Page 22 of Unkindness of Crimson Ravens (The Crimson Duet #1)

Silver Blood

“ F rancis?” Groaning, I got to my feet.

Tightening Annabelle’s reins to a nearby tree, I refused to move my gaze away from Francis’ limp body, as if he would disappear the moment I looked away. “Francis!”

I rushed toward him. Dropping to my knees, I frantically shook his shoulders in a weak attempt to bring his consciousness back.

The wind whispered to me, sending dozens of sharp, cold needles straight into my face.

The wind whispered for me to leave Francis behind, find safety for myself while I still could. I wanted to scream in reply.

A few minutes—that was all we had before the knights would find our crimson path on the fresh white snow. The wind whispered to me, and I begged it to cover our tracks with its powerful force.

For a few moments I just kneeled before Francis, my mind rushed through every possible solution. There was absolutely no way I would be able to sit him atop the horse myself—I needed him awake.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I gathered any strength that remained to stay calm.

The silver arrow shimmered under the Moon’s presence. The crimson drops painted the freshly fallen snow in a color of death. The crimson prickled my throat, challenging me to give up control. I held my breath to stop the urge, yet the aroma drew me in with the most delightful flavor.

Focus!

My cold fingers made contact with Francis’—just as cold—skin. The cotton of Francis’ trousers had dried out on the wound, hiding the injury within. Gods, have mercy.

The arrow had not gone through his leg fully, therefore the arrow head was still inside, keeping the blood from escaping.

I did not dare take out the arrow from the wound myself: it would only damage the tissue further.

That was the only thing I knew for a fact when it came to treating any kind of wound—do not touch anything, and go to a healer.

The nearby healer was a whole night away.

I looked around, desperate to find something—anything!—useful. Yet, nothing but the snow and naked trees surrounded me. All right, then.

My trembling hands reached for Francis’ coat. “Please,” I whispered to no one in particular, uncovering the bottle of alcohol from his inside pocket. The flask was surprisingly half full, thank the Gods.

Setting the flask aside, I ripped the inside hem of my dress.

I’d seen the healers do bandages before, surely it could not be that difficult.

Every muscle in me tightened as I poured the alcohol onto the wound, waiting for his screams to come—yet they did not. Perhaps it was for the best—the quieter we were the better.

Wrapping the cloth tightly around his leg, I placed snow in between the material before tying the ends in a strong knot—this had to do for now.

Now I just need to wake him. Putting the remains of the alcohol underneath Francis’ nose, I waited. I waited, and waited, and waited! Francis’ eyes stayed shut. The panic overwhelmed me; my whole body shivered, sending me a fresh dose of nausea.

He could not die from a wound like this one. Then, why wasn’t he waking up? I shook his shoulders again as my vision began to blur. Please!

Silver. Francis’ words fought their way through the chaos of my thoughts. Silver. What in the Kingdom did that mean? How would you even treat a silver wound anyway? How would you treat a vampire wound?

Dear Gods.

The realization hit me, the nausea worsened. There was only one way out of this—only one solution.

My hands shook, unsheathing the sword from its scabbard. My heart galloped.

I had no choice.

The wind quieted down, as if intrigued by what I was going to do next.

I made a long cut across my arm. If this would not work, I might’ve just signed my deal with the Moon herself. If this would not work, we would both bleed out dry, doomed to lay here in the darkness of the forest until its residents found and devoured our long dead flesh.

As the blood from my arm dripped down his lips, I begged him to wake up. He could not have saved my life and then died because of my foolish plan to break into the Royal palace! He could not! I refused!

Please, Francis, please open your eyes.

For what seemed to be an eternity, I held my arm above Francis’ lips, committed to make this work. My arm shook when cold air brushed the open wound I drew with my sword. Please!

Crimson lips slightly moved before a force of sharp, excruciating pain deprived me of any thoughts. A suppressed cry escaped my lips when Francis’ sharp, long fangs pierced my flesh, sending goosebumps down my skin.

My arm became limp in the strong hold of his hands. The agony spread through my body, setting my bones on fire. Trapped, I could not escape the torture, could not endure it either. The fire spread with such speed, it made me want to beg for a quicker death.

The pain reached my heart right before stopping all together, allowing the sweet, strange warmth to envelope me from the inside out.

My breathing quickened, my pulse spiraled.

Dozens of roses grew in the depths of my stomach, their thorns prickled and scratched my insides in an odd satisfaction.

I wanted more.

I cared not if I survived this long, dark night; I cared not if Francis would never stop, drying me empty, killing me so slowly.

Joy overwhelmed me, refusing my mind any say in the situation. My chest tightened as a quiet whimper left my mouth without permission.

The sound made Francis freeze in place; his sharp teeth deserted my flesh as the brightness in his eyes slowly creeped in.

“I am—” Francis stared at the bite he just left me in pure horror. “Sorry.” He coughed, wiping my blood off his lips. His strong hands held my arm so gently; the roses in my stomach bloomed with more power.

His face was so close to mine, his breath brushed my lips. I watched his perfect eyes, unable to look away.

Francis took out a cloth from his coat, wrapping it around my wound—just like I had for him a few minutes ago. His strong, soft hands gently touched my cheek, and I had to stop myself from leaning into the temptation. “Princess?”

His husky voice sucked the air out of my lungs, his amber eyes hypnotized me, welcoming me into the depths of his soul. The smell of my blood on his lips made my head spin.

“Cordelia?”

I could see every curve of his perfect, soft, crimson lips.

My dear Gods! I shook my head. What is wrong with me?

“We need to get out of here,” I quickly exclaimed, rushing to my feet—away from him. “I am certain the knights will trace us here soon.” Untightening Annabelle’s reins, I avoided Francis' gaze at all cost. “Can you mount the horse?”

“I can try,” Francis groaned, attempting to get to his feet.

After a few failed attempts we’d finally managed to mount the horse. I had Francis sit in front of me this time: in case he lost consciousness again.

If we were lucky, we would get home without any more obstacles, yet I did not dare to spoil myself with such dreams. Luck was definitely not on our side tonight.

The trip back was much quicker than our way there. We did not stop for rest, we did not slow for even a moment. I could feel the frustration in Annabelle’s every step, yet I also could not allow her the break she desperately needed.

“A little bit more,” I patted her on the back as we continued our long journey.

Francis was in and out of the oblivion despite my best attempts at keeping him awake. If we fell again, we might’ve never gotten back up.

Just a little longer and Francis would get the treatment he needed, just a little longer and this disaster would come to an end.

Seconds, minutes, hours later I could finally see the silhouette of the castle. The early sun rays slowly crept in, forcing me to cover every inch of my skin; Francis did the same.

“Please stay awake, we are almost there,” I told him.

“I am trying my best, Your Highness.”

The horizon was now bright pink, fighting with the darkness behind the forest, forcing it to give place to the beginning of a new day. We had to make it before the sun fully uncovered itself.

Francis’ castle was gorgeous in the early morning light. Glorious stained glass art now shimmered with dozens of rainbows, brightening the misery of our night.

I urged Annabelle faster, not believing we’d actually made our way here. We’d done it.

The excitement and relief filled my blood—

Francis’ low growl dropped the reality of our situation back on me, his body shook from all the pain he’d endured throughout our journey.

“We are almost there,” I kept telling him—or myself, I was not sure. My voice sounded hoarse after tonight’s events. “Almost there,” I whispered, turning Annabelle to the closest entrance of the castle.

“I got this,” Francis stated, as he dismounted.

Despite his childish refusal, I stretched out my hand to him for support.

“What have you done?” A voice traveled from behind me. I turned toward the sound, and my already bad mood darkened.

“What have you done?” Caleb screamed at me, pushing me aside with such force I stumbled over my feet. “What have you done to him!”