Page 116 of The Girl Who Fell Through Time
“No.” Soren shakes his head immediately. “Not once it’s in his bloodstream. That won’t save him.”
“Then what will?” Selene demands.
Silence.
Selene’s pulse pounds in her ears. “Soren.What will?”
Soren exhales sharply, his jaw tightening. “There’s an antidote,” he says. “I usually keep some on hand, but—”
Selene’s eyes widen. “You used it.”
Soren doesn’t reply.
“You used it on yourself,” she realises, her stomach twisting. “You werepoisonedand you didn’t tell anyone?”
“I didn’t want anyone to worry.”
Selene stares at him, furious and terrified all at once. “We’re worried now! Dorian might—” Her throat closes around the words.Dorian might not survive. She can’t say it. Won’t.
Soren clenches his fists, his whole body vibrating with tension. “I can get more.”
Rookwood is already moving. “I’ll get a horse ready.”
“No,” Ariella says firmly. “I will. I’m faster on my feet.” She turns to Soren, her expression brooking no argument. “Pack your bags. Rookwood, get provisions. Selene—stay here with Dorian. We won’t be long.”
Selene grips Dorian’s hand tighter, ignoring the feverish heat of his skin. “Hurry,” she whispers.
Selene barely registers the sound of the others leaving. Her world has narrowed to Dorian—his burning skin, the unsteady rise and fall of his chest, the way his lashes tremble against his flushed cheeks. She doesn’t need to know anything about medicine to know he’s getting worse.
“Come on,” she murmurs, slipping an arm beneath his shoulders. His body is slack with fever, dead weight against her. When she lifts him, a strangled groan escapes his lips. “I know, I know. Just help me a little, please.”
He tries. His knees buckle almost instantly. Selene tightens her grip, heart pounding, and half-drags him to the bed. By the time she lowers him onto the mattress, he’s trembling, breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. His head lolls back against the pillows, damp hair clinging to his forehead.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” he whispers.
Selene lunges for the vase on the dresser, dumping the flowers in a heap on the floor. She turns back just intime—Dorian doesn’t even have the strength to lift his arms. Swallowing hard, she braces a hand against his back and holds the vase to his lips.
His whole body convulses as he retches, a raw, wrenching sound tearing from his throat. The tremors wrack through him long after his stomach is empty. When it finally subsides, he slumps against her, breath ragged, skin clammy with sweat.
Selene puts the vase aside, but she doesn’t let go of him just yet. His fever is climbing. His hands on her are loose and limp. She doesn’t know what to do. She has no idea what to do. She doesn’t know if she’s hurting him. Doesn’t know if propping him up helps or makes it worse. She only knows she can’t let go.
Slowly, she lowers him back to the bed and tries to think. Getting him more comfortable seems like a good idea. His shirt is sticking to his skin.
She unbuttons it with shaking fingers, peeling the fabric away. He shudders at the contact, his whole body flinching as if even the gentlest touch is unbearable.
“Sorry,” she breathes, wincing at the way he clenches his jaw, his face contorting in discomfort. “I’m so sorry.”
Dorian doesn’t answer. His hands twitch at his sides, his left clenching into the sheets while his right remains eerily limp, still swollen and dark-veined.
She tosses the shirt aside and reaches for the laces of his trousers. He barely reacts, only shifting slightly when she tugs them down. His skin is fever-bright, his chest rising and falling too fast.
Selene moves quickly, fetching a damp cloth from the basin and pressing it to his forehead. He sighs, leaning into the coolness, but a moment later, he kicks at the blankets tangled around his legs.
“Too hot,” he mumbles.
“I know,” she says softly, wringing out another cloth and dabbing at his neck, his shoulders, the planes of his chest. His skin is slick with sweat, every breath rattling.
She pulls the blankets away entirely, leaving only a thin sheet draped over his lower half. She cracks open a window despite the chill in the air. It doesn’t feel like enough. His body is still burning beneath her hands.
