Page 61 of Degradation (The Brethren Lords #3)

Devin

I don’t know how I stood there, how I heard him say those words and didn’t rip out his throat, didn’t beat him to a pulp, didn’t make him suffer for everything he has made her endure.

Once I’m certain he won’t return, I creep into the room, creep to the bed.

She’s still shivering so much.

“Paitlyn.” I murmur.

She gasps, stilling for a second before her shivering returns. “You, you, you shouldn’t beee in here.” She stammers.

“Like fuck I’d leave you alone right now.” I state, revealing more parts of me, more pieces I should keep locked away.

She doesn’t reply. She just buries her face in the pillow, and I know that muffled noise is the sound of her sobs.

I get on the bed, grab her in my arms and hold her so tightly.

“I can’t get wa-warm.” She stammers.

She’s shaking so violently. Too violently. I know this isn’t right. I know whatever this is, it’s not going to go on its own.

She looks so pale, she looks almost blue.

“Paitlyn?” I whisper.

She doesn’t respond now, she just lays there, like simply existing is too painful for her to manage.

I’m not letting her die. I won’t let her.

I force myself up, force myself from the bed, and I storm through the Palace. If I bump into Gunther right now, he’ll absolutely question why I’m not at my post and I think I might just gut him the way I planned to gut his friend.

I make it down to the infirmary. The doctors are occupied and one of the nurses tries to ask me what I’m doing here and what I want.

I shove her out of the way, using my hand over her face to ensure she gets the message.

She yelps as she falls to her arse, but I don’t give a fuck.

Not about her, not about any of these people.

If any of them try to stop me, if any of them get in my way right now, I’ll happily pull my weapon and start firing.

I kick the door to the storeroom open. The medicines are all piled up on neat little shelves. All alphabetically which is helpful.

But meds won’t fix this. There’s no magic pill to cure what Paitlyn has. I know the signs. I’ve seen enough people die of this to know exactly what’s wrong.

I grab at the bags of fluid, at a giving set too and all the other bits I need. On my way out, my eyes land on a box and I grab that for good measure.

As I walk back onto the ward there’s a crowd of them, two doctors, a handful of nurses, all waiting for me. Creating a human barrier between me and the exit.

Are they missing their friends? Have they put it together where they went the other day, why they didn’t just return afterwards?

“Excuse me.” The most senior of them says. “You can’t just help yourself…”

I draw my body up, towering over them all. “You gonna stop me?” I growl.

They exchange looks, nervous noises too and that tells me all I need to know.

“Get the fuck out of my way.” I snap as I barge through them.

They land in a heap of limbs, but I don’t stop to even look at them. I just keep on, rushing through Palace, rushing up the stairway until I get to her.

She hasn’t moved. She hasn’t moved an inch, and I can also see that she’s no longer trembling.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

I toss the items onto the rug, scooping her up in my arms.

“Don’t you dare fucking die.” I snarl.

She’s limp, she’s barely moving, and I can hear her breath is sounding more rattled than ever.

I carry her over to where the fireplace is. I lay her down, getting the stuff I stole from the infirmary and my fingers fumble as I try to set it all up. I know I’m running out of time, that any minute now her body is going to give up. She is going to give up.

“Come on,” I hiss, not to her, but to me.

I’ve never felt helpless like this before. I’ve never felt useless. With the size I am, defeat is such an unlikely outcome that for most battles, I know I can fight my way out of it. But how can you fight death?

The syringe pierces the soft skin in her arm.

She doesn’t even react, doesn’t even hiss as I slide it further into the vein.

The packaging for the giving set is a bitch to open and I end up tearing it apart with my teeth.

I connect the ends, holding the fluid high enough that gravity should help, but I’m squeezing it all the same, squeezing it so hard.

She has to live. She has to.

I stay there, on my knees for what feels like hours. Her chest is barely rising, her body still looks so impossibly pale but eventually it feels like it might be making a difference, like she might be rallying, if only a tiny bit.

I pull the blanket further around her, turning it into a cocoon and then, reluctantly I shift away. The fluids will help get her vitals up, but we need to get her core body temperature higher, and this duvet isn’t doing it.

I grab the logs, tossing them into the dark, dirty hole. I haven’t made a fire in years, why would I need to when I have enough servants to do that shit for me? As the flames start to catch, I move back, move to where she is.

She’s shifting a little, like she’s trying to wake up. She still looks weak but that has to be a good sign.

“Hey,” I murmur, sweeping the hair from her forehead.

Her mouth twitches with the hint of a smile.

I scoop her back up, holding her in my lap with my one arm and in my other hand I squeeze that fluid bag, keeping the pressure on, and the entire time my eyes are on her face, practically daring her to defy me, daring her to even think of giving up now.