Chapter 147: Bleeding Cacophony (2)

P E R S E U S

She’s bleeding. My lips are trembling, my mind racing too fast to hold a single clear thought as I hurry through the camp with her in my arms. I hold her tightly against my chest, my voice low and urgent as I beg her to stay with me, to keep her eyes open, to hold on.

The healer’s tent is crowded with wounded soldiers, the air thick with the smell of blood and the sharp scent of healing herbs and strong potions. Men groan in pain as healers rush between cots, but none of that registers. All I see is her. All I feel is the damp warmth of her blood soaking through my armor.

“Jeremiah!” I shout, my voice cutting through the noise like a blade.

He drops the bowl he’s holding immediately and rushes over, his expression turning grim as he takes in the scene. Eleanor’s body is shaking, her skin alternating between burning hot and frighteningly cold within seconds.

This is exactly why I didn’t want her on that battlefield. Why I tried to keep her close, keep her safe. I never should have left her side. I never should have let her out of my sight.

“Lay her here,” Jeremiah says, pointing to an empty cot.

I set her down as gently as I can, though my hands are anything but steady. He calls for a nurse, and they bring clean water and cloths. His movements are efficient, focused, but I see the worry in his eyes.

“What happened?” he asks, already examining her.

I help remove her helmet, and when her eyes meet mine, they’re squeezed shut in pain. When she finally opens them, they’re bloodshot, and dark veins are creeping up her neck. My stomach drops. No. Not this.

“I got hit by a bolt,” Eleanor says through gritted teeth, her voice strained.

She grips my hand tightly, her fingers digging into my skin. I let her. Tears are streaming down my face now, mixing with the blood and grime already there. She is not going to die. I won’t allow it. The words repeat in my head like a prayer, a desperate mantra.

Jeremiah carefully removes her armor, revealing the white blouse underneath, now stained dark with blood around her shoulder and across her growing stomach. He cuts away the fabric around the bolt, and the sight makes him curse under his breath. The blood is thick and black, the skin around the wound already necrotic.

“Eleanor, look at Perseus,” Jeremiah says firmly, his eyes flicking to me.

I don’t understand what’s happening, but the look he gives me tells me I need to be strong for her. I cradle her face, kissing her knuckles again and again as she cries out, her head rolling back in agony when Jeremiah pulls the bolt free.

“It’s okay, darling. You’re going to be okay,” I whisper, my voice choked with tears.

He tosses the bolt into a metal bowl with a sharp clang. “The dragons poisoned their weapons,” he says darkly. “Moon Fang venom. Every soldier hit with these is showing the same symptoms.”

Moon Fang venom. So that’s why they took Bernadette. To create a weapon designed to destroy us from within. Those bastards.

Before I can fully process that, Ezekiel’s voice cuts through my mind via our link. “Her pulse is fading, Perseus. I can’t feel the children’s heartbeats anymore.”

My blood runs cold. Eleanor screams again as fresh blood spills from the wound, her claws extending on instinct and digging deep into my palm. She’s in agony, and I am utterly helpless.

“What do we do now?” I ask, my voice shaking with rage and fear. “Severus had one job. Is this his way of getting back at me for what happened to Bernadette?”

“No,” Eleanor gasps, her voice weak but firm. “I told him to go…”

I lower my head, guilt and frustration washing over me. Do I blame him for obeying her? For trying to save his mate?

“I’ll clean the wound,” Jeremiah says. “Asmodeus is already preparing an antidote. It should—”

Eleanor cries out again, this time sharper, more desperate. I look down and see blood pooling beneath her legs.

“The babies,” I whisper, then shout, “Jeremiah, the babies!”

I release her hand and stand abruptly, my heart hammering. Jeremiah and the nurse shift their focus immediately, working faster now. Eleanor is weeping, whispering prayers under her breath as she grips the sheets with white knuckles.

Jeremiah cleans the venomous wound, trying to stop the spread while the nurse checks Eleanor’s stomach, pressing gently.

“They’re going to be okay,” the nurse says, though her voice is tense.

Before Jeremiah can respond, a deafening explosion rocks the camp. Everyone flinches, covering their ears. Dust shakes loose from the tent poles.

“Perseus,” Eleanor breathes, her voice faint.

I drop back to my knees beside her, clutching her hand. I know I look like a madman, covered in blood and panic, but I don’t care.

“You have to go,” she whispers, her eyes pleading. “The war…”

“I’m not leaving you,” I say, my voice breaking. “I can’t.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I know. I just need to be here with you.”

Jeremiah interrupts gently. “Asmodeus’s antidote is almost ready. We’ve already used it on others—it works. It will stabilize her and speed her healing. She will be okay.”

“Go,” Eleanor urges again, her voice gaining a little strength.

I look from her to the tent entrance, torn. I hate this feeling—being pulled between my duty and my family. My pregnant wife is fighting for her life, and I am being asked to play the hero somewhere else.

“If they realize you’re not on the front, they will come looking for you here,” she says, her gaze steady. “We can’t risk that.”

“She’s right, Perseus,” Jeremiah adds quietly.

I hate when she’s right. I hate that she’s always so damn rational, even now.

I lean in and kiss her, my tears mixing with hers. She cups my face, her touch soft yet firm, and for a moment, nothing else exists.

“We are bound in life, in the afterlife, and in whatever comes after,” I whisper against her lips, our foreheads pressed together. “Nothing, not death, not war, not sickness—will ever keep us apart.”

She finishes for me, her voice barely a breath. “We’ll be together until the end of time.”

I kiss her once more, deeply, trying to pour every ounce of my love and strength into it.

“I love you,” she says.

“I love you too. And I will be back. I promise.”

She nods weakly. I place my hand on her stomach, my voice dropping to a whisper. “Take care of your mother for me, okay?”

I press a final kiss to her forehead before standing, my hand closing around the hilt of my sword.

“She is in safe hands with you, Jeremiah,” I say, my voice firm.

“She is,” he replies without looking up from his work.

I turn to leave, my heart heavy but my resolve hardening. Then I freeze. Standing just outside the tent, sharpening his sword amid the chaos as if he hasn’t a care in the world, is the one man I despise more than anyone.

Thomas Black.