Tainted Blood

Chapter 11

Elias

The room was cold and damp he laid her unconscious body down against the musty couch. Her breathing was shallow and her lips blue; her body bruised and torn from their torture. His hands littered in her blood as he pressed them to her ribs; blood pouring from her wound. Blood flowed from through his fingers as he swore under his breath. He needed to get the bleeding to stop if he didn't-

"Fuck!"

He leaped from her body, grabbing the pack nearest to him, one he had swiped from the compound. Inside sat a small, battered box with a white cross strewn across it. Inside was a single gauze, a white bandage, a string of thread and a needle. Elias lined the items next to Spencer, tearing her shirt from the lower torso of her body, he watched as the blood oozed from the rectangular wound, black liquid exuded around the wound, small vein like structures creeping around up her side. Elias reached into his pocket, pulling the small flask out and positioning the spirit over the wound.

"Okay, okay," he whispered, his hands shaking, "this is going to hurt like a bitch."

He tipped the flask and watched as her body convulsed in pain as the brandy hit her wound. He held her down with his forearm, grabbing the needle and thread he released a long shaky breath as he tried to thread the needle, each time missing. Frustration was creeping in as he tried again, Spencer's breathing slowed immeasurably as the rhythmic rising and falling of her chest ceased.

"Shit! Fucking hell Ayla!" he spat as he pressed his hands to her chest, "will you stop trying to fucking die."

His hand flew over her nose as he pressed his lips to hers and blew, his compressions staying within a beat. A small raspy breath escaped Spencer as her chest slowly rose and fell. Elias jumped back to the needle, the thread passing through as he held a shaky hand over her chest and begun stitching. Small groans escaped Spencer with each pierce as he sewed her wound. Dosing the rag in the remaining brandy, he cleaned the blood surrounding his work.

He allowed himself to look towards her face, her skin deathly pale as her golden hair was caked in blood and sweat. Each breath she took was shallow and wheezing as she struggled. He knew she wouldn't make it the night, not like this, she'd lost too much blood. Her skin was icy cold as he caressed her hand. He pulled off his cloak and draped it over her body. His mind was running wild as looked at her, the small invisible pull behind his stomach was refusing to be ignored as he listened to her every breath.

He looked around the safehouse he had taken them too, looking through the cupboards and drawers before he found a single syringe, two tubes connected on opposite side, each with a needle on the end. His thoughts run wild as he held the transfusion device in his hands, medicines, ointments, and rags lay neatly in the drawer as he watched the woman on the couch. He had heard what the Master had said before they were dragged away from each other, Ayla; if he could even call her that, was in fact Spencer Mercer. Daughter to the king of the world, and everything he had fought against for so long. He couldn't explain why he had broken her out of the basement. Couldn't comprehend why now, in this old house where no one comes, why he couldn't just let her die. It was as though he felt some alien version of protection against the woman who lay dying. As if, if she were to disappear from this world, he could no longer bear to be in it. Even though every inch of his being loathed her and everything she has done to this community.

"Fuck." he whispered, walking back over to her, his fingers brushing the bloodied hair from her eyes, "I hate you."

Ä

Three days have passed Elias brought them to the safehouse, three days since Spencer had last opened her eyes. Over the hours, Elias has administered medications, antibiotics, and ointments. Anything to slow the spread of whatever the knife she was stabbed with was laced. His body weak from the transfusions to flush the toxin from her system, his mind weak from fighting against the animalistic urge to slit her throat while she slept. He was running out of options on how he could help her, but he knew if he were to bring in outside sources to assist; once they knew what she was, who she was, she would be as good as dead. To draw himself away from his murderous thoughts, he contemplates how it was possible that both were able to escape that compound intact. For he did not see the shaded figure that had opened his cell door late in the night, leaving his axe cleaved into the watchers back. He did not know whether to be grateful that someone had helped or concerned that their rescuer had yet to step forward.

As the days have passed, Spencer's state has improved as expected. She was no longer as white as freshly fallen snow or as cold as ice. Colour had returned to her complexion and her wound, despite the black vein-like structure protruding along her torso, was free of infection and inflammation; expected to heal within the coming weeks. Elias made sure to change and check her dressings daily, using cloths and items he had found stashed around the house.

Night had often come too soon for him, the clear circles of purple under his eyes evidence enough of his lack of sleep. The same dream playing over in his head on a loop, a dream that was familiar to him even as a small child. A scenario he was never able to decipher but had always felt that it held such meaning in his life. Each time he succumbed to it, he would wake in a panicked sweat, his mind screaming in pain as he reached. The same words spilled from his mouth in a pained whisper, "please, please, please,"

The field was thick with blood and rot, fires alit everywhere warmed the atmosphere to an uncomfortable temperature. His body was heavy with exhaustion and sweat as he fought the armoured man, his body glistening against the fires light. Screams were everywhere around them as they fought; people running, children and mother's fleeing from the oncoming carnage. Behind him he heard her voice, clear as day, she was screaming for a family to run as the armoured man ran straight for her. Her hands tightly clenched her knives as he swung. Together they fought, each strike a crushing weight. For Elias knew what was coming.

A scream had run out behind them, a mother sliced through by the enemy, her child clinging to her lifeless body. He watched, helpless as the knife launched through the air, connecting with the offender standing over the child. He screamed her name but nothing came out as the armoured man plunged the sword through her, her knees buckling to the ground. He ran, his hand grasping the hilt of his axe as he swung up, colliding with the man's neck, the axe slicing through.

He dropped to his knees, holding her in his arms, her face was blurred but the pain in his heart told him what she was. His light against the darkness. Her breathing was shallow, she tried to speak but couldn't. He felt the hot tears sliding down his cheeks through the blood and grime.

"Please, please don't leave me, please-"

"I'm sorry," she whispered, blood spilling from her mouth, "in this life and the next."

"Please."

"Elias?" Spencer whispered.