Page 97 of Wicked Prince of Frost

Joon cuts another down before glancing in the direction I indicate. He reaches down and pulls me into his side, half-carrying me as he begins to run.

I point at a demon, nearly upon us, and slip out of his grasp. Joon whirls and sends a burst of light at them, enough to blind, then drives the dagger into the space between the demon’s two burning red eyes.

He hooks an arm around my waist and drags me along with him once more.

A cool, soothing sensation weaves through my veins like soothing balm on a burn. The pain wracking my body eases. It’s only when I can take a full breath again that I realize he’s wasting the magic he needs to fight these demons on healing me. But it’s too late to say anything now, so I run on my own beside him.

The harmony of demons is gaining rapidly, but we are almost to the cabin.

My knees go out. A force shoves us from behind and sends me sprawling.

“Violet!”

Rolling onto my back, I’m blinded by light exploding out in a massive wave toward the demons. The world dims again in time to watch as Joon drags the dagger across a demon’s side as they slash at him.

Joon twists to avoid the gleaming talons. His body jerks, and he stumbles toward me, falling to his hands and knees.

Rips in his clothing expose four long gashes carved into his back. Blood soaks the ruined material, plastering it to his skin. I grab his wrist and tug, ignoring his pain and forcing him to his feet.

The blast of light didn’t stop the demons, but it bought us a little time.

Draping his arm over my shoulder, I grab onto the front of his jacket with my other hand to avoid his injuries. I drag him the last few yards to the cabin and inside.

Releasing him, I throw my full weight against the warped door, then slide the long bolt into place. Heavy thuds bash into it seconds later. The wood splinters in places but holds.

He braces against the rough-hewn table, barely managing to stay upright.

The cabin is small, with a kitchen opposite a stone fireplace on the interior wall, with open doors, one on either side of it. Behind the first door is a cramped bathing room with a tub in the center. Beside that is an iron stove with a tank sitting on top of it, and a dial to control the spout protruding from the tank, overhanging the tub. The other leads to a relatively clean bedroom.

There is little in the way of personal touches. Moth-eaten curtains partially cover windows coated with a layer of dust.

Supporting Joon’s weight, I help him to the bedroom andhave him lie face down on the bed. He half flops onto it with a groan. The mattress springs creak loudly in the quiet space. Then I carefully peel the torn material away from his wounds.

The gashes across his flesh are deep. His skin is not stitching itself up as it should. In fact, he looks close to death.

I kneel beside the bed and bring my face close to his. “You need to siphon, Joon. You’re not healing.”

He blinks slowly, gazing at me through unfocused eyes.

“Please,” my plea is whisper soft.

Whatever he hears in it is enough to get him to comply. He inches to the edge, and I close the distance. Our lips meet, and the channel within me opens to him, allowing the power to flow. Drawn to him the way a river is drawn down a mountain.

The kiss is empty. Void of everything other than the transfer of magic. He breaks away before he can take enough to fully restore his magic.

While I trust he knows what he needs, I watch his injuries to be sure. Gradually, the bleeding stops. At the first sign of his skin knitting back together, I get to my feet and return to the bathing room to look for anything that might be useful.

Like the bedroom, there’s not much beyond some basic soaps, a salve, and a few other hygiene necessities. I grab a few towels from the cupboard, then head to the kitchen.

I raid the cabinet, sorting through the glass jars of dried herbs and spices. The writing on them has faded beyond legibility. One by one, I sniff to identify what they are, rejecting most, until I have a small collection of jars. Fresh herbs are best, but dry ones will do in a pinch.

I place them on the table, then search the rest of the drawers and cupboards where a few mismatched dishes were left behind. Grabbing a bowl from one of the cupboards, I portion out the dried leaves. I frown at mymixture. It won’t do much good as is. I need to reconstitute the ingredients.

Remembering the salve, I quickly return to the bathing room for the unlabeled jar, and scoop several spoonfuls into the bowl, and mix while adding more a little at a time, until it becomes a smooth green paste.

Gathering my concoction and the towels, I return to Joon and get to work. I slice the towels into strips, then smear the poultice over Joon’s injuries, starting with the ones on his back and moving to his arm. I’d prefer a cleaner environment and the supplies I have at home, but this is the best I can do for now.

He is unconscious by the time I finish, torso rising and falling in slow, even breaths.