"I'm sorry—I am so sorry," I sobbed, kneeling beside her. The sound of her labored, uneven breathing became scarcely audible over the erratic pounding of my heart, but it was there. That's all that mattered. "Please, stay with me. Help is coming, I promise," I told her. My voice broke, coming out strained and desperate. I was desperate, though. How could I not be? I was desperate to save my mate, desperate for this to be just a horrible nightmare, desperate for her to be okay. Her body lay before me, bloodied and mangled. The ground beneath her was gradually becoming saturated, stained by the crimson liquid seeping from the open wound on her side. The mixture of blood, dirt, and sweat that marred my face was long forgotten. I didn't care that I was naked or that my leg had been broken. None of that mattered now; nothing mattered except for her. The sight of her beautiful heart-shaped face, which was slowly turning a ghastly shade of white, caused pain like nothing I had ever fel
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