Page 224 of The Mercy of Dawn

Thump. Thump.

“Cyril?!”

Cyril’s eyes flew open.

No. No, there was no fucking way that—

“Cyril?” The echoing voice—no, voices—sounded like they were getting closer. Like she could almost hear the scrape of boots on crumbled stones. “Cyril? Are you down here?”

That voice. It was so familiar.

A choked, broken noise left her lips. It was cruel of death to play her like this, but the footsteps and commotion kept getting louder.

Closer.

The cellar flooded with a blistering light that had Cyril groaning in discomfort, winking out a moment later

“Cyril? Oh, thank the fucking gods.” That voice carried so much relief. “Are you—oh fuck. Fuck.”

Her eyes drifted up, and she sobbed.

Gunner.

“Gods fucking dammit—Ari?!” he shouted back out the door. “She’s down here.”

He dropped to his knees beside Cyril and started prodding her—lifting her arms, shifting her leg, tugging her blouse around through all the dirt and gore. She could only grit her teeth through the pain.

“Shit, Cyril. How long have you been here?”

“I-I…don’t—” Cyril hissed through her teeth.

Gunner started tearing away at her already ragged pants, bearing the full length of the wound on her thigh, and it sent bolts of fucking agony up her leg.

“It’s going to be alright,” he said, possibly more to himself than anything else. “I-I’m sorry Cyril, this is going to really fucking hurt, okay? But we need to close this up, stop the bleeding.”

Cyril groaned. Everything already really fucking hurt.

Gunner cast her an appraising glance, a flicker of empathy in his eyes before he tugged off his leather gloves. He stacked them together and held them up to Cyril’s mouth. “Bite down on these, okay?”

Cyril obliged, even as the sour taste of bile climbed up her throat.

A quiet curse and an “I’m sorry, Cyril” was all the warning Gunner gave her before his hands touched her wound and a blast of flame rolled off of them.

A ragged cry left her lungs as skin and blood and gods knows what else sizzled, and the acrid smell of her burning flesh filled the air. The searing, aching pain radiated straight down to her bones.

Gunner apologized over and over as he lifted his hands, but the burning wouldn’t fucking stop.

She had little control over the tears that rolled down her cheeks as she sobbed quietly, the gloves between her teeth dropping to the floor.

“I know, I know. Fuck. We’re almost done, alright? Just one more.” Gunner eased up the side of her blouse, the warmth of his fingers almost painful against her skin, but Cyril pushed at him with every bit of her fleeting might.

“No more,” she whispered harshly. “I can’t…”

Gunner didn’t move away from her.

“Please Cyril,” he sighed, “I know it’s bad, I know—oh thank fuck, there you are.”

Hurried footsteps crunching on gravel came to an abrupt stop.