Chapter 21 Wolventon #4
Lorik rushed to me, dropping to his knees.
He seized the dagger still buried in my thigh and tore it free in one swift motion.
I cried out, the pain blinding, but he was already examining the blade, turning it under the torchlight before bringing it to his nose.
His expression hardened, shadows flickering across his face.
“Tucana serpent venom,” he said, voice tight with certainty. “If it reaches your heart, it’ll kill you.”
“How do you even know that?” I managed through gritted teeth. I knew what a Tucana serpent was. Ancient and deadly creatures that lived in the western dunes. Rare, vicious, almost never seen. But recognizing its scent? That was something I could never have identified.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he stripped off his black shirt, tore it clean in two with his bare hands, and pressed the fabric hard against the wound, wrapping it tight around my leg to slow the bleeding.
The warmth of his hands and the scent of smoke and steel filled the air between us, grounding me against the spiraling pain.
Lorik lifted me without a word, his movements urgent but steady.
The world blurred. A flicker of shadow, a rush of wind and then we were somewhere else.
A dark room. Cold stone walls. The faint scent of metal and ash.
I realized it must be his quarters in the Natch Tower.
He used his portaling magical trace to get us here.
He set me down on the narrow bed, the sheets cool against my fevered skin, before striding across the room. Books and glass vials lined his desk, and he reached for one. The book with the serpent I’d once seen him carrying in the library.
“What are you doing?” I demanded, my voice breaking between breaths. “Take me to the Auroric wing. Get me healed. Don’t let me die!”
He didn’t even glance back. “I’m not letting you die,” he said quietly, already moving to a cabinet. He threw open the doors, pulling out bottles of liquid in varying hues, blue, gold, crimson and mixed them with practiced precision.
I tried to focus on what he was doing, but the pain blurred everything, bright and unbearable. The room spun. My hands trembled.
“My other leg…” I gasped, panic rising. “It’s numb, Lorik! It hurts so much!”
The seconds he was on the other side of the room seem eternal while the numbness spread slowly up in my body. I screamed out of pain with all my lungs.
Lorik hurried back to my side, clutching two small glass vials, one glowing violet, the other a deep, pulsing red. He dropped to his knees beside the bed, the floor creaking under his weight, and pressed the violet vial into my trembling hand.
“Drink this,” he said.
I hesitated for a heartbeat, doubt clawing up my spine. After everything, how could I trust him? But the numbness had already crept past my belly button. I couldn’t feel anything. Couldn’t move.
“Don’t be stubborn, Princess. Just drink it,” he snapped, frustration sharpening every word.
At this point, I had nothing left to lose. If he’d wanted me dead, he could’ve left me bleeding out behind the tavern. So swallowed the vial in one burning gulp. The liquid scorched down my throat—bitter and metallic, as lightning braided with blood.
Lorik didn’t waste a breath. He unwound the fabric from my wound, the air hitting raw flesh like a slap. Then he uncorked a crimson vial and poured it straight into the gash, the potion hissing as it touched my skin.
The reaction was immediate. The mixture hissed against my skin, glowing faintly as the venom burned away.
I gasped, half in pain, half in relief, as the numbness began to fade.
Slowly, agonizingly, the sensation returned to my legs.
The torn flesh drew together before my eyes, the bleeding slowing, then stopping entirely.
The pain dulled to a deep throb, then to nothing but warmth. My breath steadied, the dizziness easing. I could finally inhale without feeling like I was drowning.
“Seems there are people who hate you even more than I do,” he said, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth, one I’d never seen on him before.
I rolled my eyes, the motion weak but deliberate.
“Come on,” he drawled, tilting his head. “That was funny.” His tone mimicked mine from earlier at the tavern, the teasing almost playful.
Despite everything, the blood, the pain, I couldn’t help but smile.
“Thank you,” I whispered, my hand finding his forearm.
The ache in my chest for him hadn’t faded, the potion still thrummed through me despite the venom, despite the dagger.
My skin prickled at the touch, heat rippling up my arm as his silver eyes locked onto mine.
I wanted to close my eyes, to let the exhaustion pull me under, but his gaze held me there for one more breath, steady, searing, impossible to look away from.
A thousand questions burned on my tongue. How he knew what to do, how he recognized the venom in my veins but only one truly mattered.
“Why? Why save me? Again.” I whispered, my voice barely holding my hand still on his arm, as he sat next to me on his bed.
He hesitated, his expression flickering from composed to something I couldn’t name.
“You should rest,” he said at last, quiet, but sharp enough to cut through the haze clouding my mind. He must have noticed my eyelids drooping, because a heartbeat later, the world slipped into darkness.