Marc propped up the soldier and brought the glass to Mackenzie’s lips. The first bit of water wet his lips, cooling the feverish man. As though by instinct, Mackenzie reacted as though he were a man who walked out of the desert after forty days.
He drank it greedily, and Marc helped him back down. With any luck his own blood would be able to fend off the infection. With sufficient distance and time my control will wane entirely, but the blood will not allow other influences.
“You’ve,” the Lieutenant began. “You’ve done this before?”
“…an earlier conflict. I was part of a garrison that took casualties. There was no one else, so we took turns looking after the men.”

Disclaimer: This novel is an work in progress and readers may encounter grammatical errors and inconsistencies. Please view this a draft and not a published work.
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