Page 41 of Awestruck (Starstruck Love Stories #4)

“Assuming you live long enough for one to set in,” I mutter. “You are too big, Elliot. I need you to roll over.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

It takes both of us to get him on his left side—he is losing strength—but that gives me the leverage to guide his arm out of the sleeve and leave his torso mostly bare aside from the dog tags he always wears.

Every movement makes him paler than before, but when I announce that the back of his shirt has a slice but no missing fabric, he seems to relax for the first time since we stopped riding. But he is far from out of danger.

“Elliot, you need a physician.”

“Probably,” he agrees.

“I am not a physician.”

“No?” He looks up at me and smirks. “Seems like a missed opportunity, with how smart you are. Then again…” To my horror, he sits up, his whole body shaking until he is upright and holding himself up with one hand. “You’ll be too busy being a queen to ever have the time to practice.”

While I can appreciate the compliment, I am more worried about the way he looks like he may pass out at any moment. “Elliot, what are you doing?”

He slides out of the other shirtsleeve. “We can’t stay here.”

“But you—”

“I’ve had worse.” Taking up his shirt, he rolls it from top to bottom and starts wrapping the sleeves around his torso as if to tie it like a bandage.

I roll my eyes and grab it from him. “You have missed the wound, Sergeant.” Shifting the fabric so it better covers both sides of his wound, I tie the shirt in a firm knot as I continue to speak.

“Whatever you have endured before, it has no bearing on your current situation. You are not fit to go anywhere until we can find you medical assistance.”

He lifts his eyebrows and looks around. “Where are we going to find that?”

Scowling, I adjust the shirt if only to give me something to do other than stare at the sheer amount of muscle on the man in front of me.

Now that I am slightly less worried about him bleeding out, I cannot seem to look away.

This is not the first time I have seen him without a shirt, but I was not this close before.

Nor did I have feelings for him then. This is not the time to admire him, and yet…

“I am aware that our circumstances are not ideal,” I say as my eyes start trailing over his tattoos. I did not notice the wings before, painted on either side of a ridged scar on his shoulder, and I reach out to run my fingers over them.

Elliot tenses at my touch and looks down at his shoulder.

“What do they mean?” I ask in a whisper.

His hand slowly rises to wrap around the dog tags sitting against his chest, covering the name Joshua Griffin. “They’re in honor of a fallen brother-in-arms. He took fire that should have been mine and saved my life.”

Oh. He said that so easily. So calmly. If that had been me, I do not think I would ever feel anything but guilty. I feel guilty enough for my current situation, and Elliot is still alive.

My thoughts must be on my face because Elliot gently touches my cheek as he says, “It was the worst thing I’ve ever gone through and the reason I resigned. His death wasn’t directly my fault, but… It should have been me who died.”

Tears prick my eyes. “I’m glad it wasn’t,” I whisper, hating every word.

I should not be grateful for something like that.

I should never be glad that someone lost his life.

But the thought of Elliot not being here with me…

A sob breaks from me as so many emotions come rushing to the surface, everything I have been feeling for days but refused to release.

Guilt, fear, inadequacy, loneliness, affection.

It all spills from me in a watery mess of tears.

Elliot tucks his arm around me and pulls me into his chest.

I let out a cry that is almost a laugh. “Oh, this is ridiculous!” I complain.

He tightens his hold. “What?”

“You are bleeding, probably dying, and I am the one falling apart!” Sniffling, I try to sit up straight again, but he will not let me. “Elliot, I am to be a queen!”

“I hope so.”

“I cannot sit here blubbering like a child when you need me to be strong.”

“I don’t need that, Freya.” His hand moves to my hair, fingers working their way into the style my attendant wove it into and sending a shiver through me. “All I need is for you to be safe. And I’m glad too.”

This time when I pull back, he gives me enough room to meet his eyes. “Why?”

Lips quirking up, he leans forward until his forehead touches mine. “Because I don’t know if I can let anyone else protect you. Even if I’ve done a terrible job of it so far. I need…” He exhales and slumps forward, and I have to press my arm against his chest to hold him up.

“You need help,” I finish for him. “Can you stand?” If I can get him on the horse, I can try to find someone who can help.

While most people in this area live within the valley of Skalridge, there are some in the mountains.

If there is no one close, I will take him back to the city and hope he lasts that long.

Grunting, Elliot takes a few deep breaths before he shifts his legs, ready to try to stand. “I’ll be fine,” he says.

It is clearly a lie. While he manages to stand with my assistance, his first step nearly sends him back down to the ground. He has lost too much blood, and I fear he will not have the strength to survive long enough to find help. Even then, I will never get him on the horse on my own.

“What do I do?” I ask as I tuck myself under his arm, hoping to hold his significant weight without dropping him.

Elliot hums. “Give me a minute.”

“I worry you do not have a minute.”

The smile he gives me is so much like the roguish smirks he gave me on the day we met that I cannot help but smile back at him. “It almost sounds like you care, Rapunzel.”

Of course I care. I have wanted to tell him so many times, but it took a bullet for me to admit it out loud. “Elliot, I—”

“If—” he groans “—when I pass out, promise me you won’t go wandering around looking for help.”

My smile immediately shifts to a scowl. “I will promise no such thing.”

“Freya, please.” He closes his eyes, leaning more heavily into me. “I need to know you’ll be safe. Find somewhere to hide and wait for…the palace guards…to find you.”

“How will the—”

“Tracker.” He moans, breaths shallow. “In your hair.”

I gasp. “What?”

Before he can explain—assuming he would choose to in the first place—he loses consciousness, and it takes everything in me to slow his fall.

I end up in a heap on top of him as he crashes to the ground, my tears threatening to break loose again.

The forest around me begins to darken as the sun dips behind the mountains.

“Elliot,” I whisper, knowing he will not respond as I press my palm to his cheek. I want him to tell me what to do. I need him to be okay. “Please don’t leave me.”