Terrence would have flipped a coin, if he could have. Well, he would have weighted that coin towards her going to St. Mungo's, if he'd been asked. But he'd been unconscious, out of commission, completely useless. God damn it, he hated it when anything happened to his mind. First that fucking therapist when he was younger, then the bloody Complacens potion, and now everything he'd been through was turning it against itself. It would go back to obeying him, or he'd - well, it just fucking would.
He had even more ferocity behind that thought when he saw her wounds. Merlin, he hated when Ella was wounded; no one was supposed to hurt her, except for him. He didn't really hurt her, anyway: yes, he broke her skin, left bruises, sometimes even caused internal damage, but it was different. He lowered his mouth to the cuts on her skin, probably making them hurt worse with his tongue, but making them more his, making them hurt in a good way. That was his intention, anyway.
The flimsy gown he was wearing came off easily, thankfully; that was the one good thing about it, he supposed. When he'd traced every inch of her wounds with his mouth and hands, he raised his head to kiss her again, his naked body fitting against hers as he devoured her mouth.
He was in much better shape at the moment, at least physically speaking; his wounds had all been attended to by the healers while he'd been unconscious, and had begun to heal. After they both calmed down, he'd make sure that she got the medical attention she needed. He should probably invest in a couple of double-sided coins.