Page 89 of Rescued By the Beast
Mark looks injured.
And I have my confirmation when his knees give way and he collapses.
Instinct takes over. I don't think. I just act. I force my transformation and run, naked, with no time to worry about modesty.
He needs me.
I see him fall face up, force my legs and close the distance in seconds, kneeling beside him.
"Mark!"
His face is unrecognisable, a mask of fresh blood, his features part human, part beast. His hands still display sharp claws at the tips of his elongated fingers, his fangs are out and pressed against his lips. His eyes are unfocused, glazed over, he seems on the verge of losing consciousness.
My heart pounds against my chest.
The deep cuts on his arms make me gulp. His shirt and trousers are soaked with blood — and not just from his enemies. The scarlet stains spread too quickly, dripping from him incessantly. He is not healing. He should be healed by now. Heshould have been able to transform completely. But something is stopping him.
"Mark..." My voice comes out shaky.
No response.
His eyes close. He is unconscious, his breathing uneven.
My hands tremble as I lift his shirt, exposing his wounds. The air leaves my lungs. The deep cuts glow in a strange, unnatural way. Among the blood, there is a black liquid oozing from the wounds, mixed with small particles. The edges of the cuts are dark, and the stains spread across his skin like... poison.
"No," I gasp.
Sweat glistens on his skin. My throat tightens. I put my hand on his forehead and curse softly. It's too hot. Burning with fever.
He needs help immediately.
What do I do?
"Stars in the sky and Mother Moon, please help me!"
I don't want to leave him there, but he's too heavy, too badly injured for me to move him. But I can't just stand here. My thoughts are in chaos, panic tearing me apart inside. I run into the cabin, my whole body shaking with fear and despair.
Think, Sandra. Think!
My eyes scan the room, looking for anything that might help him.
Then I remember.
The healing cream Mark used on me! I saw him put the leftover in the bedside table.
I climb the stairs two at a time and throw open the drawer. My fingers close around the tube and, without hesitation, I run back outside. Tears blur my vision, causing me to stumble and fall, but I get right back up.
I don't care about the pain, the nakedness, anything.
Only him.
I fall to my knees beside him, feeling my skin scrape against the floor, but I don't even notice. The only pain I feel is despair.
"Please, work... Please..." I whimper, opening the lid and spreading the cream over the larger wounds on his torso.
But it's not enough.
The blood stops flowing, the skin closes minimally, but the wounds are still there. Deep. He continues to bleed.
