Damien pressed his large, trembling hand directly over the bleeding wound on Cordelia's shoulder.
Warm blood seeped rapidly through his fingers. The red liquid stained his pristine white cuffs, soaking into the expensive fabric.
He roared at the top of his lungs: "Pierce! Call Dr. Evans! Now!" His voice cracked with panic.
Pierce sprinted down the hallway. He dialed the private physician's number frantically on his cell phone.
Damien leaned over Cordelia. He pressed his forehead against hers. He murmured frantic, breathless reassurances against her skin: "You're going to be okay. You're going to be okay. Just stay with me."
Cordelia winced. The sharp, burning pain in her shoulder radiated down her left arm, making her fingers twitch.
She looked up into Damien's dark eyes. She saw raw, unfiltered terror replacing his usual cold, untouchable detachment.
Damien grabbed the hilt of the silver dagger. He pulled it out in one swift, agonizing motion to prevent internal shifting.
Cordelia cried out. Her back arched completely off the blood-stained mattress.
Damien immediately grabbed a thick white bath towel from the nightstand. He applied extreme, heavy pressure to the open wound.
He cursed himself repeatedly, his voice breaking: "This is my fault. My fault. I let her in. I let that bitch in."
Cordelia weakly reached her right hand up. Her bloody fingertips touched his tense, rigid cheek.
She whispered: "It hurts. It really hurts."
Damien's breath hitched. A solitary tear escaped his dark eyes. It fell silently onto her pale cheek.
The sound of heavy, rapid footsteps echoed down the hallway, approaching the master bedroom.
Dr. Evans burst into the room. He carried a large, professional black trauma kit in his hands.
Evans took one look at the massive amount of blood soaking the bed. He immediately ordered: "Step back, Damien. Give me room."
Damien snarled like a protective wolf: "No. I'm not leaving her."
Evans raised his voice: "I cannot save her if you block my access. Move."
Damien's jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked visibly in his cheek. His breathing was heavy and erratic.
He slowly lifted his bloody hands. He retreated exactly one step backward, his entire body coiled tight like a spring.
Evans moved in quickly. He pulled out a penlight, assessing the depth and severity of the stab wound.
Evans pulled out a pair of trauma shears. He began cutting the ruined silk nightgown away from her shoulder.
Damien stepped forward instantly. He glared at Evans' gloved hands touching Cordelia. He emitted a low, dangerous warning growl from the back of his throat.
Evans ignored the death glare. He poured a bottle of sterile saline directly over the open wound to clean out the blood.
Cordelia whimpered loudly. She turned her face away from the stinging, biting pain of the saline wash.
Damien immediately moved to the other side of the bed. He knelt heavily on the floor beside her head.
He grabbed her uninjured right hand. He pressed her knuckles tightly against his lips.
He whispered dark, soothing promises against her skin: "You're going to be fine. You're going to be fine. I promise. I will handle everything. Just hold on."
