My Fated Mate Can Have Her-Chapter 195: He Just Might Die III

Violet

I knelt beside him, the containers of fresh water hovering around me, and took a steadying breath.

His shirt was already torn and pushed aside from when I had examined his wounds. But his trousers were soaked through with river water and blood, clinging to his legs. If I was going to clean him properly, if I was going to give him any chance at all, I had to get them off.

My hands hesitated at his waistband.

This wasn’t about anything other than keeping him alive. I knew that. But my fingers still trembled as I worked at the fastenings, and I had to remind myself to breathe.

"I’m sorry," I whispered, though I wasn’t sure if he could hear me. "I have to do this."

He didn’t respond and his eyes were still closed.

I pulled the pants down carefully, trying not to jostle him too much. He groaned once, and winced a few times. The low sounds of pain that made me freeze, but he didn’t move too much.

Thankfully, there was an undergarment beneath, a short, loose piece that covered him adequately. I left it in place, my eyes fixed firmly on his legs, his knees, anywhere but where they shouldn’t be.

I grabbed one of the cleaner pieces of fabric from our ruined supplies and dipped it into the water.

Starting at his face, I wiped away the grime and sweat. The cloth came away dirty, and I rinsed it, wrung it out, and continued. His forehead, his temples, and where those horrible black veins pulsed beneath the skin. His jaw was clenched tight when he wasn’t groaning.

I moved to his neck, his shoulders, his chest.

The wounds there made me falter.

The serpent bite, coupled with the tear in his flesh, was angry and swollen, the flesh around it hot to the touch despite how cold the rest of him felt. I cleaned around it as gently as I could, but even that light pressure made him flinch.

"I’m sorry," I whispered again. "I’m so sorry."

I kept going.

His arms. The knuckles of his hands were scraped raw. His ribs, where the bruising appeared so dark it looked black in the crystal light. I had to shift him slightly to reach his back, and the sound he made nearly broke me.

I cleaned as thoroughly as I could, but I had no medicine or herbs to help him with the pain, or to even fight the infection which was surely setting in.

All I had was water and desperation.

I used another clean fabric for the festering wounds, and the moment the wet cloth touched the swollen flesh, his entire body went rigid. A low hiss escaped through his clenched teeth, and he snapped his eyes open, but he didn’t pull away.

I worked as gently as I could, cleaning away the blood and grime, trying not to look too closely at the way the black veins seemed to pulse with each beat of his heart.

"You’re an idiot," I painfully muttered as I worked. "You shouldn’t have come"

I moved down to his legs, keeping my gaze where it should. There were a few scrapes and cuts here too, though nothing as severe as his torso. I cleaned each one, rinsed the cloth, and continued wiping him down.

His muscles would occasionally tense beneath my hands, but he stayed silent.

The water ran out.

I made the trip back to the waterfall three more times.

Each time I left, my chest tightened with fear that I would return to find him gone. And each time I came back to see his chest still rising and falling, the relief was so intense it made my knees weak.

He was still alive. Still fighting.

I had to help him fight.

By the time I finished, my hands were cramping and I sat back on my heels, breathing hard.

He looked... not better, exactly. The black veins were still there, still pulsing. His skin was still too pale, still too cold. But at least he was clean. At least the wounds weren’t caked with grime anymore.

But it wasn’t enough.

I knew it wasn’t enough.

But it was all I could do.

I grabbed the last container of clean water and a dry piece of fabric. Carefully, methodically, I patted his skin dry, starting from his face and working my way down. The crystal light cast soft shadows across his features, making him look almost peaceful despite the evidence of poison crawling through his system.

When I finished, I pulled back and just... looked at him.

My chest ached.

My eyes burned.

I pressed the heels of my hands against them, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over.

I would not cry. Crying wouldn’t help him. Crying was useless.

But my throat was so tight I could barely breathe, and my hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

I quickly laid out one of the large fabrics we had to spread out over the ground and I shifted him there, even though the movement made him so uncomfortable and left him in even more pain.

"You need to rest," I told him, laying him flat on his back.

"So... do you."

I frowned, annoyed. "I am not the one dying of poison!"

His eyes opened at that, finding mine in the dim light. "I’m not dying."

"Don’t!" I hissed.

He sighed painfully, closing his eyes. "I have... survived worse."

I didn’t ask what could possibly be worse than this.

I wasn’t sure I even wanted to know.

For all I cared, he was likely even lying to reassure me.

"Please..." I quietly pleaded, staring at him.

He didn’t respond.

I wiped at my eyes roughly and stood.

I needed more water. Clean water, in case he woke up and needed to drink, and I would still have to wipe him and the wounds again... just in case.

I grabbed the empty containers and headed back toward the cave entrance.