Marrying a Warhound (Cassian) novel Chapter 186

**TITLE: Brute 186**
**Chapter 186**

**ATASHA’S POV**

“Cassian!”

Before I could reach him, Cassian had already dropped to one knee, his body succumbing to another violent fit. By the time I closed the distance, he was coughing again, and a fresh stream of blood erupted from his mouth, splattering across the pristine snow. The once white surface was now marred by a dark crimson stain that spread ominously beneath his trembling hands.

Kneeling before him, I barely registered the cold bite of the ground as I dropped to my knees. My fingers instinctively grasped his shoulders, steadying him as his body convulsed with another harsh cough. Each rasping breath he took echoed within his chest, labored and strained, as if the very air he fought to draw in was conspiring against him.

“Cassian, look at me,” I urged, my voice trembling as I slid one hand to caress the side of his face, desperate for his attention. “Tell me where it hurts.”

His eyes, unfocused and distant, flickered toward me, struggling to connect. He opened his mouth, perhaps to speak, but instead, another wave of blood surged forth, thick and dark, staining his teeth. The effort seemed to drain him further, and I could feel the tremors coursing through his muscles beneath my hands, a chilling reminder of his fragility.

Panic clawed at my throat, sharp and suffocating.

I pressed my palm firmly against his chest, right above his heart, channeling my healing energy into him. Warmth surged from me, a desperate tide, but as soon as it met the source of his affliction, it encountered an impenetrable barrier.

It felt as if I had collided with something grotesque and decayed, a layer beneath his skin that rejected my every attempt to help. My power skated along the surface, probing for a weakness, a crack through which I could pour my healing light, but found nothing.

“What is going on?” I whispered, more to myself than to him, frustration lacing my tone as I tried again. “Why can’t I heal you?”

With renewed determination, I pushed harder, forcing more warmth into him, ignoring the dizziness that pulsed at my temples. For a fleeting moment, I thought I sensed a shift within him, a glimmer of hope, but then Cassian coughed again, and blood splattered across my hand—hot, slick, and damning proof that nothing had changed.

“Stop… wasting… strength,” he gasped, his voice a hollow echo, every word a struggle that scraped against his throat.

“I am not wasting anything!” I retorted, my voice sharper than I intended, refusing to pull my hand away. “You are bleeding in front of me, and you will not tell me to stop.”

I tried again, my heart racing as I sent my healing deeper, pushing past skin and muscle, reaching for whatever had been so violently damaged. But instead of finding a wound to mend, I encountered something far more sinister.

It was not merely an injury; it felt as if something was gnawing at him from the inside, consuming the very life I was trying to restore. Each bit of warmth I offered vanished into that dark, oppressive presence, swallowed before it could begin to repair the damage.

It felt as if something was methodically stripping him away from me, piece by piece.

“Cassian,” I said, my voice cracking as I watched his head dip forward, his strength waning. “Stay with me. Do you hear me? You have to stay with me.”

His breaths grew more shallow, each rise and fall of his chest quick and jagged, as though he could never fill his lungs adequately. I pressed my other hand against his back, attempting to steady him, to anchor him to this moment, desperate to feel like I was doing something rather than merely watching him disintegrate.

“No…” I thought, a wave of urgency crashing over me. I needed to call for help! Mendez, or perhaps Grace or Rio!

The sounds of battle still echoed around us, the clash of steel ringing through the courtyard. I heard shouts from a distance, the sickening thud of another body hitting the snow, the grunt of a man taking a hit. I forced myself to glance up for just a heartbeat, hoping to spot someone nearby who could assist in holding the line while I focused on Cassian.

A group of Cassian’s men were still fighting valiantly near the gate, their backs pressed together, blades flashing as they defended against Yara’s soldiers. Blood stained their armor and the ground around them, yet they continued to move, to fight, to hold their ground.

And then, beyond them, I saw them.

Agape and Kae.

They stood near the base of one of the towering stone pillars, their robes miraculously untouched by blood, hands empty, eyes locked onto the chaos around them. They were close enough to witness everything—the screams, the clashing steel, and Cassian on his knees in the snow.

Yet they were not fighting.

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