Page 88 of Twilight of Embers
“Caster?” I whispered to Maddox, confused by the word. My voice was barely audible, and my vision wavered a bit.
I watched as Maddox battled against the rage bubbling inside him. He was usually the picture of control, but not now. “Someone who can help. They have healing abilities.”
My eyes widened.
He kept the gauze pad pressed to my chest. “Don’t worry, Mo Ghràidh. We’re going to help you.”
The gates to the property opened before we even neared, men and women with guns flanking it. My throat constricted as we flew past. What had I gotten myself into?
In a matter of minutes, we were pulling up to the house. Cillian jumped out of the driver’s seat and came around to open the back passenger door. His normally deep green eyes darkened to almost black as he took me in. “Let’s move.”
Maddox lifted me from the vehicle, and I couldn’t help the whimper of pain that escaped my lips.
“I’m so sorry, Mo Ghràidh. We’re almost there.” His voice was a hoarse whisper, agony and anger trying to break free.
Cillian jerked open the front door, leading us through a maze of hallways until we reached a room I’d never seen before. It was light and bright, some sort of sterile medical space.
Maddox lowered me to a bed, while Cillian was already moving around us, pulling various bottles and first aid items.
Footsteps thundered down the hallway, and the door flew open. Cáel was by my side in a flash, Knox hot on his heels.
Cáel pressed his forehead to mine, struggling to steady his breathing. “You’re okay.”
I tried to lift my hand to his face to comfort him, but the action hurt too much.
“Don’t move,” Knox ordered, his eyes wild. “Just hang on. East is getting help.”
I frowned at that. But before I could question it, Easton stormed into the room, expression thunderous. His gaze jerked to me, zeroing in on my blood-soaked sweater. His face paled as he swallowed hard. “I’ve got the caster.”
Easton stepped to the side to reveal a lanky guy who couldn’t have been much older than me. His face was pale as his gaze jumped around the room.
Cillian strode toward him, his massive frame towering over the poor guy. “If you heal her, you’ll have a safe haven for the rest of your days. If you hurt her, I’ll rip you apart piece by piece.”
“Cill,” I croaked. “Don’t.”
The guy swallowed hard. “I can help her.”
Cillian jerked his head in a nod, stepping out of the way so that the younger guy could pass.
He crossed to me, looking down and wincing. “I’m Marcus. Can I help you?”
“Hi,” I got out. “I’m Hayden. Please.”
Marcus nodded and then listed off a series of things, half of which I didn’t even recognize. But the guys around me sprinted into action, bringing all sorts of items to a rolling table.
The only one who stayed was Maddox. It was as if he couldn’t let go of my hand. And I was glad about it.
Marcus began mixing ingredients into a sort of paste, little lines appearing between his brows.
Cáel bent, his lips ghosting over my forehead. “I’m so sorry, Little One.”
My gaze found his, so many questions in mine. But he didn’t offer a single answer.
“Can someone cut her sweater off?” Marcus asked. “I need to apply the salve.”
Knox moved quickly, grabbing medical scissors and cutting the beautiful cashmere now stained with my blood. As he peeled it away, I couldn’t help but whimper.
“Do something for her pain,” Cillian snapped.
