Retrieving a shipment of wood from some very moronic robbers should be an easy task for Hiro, one of the chiefs of the most powerful demonic family in the ancient Indus Valley. That is, if it didn't mean working with one gorgeous, impatient, and ver...
"R-R—" His voice barely scratched through the ringing in his ears. He tried again. "R-Rama..."
The man in his powerless arms remained still. Hiro closed his eyes, fighting for breath. The heat of the flames that surrounded them singed the hairs of his arms. He vaguely realized they had to move. Fast.
Except he couldn't.
He couldn't even get off Rama to assess the state the man was in.
Live. Please live.
He heard someone shout his name. Yasser. Relief crashed over him.
"H-here!" he called. Louder the second time.
When Yasser touched his shoulder, Hiro hissed at the renewed agony.
"They left as soon as they blasted the ship. We need to get you out of here."
Hiro swallowed to get his dry throat working. "Careful w-with the human."
"First I need to get you to land, and then I'll—
"No!"
"Hiro..." Yasser implored.
"No," he said again. He couldn't leave him. "Help me up."
When Yasser lifted his arm and put it on his shoulder, black dots and flashing lights danced in front of Hiro. He pinched his eyes shut and tried to summon strength as Yasser hefted him up.
In the blaze of pain that followed, the black won. For a moment, Hiro couldn't see. As soon as Yasser carefully set him down on the deck, Hiro threw up. With every heave, his entire body tightened and explosions went off behind his eyes.
"Is he—" He waited for his stomach to stop revolting before he continued. "Is he alive?"
Please.
Yasser knelt down next to Rama's still body—a body covered in blood, his hands and underarms blistered and raw. Hiro silently begged Fate, Chaos, every god that lived around these parts and far beyond. He'd do anything, anything—
"Barely, but he's alive."
"Get him out of here. Get him to land."
Yasser looked up. "I'm not sure—
"Now!" he commanded. Then he tried to smile. "I'm near-immortal, remember. These flames won't kill me right away."
They'd hurt like hell, but they wouldn't kill him.
Yasser nodded, hefted Rama in his arms, and took off. As soon as he was gone, Hiro slumped to the deck, his head hitting the wood. The last thing he saw was fiery red.
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"Don't move him. Keep his wounds covered with the poultices. And when the fever comes—and it will come—get as much water as possible into him." The healer's wrinkles wrinkled even more as he stared at Hiro. "Now you."
He shook his head. "I'm alright."
At least he could move again, though not without the occasional loss of vision when the pain got so bad all he wanted to do was scream.
"You have no skin left on your back," the healer said. "Get over here."
He could hardly tell the man it would take a few hours, maybe a day with all the injuries his body had sustained, to heal. And even though it would take many, many days before his body had healed enough for his powers to return, he would be alright.
Rama on the other hand...
Hiro swallowed hard and looked at the warrior's still form. "I'll be alright. We'll be alright," he whispered.
When Yasser led the healer out of the house they'd rented by throwing a ludicrous amount of gold the owner's way, he knelt next to Rama. What he wouldn't give to hold him, to hear him whisper and laugh. To tell him how sorry he was.
All this time he'd thought Rama was in danger because he was a warrior. That he'd die at the hands of a robber or another warrior. Instead, he'd brought demons upon the man, forcing him into a violent world filled with creatures many times more powerful than men.
If Rama died because of him, he wouldn't survive the remorse.
He'd thought he could collect memories of loving Rama and hold onto them for a lifetime of loneliness. That it would be enough. Barely, but enough.
But if he was the reason Rama died...
He shoved his fist against his sternum and doubled over, keening.
