose, with some effort, given the weight he bore. Then he gingerly crossed the church and descended the steps with caution, though the movements still jarred Jade, as evidenced by her gasps and groans.

They trudged through the snow and Jade shivered against Davian as a frigid wind suddenly howled through the trees. By the time they reached her house, whatever healing she’d accomplished seemed to be negated by the pain she’d experienced from the jostling while in transit. And the cold. Her eyes were closed again and her breathing was shallow. A pained wheezing sound.

Morgan pulled open the door—he and Dr. Schaeffer had already arrived at the cottage.

Davian said, “Get some towels. Lay them over the bed.”

The old physician yanked back the comforter and top sheet, then Morgan spread out the towels. Davian set her on the mattress and the doctor gingerly worked off her boots as Davian tossed aside the cloak covering her and then unbuttoned her sweater, the front of which was nothing but ribbons of cloth from the assault on her.

“Good heavens.” Schaeffer’s gaze fell on the gaping cut on Jade’s chest. “We need more towels to clean her up.”

“No,” Davian said. “She requires the blood on her skin. I’ll explain later.” To Morgan, he said, “Help me get her sweater off.”

The general lifted her hair as Davian eased the material over her shoulders and down her ravaged arms.

“Davian, look at this.”

The grave expression on Morgan’s face made Davian’s stomach roil. Glancing over Jade’s shoulder, Davian fought back more rage. The doctor took a peek as well.

“My God,” Schaeffer said. “Those are second-degree burns, with some bruising around the edges of the red patches and blisters. And it looks as though she has a fractured rib on the right side.”

Davian’s heart sank. The damage was so much worse than he’d imagined. No wonder she’d wanted to give up and let her injuries take her. “She needs morphine,” he asserted.

The doctor went for his medical bag and rooted around until he had the needle and vial in hand. He said, “Her skin’s already damp and chilled from her soaked clothing. That should have helped to cool her back. But I can’t apply a towel at this point, because it could stick to the burns and peel away skin when it’s removed—and the more skin she loses, the more susceptible she’ll be to infection. Unfortunately, I do need her on her back in order to close her chest wound. And so she can rest.”

“What about something softer, smoother, that might not stick?” Davian indicated the pillowcase and Morgan quickly whipped one off the many pillows on the bed while Davian unhooked her bra.