A/N 1: A warning for anyone who is squeamish. A significant amount of blood is mentioned in this chapter.
Frankenstein was by no means an idiot. He knew right away that those wounds were not caused by bandits. Just like he knew that the intruder in his home was not a human.
Any idiot could see that the raven-haired man was no human. His eyes were just as red as the blood seeping from his body. However, despite their unnatural color, there was a warmth in those crimson orbs. There was also pain. From the moment Frankenstein began cleaning the wound, his patient only once betrayed how much agony he was in. After that, he had remained silent and still as if unperturbed that he was bleeding out on the floor.
Frankenstein was wary about this Noble. He knew how to sense a Noble whenever one approached, and this one was barely hiding his energy. From the moment the Noble had entered his home, he had remained alert. After moving around and severing ties with anyone he came across, had the Nobles finally tracked him down?
But this Noble did not seem at all interested in hunting him down or fighting. In fact, it seemed as if this Noble had dragged himself from an all to recent battle. Frankenstein could not conclude if the Noble was the winner of the fight or not, but because the Noble was alive, he deduced that he might have been the victor.
But if the Noble was not here for him, then what was he doing so far away from Lukedonia? He knew that the homeland of the Nobles was nowhere near any human residence. He had narrowed it down to a few possible places, but Frankenstein had never set out to test his theories. Not yet.
The tension he felt in his body did not show on his face or in the way he set about with his work. His hands stayed swift and steady despite his nerves remaining tight as a bow string. His face was unreadable, showing neither concern nor wariness as he cleaned the wound of the Noble.
Arising from his position near the bed, he took the bowl of warm water (now lukewarm) and nodded to the patient. "I will be right back."
Soft breathing was his only response.
Frankenstein made haste in drawing hot water from the pot over the fire. Setting the bowl down on the kitchen table, he pulled out a few jars of blended herbs and medicines. He knew a few techniques that would bind and capture a Noble, even harm them. But healing one? He was unsure about that. He figured that he would try and apply the same healing techniques he used on himself for the Noble patient.
It was times like this when he wished he still had an assistant. Tesamu was a good assistant; always ready to help and prove himself responsible. But Tesamu was not here, and Frankenstein would have to work with what he had.
Gathering his supplies, he went back up into the room where the patient was. Pushing the door open with his foot, he glanced once more at the man. With his eyes closed, he seemed to be asleep. The bed sheets were wet and muddy, and the blankets were stained with blood. However, Frankenstein was not perturbed by the sight of blood.
The bleeding had slowed down. However, trickles of blood were still seeping from the wound and staining the white shirt.
Frankenstein blinked and cocked his head. In a momentary lapse of confusion, he frowned. Wasn't the white shirt the Noble had worn torn in the sides? Before, Frankenstein could clearly see the gaping wound without moving the fabric of the shirt. Aside from the mended tear, the white shirt was clean: there was no speck of blood or mud, and the shirt was completely dry.
He was at a loss. No conclusion as to how or what had happened would present itself. Looking around the room, he frowned and wondered if the Noble had somehow, in his injured state, managed to sneak past him down the stairs, through the kitchen and find his room, steal a shirt before making his way back up into the spare bedroom.
The idea was ludicrous the moment Frankenstein thought of it, but he couldn't help asking. "You're not wearing my shirt, are you?"
Red eyes flashed open and were wide with such young, childlike innocence that Frankenstein was taken aback. The Noble shook his head, somehow looking sheepish for an ancient being.
This led Frankenstein to another theory, and one that he had never confirmed before. But in the present moment, it made sense. A sigh of exasperation escaped him. "You fixed your shirt, didn't you?"
A small nod was the answer he received.
Hm, fascinating. So Nobles did have the ability to alter their attire. He was unsure why they would need such an ability in the first place, unless they had specific wardrobes for unexpected battles or fancy events.
But Frankenstein would dwell on it later. If he got lost in his head and entertained himself with his theories, his patient might just bleed out.
Kneeling by the bedside with the bowl of steaming water and jars of herbs and medicines, Frankenstein frowned. "You will need to unbutton your shirt so I can look at the wound."
The Noble opened his eyes once more. There was no flicker of annoyance or pain at the inconvenience. With a twitch of his fingers, his shirt unbuttoned itself to reveal the wound. The dried blood stood out against his pale skin. Frankenstein could not determine just how deep the slashes were. It seemed that whatever had attacked this Noble had barely missed hitting his ribs, for which Frankenstein was relieved.
Frankenstein's frown deepened at the sight. Just as he had suspected, the wound was from a werewolf. Thin, long gashes spread across the Noble's side. The cuts were too deep and too long for a normal wolf. But why wasn't this healing? Surely a Noble would be able to heal themselves faster than any normal human. Still, he seemed to be doing better than any of Frankenstein's normal, human patients.
Perhaps it was because the bleeding had slowed down, or perhaps it was because Frankenstein had cleaned the worst of it away, but the injury did not seem as bad as it had originally.
Gathering a few herbs and combining them, Frankenstein prepared the bandages. Turning once more to apply the bandage, he noticed the Noble staring at him, or more specifically, the herbs he was holding.
"This is comfrey and nettle," he explained. "It will stop the bleeding."
Something akin to a smile flickered across the Noble's face, but he said nothing as he looked back up at the ceiling.
Frankenstein was silent as he bandaged the wound. It was too deep for him to apply any salve directly. A thin layer of wrapping to clot the wound would prevent any stems from the herbs from getting in. He then gently applied the herbs onto the bandage: already, the white covering was stained with blood. He then applied another layer of bandages to keep the herbs in place.
"I'll be back," he promised. Taking the bowl of water, he glanced once more at the Noble before leaving with the bloody rags.
He knew the Noble had a name. A long and elegant name. Saying his name was like a full sentence. It was too provocative to say the full name, so Frankenstein, in his mind, referred to the Noble as Raizel.
He was not worried about the Noble's health. He knew Nobles had amazing healing abilities and could recover from a wound that would kill a human. His observations and studies had shown him the evidence of that fact. However, he was bothered at the amount of blood the Noble, Raizel, was losing. If any human suffered from such blood loss, then they would either pass out, or depending on how much they lost, die.
But Nobles and humans were two different beings. Whereas humans were fragile creatures, Nobles were not.
The wariness within Frankenstein grew, even as he approached the spare bedroom once more. Despite his injuries, could Raizel still summon enough power to fight him? Was he sent, like the others, to track down their missing fellow Nobles? If that was the case, then offering his assistance in the healing process was not wise. What would happen if this Noble were to regain his full strength? Even if he was not sent to track down Frankenstein, he could report his findings to the other Nobles. Frankenstein would then have to leave...again, right after he had finally found a secluded village.
It went against every instinct of his to not help his patient, yet his conflicting thoughts warned him of the power Nobles wielded. Even now, he could not judge the amount of power Raizel had. He was cloaking his energy to the point where, if Frankenstein closed his eyes, he could fool himself into believing that no one was beyond that door. Just how strong was he if he was able to hide his power despite his injuries?
He sighed. Well, it would not do to just leave him, Noble or not. He could not forget the flash of innocence that had filled those red eyes, or the brief look of fear. No, he would help this Noble before sending him on his way. Then, Frankenstein would also have to leave to avoid detection.
With that thought in mind, he opened the door and fully expected to see Raizel laying down in the bed, either asleep or sluggishly awake.
Instead, he nearly stumbled over a coffin.
A/N 2: I apologize for my lack of medical knowledge. I did research medicines of the Dark Ages (since I believe that's when Frankenstein and Raizel met). I also looked up the different herbs for blood clotting and pain relief. If anyone notices an error, please say so in a review and I will do my best to remedy it.
