ALL US VILLAINS

Chapter Twenty-One

There's a large, long trail of blood leading into the healer's room. It stains the hallway's marble floors, turning it into a pale pink color. Diana stands outside of the healer's room, debating between moving on or entering the room.

It is her fault that Darren no longer has his hands. If she had not acted so weak, Liam would have left the man alone. If she had not grown closer with the prince, then he would not have felt obliged to protect her.

Diana should have just focused on healing herself rather than submitting to her misery and guilt. Darren might have kept both of his hands if he had done so.

A loud moan of pain causes the woman to open the door. One of the palace's healers rushes past her, carrying a large bundle of bandages. Two others surround Darren, attempting to heal him.

The guard thrashes around the bed in pain, barely able to keep still with three men holding him down. His face is blanched and sallow from the blood loss. If he is not healed soon enough, he will die from either the pain or the lack of blood in his body.

His hands sit on the table, untouched and undisturbed. They are oddly discolored due to their lack of blood and oxygen. Their fingers are partially curled, resting on the table like they are claws.

Healers can only close wounds. They cannot reapply detached limbs. That means that Darren will live for the rest of his life unable to properly take care of himself. He will be jobless and shamed. Discriminated against and ignored.

Guilt sits upon the woman's chest, taking the air out of her lungs. She stares at the scene in shock just as a solution comes to her mind. Her idea could be dangerous. It may not work properly if she cannot get Darren to agree to it.

Someone pushes her back, attempting to remove her from the room. Diana looks down at Rosalie, who is glancing worriedly at her older brother. "You shouldn't be here," the guard claims.

The sorceress brushes off the woman's hand and fully enters the room. She walks over to the table to grab the man's hands. "I want everyone besides his siblings to get out," Diana orders.

She prays that no one can see her hesitating to grab the first severed hand. Bile rises in the woman's throat at the feeling of the cold, calloused hand. Her stomach twists with nausea, threatening to make her vomit.

As the door closes, Diana turns and places Darren's left hand onto the bed by his stub. Then, she grabs his right hand and runs to the other side to set the hand down.

"What are you doing?" Ezra questions from the corner of the room.

Diana grabs Darren's chin, trying to bring his focus to her face. "The healers would not be able to reapply his hands," she answers. "And I cannot heal. Not unless he makes a deal with me."

"What!?" Rosalie exclaims in panic. She rushes to Diana's side. "What do you mean that you cannot heal!?"

Ignoring Rosalie, Diana brings her face closer to Darren's. "Darren? Darren, I need you to listen to me. Can you hear my voice?"

Through heavy lidded eyes, the man nods his head. "Yes," he murmurs.

"I need you to make a deal with me, okay? If I reapply your hands, you must always use them for good. Do you understand?"

His breathing is getting more and more shallow. The air that leaves his mouth comes out as a wheeze. Darren's head only dips once to indicate a nod. "Yes. I— I understand."

Diana leans forward and kisses him. The moment that their lips touch, Diana takes on his pain. She can feel everything that he feels— his agony and pain, his hopes and desires, his anger and his guilt. It builds and builds inside of her body until she can no longer tell the difference between her feelings and his. Until their feelings are one.