They Rise at Dusk (Book #1) ✔️

Chapter 19: Everything Will Burn

Weakness turned my dangling arms and legs completely useless. Blood poured from the wound, all over the white shirt and the grey jacket. My head hung back, my mind slipping from me with each passing second.

"You need to stay awake." Dorian's voice sounded wrong, gruff and scared. "The bullet pierced your lung and went out on the other side. I can't tell how many of your organs are fucked up."

He was carrying me. I felt his grip under my knees and upper back. I was pressed against his body, probably getting blood all over him.

I opened my mouth like a fish, trying to gulp down the air, but nothing passed through. The lack of oxygen hit my brain and the world slipped from me.

"Stay awake!"

Dorian's voice brought me back. I felt leather against under my palms, and when I peeked through my closed eyelids, I noticed we were in a car.

"Come on." Dorian gripped my chin and forced my mouth open. "Drink this."

I couldn't talk, breathe, think.

Liquid poured down my throat, mixing with my own blood in my mouth. I coughed, losing half the blood he made me drink.

"Odette." His voice cracked, and something about it, something about the sound of it, made me almost smile. "You need blood. Please – please – drink!"

My eyes rolled back, and everything turned black.

Pain spread through my cheek, pulling me right back, and I almost laughed when I realised Dorian slapped me to keep me awake.

More blood slid down my throat, and Dorian forced my mouth shut when I tried to cough. Numbness ceased, replaced by sharp pain. After a couple of gulps, I managed to breathe in.

"That's it, you're doing great, dragostea." Dorian's voice sounded muffled and far away.

He forced more blood down my throat, and alertness returned gradually, making me aware of every shredded nerve and tissue in my body. A scattered cry fell off my lips.

"It's okay." He touched my face with the back of his hand, the gesture so surprisingly gentle. "You're fine. Nothing a little blood can't fix."

But his voice didn't match his words.

No, he sounded unhinged – terrified, even.

"Can you hold this?" A warm bottle ended up in my hand.

I tried to speak, but couldn't, so I simply nodded, trying to tighten my grip.

"Drink." Dorian commanded.

Finally, I opened my eyes enough to see what was going on.

We were in a car, and I was lying in the backseat, my head pressed against the door handle in a weird angle. Dorian sat next to me. He wore grey t-shirt and sweatpants, an attire I've probably never seen him in. Blood covered his arms, all the way to his elbows, and his shirt. His silver hair fell over his eyes and he brushed it aside. His hands were shaking.

I tried to decipher his expression.

His jaw was clenched and his eyes wide, and he stared ahead, every now and then shouting at the driver to hurry up.

I brought the bottle to my lips, and the more I drank, the less pain I felt.

This was all because I refused to drink straight from the vein, and I knew it. Damn hospital food almost killed me. A measly bullet through the lung almost killed me.

The car stopped abruptly, and Dorian got out first.

I tried to push myself up, but couldn't. My limbs still didn't remember how to work. The door behind me opened, and strong hands ended up under my armpits.