Hey look Three in the same night we are on a roll HAHA enjoy!
Fang's POV
I began to shake Max's shoulders frantically, then realized what I was doing. I immediately stopped. "Iggy!" I called behind my shoulder. "IGGY!" I l kneeled down next to her limp body. "Max, oh Max, come on!" I whispered, nervously wiping my mouth. She was out cold, barely a pulse. Blood, glinting in the dim light, was flowing all over the floor. I now respected Iggy's decision not to let the younger ones in. Iggy was there next to me. "Flip her onto her stomach," he said quietly, calmly. I did as I was told, telling myself to cool it and struggling to regain normal breathing. Iggy and I gently rolled Max over onto some crumpled blankets. What I saw next made me turn my head quickly away. God, I envied Iggy's blindness.
Her wing was hanging half-off. It was barely still conected. Blood was still pooling around her, though it was beginning to clott. "Damn," I gasped. I crawled over to Dylan. He was still out. Now would be a great time to kill the bastard. What had he done to her? He wouldn't even struggle. It would be so easy. I just needed to wrap my hands around his neck- "Fang." Iggy's call brought me back to reality. I nervously wiped my mouth on my sleeve again. "I can't tell where the blood is coming from," he said, grabbing a piece of torn shirt. "Press this onto the main wound. Tell me when the bleeding slows or stops." Iggy got up and wiped his bloody hands on his pants. No problem.
Why can't I be that calm? I asked myself as I clung to the rag and gently pressed it into Max's torn wing. I gasped in quick, shaky breaths, not wanting to look, but not able to tear my eyes away.
Iggy came back holding a wet cloth. "Has it stopped?" he asked me. "Oh, um, yeah. A little while ago," I replied, not exactly sure when. I hadn't been paying attention. Stupid, stupid ass! I scoled myself. I clenched my teeth as Iggy pulled my hands away gently. I, thankfully, had been right. The blood had stopped. "Now wipe off the dried stuff," Iggy ordered, handing me the wet cloth. "How's Dylan?" I started to ask, but he waved his hand. "Nudge, Gazzy, and Angel are watching him. I told them not to injure him. Too badly, anyway." He gave a dry chuckle and kneeled down beside me. The cloth was quickly turning red. "I think there's a wound on her back too. Her wing isn't bleeding so much anymore." I looked up at Iggy for instruction. He nodded. "We'll have to cut her shirt open." I looked at him in disbelief. He blushed and shook his head, waving his hands quickly. He probably sensed my discomfort. "No! No, not the whole shirt. Just a little of the back!" I let out a sigh of relief. "I think Dylan had a dagger or something. I'll go see if I can find it," Iggy mumbled, shuffling away.
"Here." He dropped it in my hand. This-this knife...How? "But this can't be!" I said to myself, a little too loudly. "Hm?" Iggy asked, taking over blood-wiping duty. "Nothin'." I held the knife in my open hand. There was no way. But then again, I would know this handle anywhere. It was so intricatly designed. On one side of the silver handle, a dragon's head and wings were carved. It was down to every detail, so fine I could have counted the scales. The eye was a tiny, perfectly round, red stone the shined when I moved it. Its mouth was opened, not to wide, but enough. Flames in the shapes of snakes and claws spewed out of its mouth. The way the eyes were positioned made the monster look angry. The wings were pointed into sharp triangles with claws coming out of the points. They came off the knife a little. It was the other side that interested me, though.
A mother bird with long, flowing, outstretched wings (which also came off the knife) was perched on the edge of her nest. Her head was pointed forward, her beak open. She looked as if she were protecting her young from the snake/claw/flame things from the dragon that had leaked on to its side. The feathers looked so delicate and real, each line, even the tiniest, etched in where it should be. in the nest, I counted five baby birds, some with their wings in, others mimicking their mother. All six birds had beautiful ice-blue stones for eyes. The metal was cool in my had. I closed my fist around it, my palm memorizing the pattern. It was breath-takingly beautiful. The last time I had seen this knife, it was in the back of an Eraser.
"Dude, you sure you're alright?" Iggy asked, once again invading my thought. I nodded quickly and reluctantly handed him the beautiful knife. He sliced away about five inches of the shirt. "Anything?" he asked. "Yeah. Some pretty bad scratch marks below her wing joints." I pressed the cloth there to stop the bleeding, Iggy cleaning up. We didn't let the others join us until all the blood was gone and Max was bound up as best as we could manage. We laid her down on a bed of crumpled blankets. "Is she okay?" Gazzy asked slowly. "Yeah, she'll be fine, little man," Iggy replied, ruffling Gazzy's hair. After binding Dylan, who was still knocked out from my well-aimed kick, Iggy and I put him in an old dumpster in the back of the garage and locked it. We all curled up on our own blanket. I waited until everyone was breathing evenly, asleep, before I curled up next to a still unconcious Max, my left hand finding hers, my right wrapped tightly around the knife that matched her beauty.