Reborn: The Duke's Obsession-Chapter 273 - Two Hundred And Seventy Three

The world came back to Eric in pieces. The maddening rage that had fueled his final attack was gone, leaving behind a chilling, hollow emptiness. He was on his knees in the dirt, the unconscious form of his brother beneath him.

Pain, white-hot and absolute, radiated from his stomach and shoulder. He looked at his hands, bloody and trembling, and then at the scene of devastation around them.

Delia, in a state of shock, watched him. She looked from the monstrous, still form of Philip to the gray, stormy clouds above. As she watched, a miracle seemed to happen. The thick, oppressive clouds began to part, breaking apart and disappearing as if they were nothing more than smoke. The setting sun, low on the horizon, broke through, bathing the tragic scene in a final, brilliant, golden light.

Her gaze fell to her wrist. She watched, mesmerized, as the last, tiny petal of the rose bud tattoo detached from its bud. It didn't just fade; it seemed to turn into a wisp of dark dust and blow away on the gentle evening breeze. For a second, the skin was bare. Then, a soft, pearlescent light began to emanate from the spot. She felt a gentle warmth spread through her arm as, line by delicate line, a new image surfaced on her skin. It was a perfect, white rose in full bloom, surrounded by vibrant green leaves. It seemed to pulse with a soft, living light for a moment, and then, as quickly as it had appeared, it faded away, leaving her skin completely clear, as if it had never been there at all.

"It's gone," she whispered, her voice full of a disbelieving awe.

She scrambled to her feet, her own pain forgotten, and stumbled over to where Eric knelt, swaying. "Eric!" she said, her voice trembling.

She grabbed his wrist, turning it over. Before their very eyes, the same phenomenon happened. The last petal turned to dust, and the luminous, living white rose bloomed and then vanished into nothing.

A tearful, brilliant smile broke across Delia's face. She looked at Eric, her eyes shining with a fragile, desperate hope. "Eric, it's gone," she said, her voice cracking with emotion. "It's gone."

She reached up and gently arranged the damp, bloody hair on his forehead. Tears of relief, of joy, of terror, fell freely down her face as she smiled. "It's all over now, right?" she asked, needing to hear him say it, to make the miracle real.

Eric looked at her, his own face pale and drawn, but a weak, loving smile touched his lips. "Yes," he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. "It is all over."

The sight of his smile, of the life still in his eyes, was a balm to her soul. But then her gaze dropped, and she saw the dark, wet patches spreading across the front of his shirt. He was bleeding. A lot. The magical moment shattered, and the brutal reality of their situation came crashing back down.

"Your wounds," she gasped. "We have to stop the bleeding."

She tried to tear a strip from her heavy silk overskirt, but the fabric was too strong, and her hands were weak and trembling. She didn't have the strength. Frustrated tears fell as she fumbled with the layers of her dress, finally reaching the softer, finer cotton of her petticoat. With a desperate sob, she ripped a long strip of fabric from the undergarment.

Eric watched her, his vision starting to blur at the edges. "Don't cry," he said weakly, his love for her a more potent force than his own pain. "I'm okay." He raised a trembling hand, reaching to wipe a tear from her cheek. But the effort was too much. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed, slumping sideways to the ground.

"ERIC!!!" she screamed, the sound tearing from her throat, a raw, animalistic cry of pure terror.

She was on him in an instant, cradling his head in her arms. With shaking hands, she pressed the wadded piece of cloth against the wound in his stomach, trying desperately to stop the bleeding. The cloth quickly turned a dark, sickening red.

"Eric, please don't leave me," she sobbed, her tears falling onto his still face. "Please, our child needs you. Owen needs you, your family needs you." Her voice broke, her entire body shaking with the force of her grief. "I… I need you."

She rocked him gently in her arms, as if he were a child. "Don't go, please. Don't go."

She looked around wildly, at the empty road, at the dark, silent woods. They were alone. Utterly alone. Her hope curdled into an anxious, heart-wrenching despair.

"Someone!" she screamed at the empty trees. "Anyone, please help me! Please!!!"

Her cries were swallowed by the vast, indifferent quiet of the coming night. She cradled Eric, her voice eventually dissolving into broken, hiccupping sobs, pressing the cloth to his wound in what felt like a long, hopeless eternity.

Just as the last sliver of the sun disappeared below the horizon, she heard it. A distant sound. The faint, rhythmic thunder of horses' hooves, coming fast. Hope, sharp and painful, pierced through her despair. She looked up, her tear-filled eyes straining to see down the dark road.

The sound grew louder, and then she saw them—the bobbing lights of carriage lanterns, approaching at a gallop. One carriage, then another behind it.

A figure stood on the side of the lead carriage, urging the driver on. "Your Grace!" Aiden shouted, his voice ringing with panic as he saw the scene of devastation. He jumped down before the carriage had even fully stopped.

The constables in the prison carriage behind them also arrived, their faces grim. They saw the unconscious form of their escaped prisoner and immediately went to work, loading the still-unconscious Philip into the back of their secure wagon to begin the long journey back to Newcastle Prison.

Aiden rushed to Delia's side. He looked from her tear-streaked, blood-splattered face to the pale, still form of his master in her arms. "Are you okay, Your Grace?" he asked, his voice full of a gentle concern.

Delia could only shake her head slowly, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. The relief of being found was overwhelmed by the terror of Eric's condition.

Aiden, his own face a mask of grief and resolve, gently helped her. Together, they carefully, painstakingly, lifted Eric's limp body and carried him to the carriage.

They laid him across the seats, Delia never letting go of his hand, her sobs the only sound in the sudden, grim efficiency of the rescue. Aiden climbed in beside her, and with a shout to the driver, the carriage lurched forward, racing away from the scene of the nightmare, and towards the duke's residence.