Page 10 of Oathborn
As soon as the fabric made contact, he let out a moan. “Blood… So much blood, everywhere. And the bodies…”
“Shh…” Zari stroked his forehead, trying to soothe him.
He shook his head, though she still wasn’t sure if he could hear her. “Too much blood. I can’t…”
What was he remembering? The attack? Zari shuddered, the grim song once more echoing in her mind;Blood Ember, Blood Ember, burns bright and bloody.
“You’re safe,” she whispered.
The man blinked drowsily until a hazel-eyed gaze focused on her. “Who…”
“I’m Zari. Do you remember what happened?”
“I was setting up my camera for the article.” He gestured to the gear that lay broken nearby. “Then… smoke. And screams.” His voice, which had been so calm, turned rough and scratchy.
Zari squeezed his hand again. That gash had been his only wound, at least, his only physical wound, but she’d wager that it was the mental anguish of surviving something so terrifying that was causing most of his pain. At the application of antiseptic, he hissed at the sting but did not pull away.
She said, “I don’t think you’ll need stitches, which is good. I’m going to have to leave soon, there’s others—”
“Others survived?” Hope lit his face. Pushing himself up, he winced, a tremor running down his lean body. He clenched his jaw, clearly fighting the sting of his wounds.
“Careful!” She lunged forward to support him.
“My hero,” he murmured, leaning back against her arm.
Zari shook her head at his words. “I’m not a hero, just a nurse.”
“Seems the same to me.” Still trembling, he stepped forward, so he could turn and face her.
Zari took him in, finally, looking at him as not just a patient, but as a man. Almost immediately, she blushed. Despite his injury, he was, by far, the most striking individual Zari had ever met. He was built like a dancer, his muscularbody apparent even in his loose-fitting shirt and trousers. His hair, a soft, autumny shade of red, fell loosely around his handsome face.
When she realized he was staring back at her, she looked away. He cleared his throat. “Can I help? If there’s others who survived…”
In his voice, she heard a conviction she knew well, that stubborn insistence to help others, despite the danger. It was part of the reason why she’d sent Annette away, why she’d become a nurse in the first place. Zari nodded. “I could use the help. My name’s Zari.”
“Mine’s Yansin,” he replied, the unfamiliar name sounding like music to her ears. “Yansin Kanoa.”
Together, they returned to the area near the stage. A few more military medics had arrived and were placing bodies on stretchers, or searching through broken wreckage.
Yansin let out a sharp hiss of breath at the sight. “Terrible,” he muttered. “It’s like…”
“Like what?”
He shook his head. “A memory from the war. One best left forgotten.”
Together, they worked, wrapping bandages around the wounds of those who lived, and carefully closing the eyes of those who had fallen. Throughout it all, Yansin stayed by her side, a quiet, calm presence. He cut bandages with expertise, and didn’t blanch at any wound, no matter how horrid. The loss of each life, though, seemed to weigh on him. “These poor men,” he murmured. “What exactly happened?”
“The few soldiers who have been able to talk all said the same as you. Smoke, fire, maybe they remember the feel of a blade against their skin, but nothing else.”
While they worked, they filled the quiet with small talk, as if both were desperate to think of anything but the carnage they were in the middle of. She learned little bits about his life. He was here as a photographer for the paper. His coworker, a journalist, had not survived.
“Nurse!” one of the paramedics yelled from the open door. “An ambulance is waiting.”
She hesitated, looking back to Yansin. “You should come with me. I’d feel much better if a doctor looked you over.”
“And I’d feel much better not encountering a hospital bill,” Yansin muttered. “I’ll see you again, under better stars.”
“I can’t promise there won’t be a bill but—” But she didn’t want him to leave. Not just out of concern, but… interest too. To hear him talk more, in that gentle voice of his. For those hazel eyes to look her way again.
