She leaned over him, touching his skin lightly with her fingertips. “Relax. I pulled out the bolt.” Like you asked me to.

At the touch of her fingers, he sat up with a start. He gripped her shoulders so hard she thought they might break, pulling her to him. “You tried to kill me.” He spoke quietly, but quiet rage laced his voice.

“I’m trying to help you.”

“Abrax, you bastard. You tried to kill me.”

Bollocks. He’s lost it. “I’m Ursula. Abrax isn’t here.”

His eyes remained as dark as night, and he growled. “You will never possess the house of Albelda. As the Sword of Nyxobas, I will slay you.”

“Bael, relax. I’m going to heal you.”

He rose, throwing Ursula off him. “The god of night granted me immortality. I was chosen by him—” He swayed, then fell forward, the ground trembling at the impact. His body twitched, and she looked closer at his back.

She gaped in horror. Through his ripped shirt, she could see that fresh blood covered his back. Between sodden bandages, blood poured from the two huge wounds where his wings had been. The fight with Fiore must have re-injured them. Nauseated, Ursula looked away.

What had Bael told her about the wings? He couldn’t be healed, or he’d lose his chance to reattach them. That meant Starkey’s Conjuration was out. Still, she needed to do something to staunch the bleeding. It wasn’t like she’d ever taken a first aid course, but maybe she could just jam up the wound somehow, stop them from leaking blood everywhere. Whatever he’d done back at the Plaza wasn’t working anymore. She took off her jacket. The high-tech fabric didn’t look very absorbent, but her shirt was all cotton. She pulled it over her head, as an icy wind whipped at her bare skin.

Drawing the kaiken dagger from her boot, she began cutting the fabric into strips.

As she stuffed the strips of fabric into his wounds, Bael groaned. Ideally, she would have boiled these first to prevent infection, but she didn’t exactly have that option right now. The strips were staunching the blood flow, but they wouldn’t stay in place on their own. With a bit of effort, she pulled off his belt, and threaded it under him. Then she buckled it into place across his chest.

She sat back, surveying her work. The blood wasn’t pouring from the wounds any more. He could still die, but she’d bought them some time. How exactly could she get his soul back to him? She still wasn’t clear on that point, but she didn’t want him bleeding out before she got the chance.