Page 19 of Firebird (The Fire That Binds #1)

XVIII

MALINA

“Julian,” I breathed out on a gasp as I rushed toward Trajan and another soldier, both in half-skin, carrying him into the tent.

Julian was in human form but naked, barely conscious. He must’ve shifted on the battlefield. Dark red blood dripped from his waist down his body.

“Gods! What happened?”

“Move, woman,” said the emerald-scaled soldier I didn’t know, shoving me to the side.

Julian erupted into a savage snarl and launched toward the man, hands reaching for his throat. The soldier fell back on a cry, knocking the war table over, maps scattering.

“Julian!” Trajan hauled him back and lifted him bodily, carrying him toward the sleeping quarters.

I leaped into action, drawing the curtain back so that Trajan could carry him through, his wings scraping the top of the tent. Once Julian was laid upon the bed and Trajan moved out of the small sleeping space, I set to work, finding the rags used for washing and what little water was left in the pitcher.

“Send for Koska,” I snapped, sitting on the edge of his bed with the wet rag, beginning to wash the wound.

“He attacked me,” the soldier said to Trajan, both standing near the entrance to the bedchamber.

“He’s delirious,” said Trajan. “Likely imagined you were his attacker for a moment. Go fetch Koska.”

The soldier instantly obeyed and headed toward the tent exit, leaving me alone with Trajan. His half-skin form was unsettling. Especially since he was so big and broad, his dark blue scales covering most of his body, his eyes gleaming bright blue. I would’ve been terrified had I not known him first in human form.

“What happened?”

Trajan shook his head. “One of the barbarians. He cut Julian, then Salvo saw them fighting but the enemy fled into the smoky woods.”

“Cut him,” I muttered, my attention back on washing the wound, wincing at how deep it went. “It’s more than a cut.”

Koska hurried into the tent and remained on the other side of the bedchamber curtain, his figure visible through the sheer fabric.

“Koska, I need fresh water, thread, and a needle. And salve for the wound. Hurry,” I snapped.

“Yes. At once.” He fled the tent.

“You know how to suture wounds?” asked Trajan, his guttural speech eerie .

“It’s no different than stitching fabric.” I dipped the rag in the bowl, the water cloudy red, then wrung it out.

“It’s different, but I believe you’ll manage it well enough.”

“Why do you say that?” I tried to wipe more of the blood, hands trembling because it didn’t seem to be stopping.

“Because the gods wouldn’t have given Julian a weak female.”

My hands paused but then more blood gushed, and I couldn’t think about what Trajan was admitting while Julian was losing so much blood.

“The blood should be clotting but it isn’t.”

I heard Trajan step closer behind. “He’d already lost a lot before I got to him and Salvo.”

Julian rocked his head to the side, his eyes—pure, bright gold—slit open, his brow beading with sweat. He murmured something I couldn’t hear.

“What?” I leaned forward, holding his feverish gaze. “Repeat that, Julian,” I urged him.

“Poison,” he muttered. “On the blade.”

I gasped, glancing up at Trajan, his scowl so deep he looked like the savage beast he was. “Do your healers have something to draw the poison out?”

“I’ll find out.” Trajan stormed through the curtain and out of the tent.

Quickly, I reached for a clean, dry tunic folded on top of the chest in the corner where I’d left it. I pressed the thick fabric to his wound, trying to stop the excessive bleeding.

Rough fingertips caressed my jaw. Startled, I jerked my gaze to his half-lidded one.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“I don’t know if I can even stop this bleeding,” I admitted, panic gripping me hard. “I believe the poison at the wound is preventing the blood from clotting. ”

He shook his head to the side once. “Thank you for being here.”

“I had to be,” I snapped, keeping pressure on the wound. “You dragged me here, remember?”

His mouth quirked on one side, even while sweat rolled down across his forehead and into his hairline.

“Not here. In this tent.” His eyes slipped closed. “For being in this world. In my life.” He chuckled, more blood seeping out of the bottom of the fabric. “The gods love to play their games with me.”

“Stop talking. And by Pluto, stop moving and laughing. You’re only making it worse.”

My hands shook as I noticed the beige tunic was nearly soaked completely dark red.

“Where the devil is Koska?” I muttered.

As if summoned, he rushed into the tent and the sleeping quarters and knelt on the opposite side of Julian’s bed, setting a tray down. A woman followed behind him, older and confident looking as she sat on the bed with a bowl in her hand.

“Remove the cloth,” she commanded.

She didn’t wear a slave collar, but her dress was plain. She was a free Roman, a healer they kept during campaigns.

I did as she ordered, then she began to wipe and press a ground-up, dark green herb onto the wound. Julian hissed but his eyes remained closed.

“Apologies, Legatus,” she whispered, then her gaze snapped to me. “This will draw out the poison. Watch how I do it.”

I did, observing how she packed the entire wound with the earthy, pungent-smelling herb.

“Leave this on till he begins to bleed through. Clean it off, then add a second layer. Do that until the wound stops bleeding. Then clean it thoroughly and stitch the wound, covering it with the balm Koska has there. ”

She finished stuffing the wound, then thrust the bowl out to me. I took it.

“Don’t you want to do it yourself? To be sure it’s done well.”

She eyed me from head to toe, seeming to take my measure. “There are many dying soldiers and officers who need tending.” She stood and shrugged a shoulder. “Besides, it is known the general has a body slave with him. Something he has never had before. He will prefer you doing the mending of his body.”

Then she left. I stared after her, open-mouthed. For a brief moment, I wondered what others were saying about me, about the slave Julian had brought on campaign. Likely, they assumed I was his sex slave. That seemed the only reason a general would bring a female body slave on a war campaign.

The thought of their gossip stung for only a second until I realized the truth. I wasn’t an object to Julian. A slave to be used. Since we’d arrived, he hadn’t even touched me, except for a few moments ago when he was delirious with the fever burning through him.

He’d been careful not to touch me. It had been frustrating, since I now longed to feel his calloused hands on my face, my throat, my body.

“Malina?” Koska gestured toward the wound where blood began seeping through the barrier of medicinal herb.

“Yes. Sorry.” I snapped back into action, wiping away the layer of soiled herb dressing. “Go empty the bowl please, Koska.”

He took the water bowl, dark red with Julian’s blood, and left the tent.

After completely cleaning the wound, I settled to pressing the mash of herb along the wound again, relieved to see the blood release was slowing. It was working.

“You’re beautiful.” Julian’s voice startled me again.

Blushing and smiling at the ridiculousness of his compliment at a time like this, I said, “Hush. You need your strength. ”

“You are my strength.” His voice was deep and raspy, his breathing labored from the fever.

I finished pressing the second layer of herb all the way to the side of his hip, then wiped my hands and poured some of the clean water onto a fresh rag from the tray Koska had brought. I leaned closer to wipe his sweaty brow.

“You’re talking nonsense, Julian.”

“I haven’t been saying the right words.” His eyes slid shut as I pressed the cool cloth to his brow. “Been wasting time telling stories.”

“I enjoy your stories.” It was true. I loved hearing about his family, his childhood. His parents had been lovely people. We never spoke of their deaths.

“I have to tell you what you are to me,” he mumbled, leaning into my hand as I wiped the cloth along his cheek.

My pulse catapulted faster.

“Shh,” he soothed, his voice sleepy. “Don’t be frightened by it.”

“I’m not frightened,” I said tartly.

His mouth quirked again, even while his eyes remained closed. “You are. But there is no need.” Those golden slits opened and held me captive. “You are my treasure, Malina.”

I huffed out a bitter laugh. “Like a coin.”

“No,” he answered quickly. “We are touched by the gods, you see. With the beast that lives inside us.”

I knew that. Everyone knew that. It was why so many easily bowed to them. They had a power given to them by the gods.

He continued. “We have a sight into the gods’ will like no other creature on earth.”

I wouldn’t refute that but I was sure I had my own connection with the gods’ will. At least whichever one had given me my magic.

“Every dragon waits for his god-given treasure his whole life.” His hand groped on the bed, finding my wrist and wrapping his long fingers around it. “And I have found mine. ”

I wanted to brush off his words as fever-addled nonsense. I wanted to reject his declaration and scream at him, the gods would not choose me for you .

But the tether between us tightened, and the witch in my soul whispered, yes . And a comfort like I’d never known wrapped me in warmth and rightness and utter contentment at the realization he was right.

“Shh,” I whispered to him, like he’d done a second before to soothe me. “Get some rest, Julian.”

He seemed to listen to me, falling deep into a slumber. Koska returned shortly after, and I settled to wiping off the second layer of herb, then added a third, though there was little blood at all oozing from the wound now.

Still, I wanted to be sure. I needed my dragon to heal and be well. I wasn’t sure what was in store for him, for us, but we’d both need to be strong for the fight ahead. For there was one thing that was certain and clear to me now. If he planned to kill Caesar, I was going to help him in any way I could.