forming words had become complicated so suddenly. My tongue was heavy, my throat too dry.
Another mewl of distress. My head sagged.
I couldn’t run, I couldn’t talk, I couldn’t plead, I couldn’t fight.
Terror-pain spread with each thump of my frightened heart. I cringed as the Fae touched my wound—so lightly, so carefully—and shuddered as I saw my blood staining his fingers. Liquid and still thin enough to drip down the back of his hand and curl around his hairless wrist. Then to my keening, quivering horror, he lifted a wet index to his nose and sniffed that wretched finger oh so delicately.
His Goddess-cursed hand was moving again, but this time his fingers were reaching for my face. There was no escape from them. My chin was too heavy. I hurt too much. The blade, the fear, and Ralph, all of it was too great a burden.
I slumped into my chains.
The Fae lifted my heavy head and parted my hair. He teased one sweaty hank off my cheek, and pursed his lips as his cool gaze roved my face.
Whoosh. Suddenly, the Fae was swiped sideways, gone in a blur as Trowbridge shoved him aside. Grunts. Smack of flesh on flesh. More grunts.
“Let me help her!”
“Keep away from her!” A growl.
I moaned when someone—something?—hit my calf hard.
A flash of green fire. A furious roar.
A wolf growling, snarling, snapping.
“Back, Anu!” cried the Fae. Another flash of green, followed by a yelp sharp and high. “Stop it! Calm yourself.”
“Get away from her!”
“You’re under the influence of the moon. Think beyond your anger.” A thud, followed by an unintelligible roar of outrage. “Stop struggling!” shouted the Fae. “The blade is silver; the wound is fatal. I must act immediately.”
“She needs sun potion,” said the Fae. “I can’t hold you aloft and tend to her. Give me this boon, and I will give you one of equal weight.”
A furious growl. “I have no cause to trust a Fae!”
“You must. It is a mortal wound,” the Fae shouted. “You know it is!”
“She belongs to me!” shouted my mate. “Do not touch her with your filthy hands, or by God I will tear your throat out, deal or no deal.”
“You have a choice, Son of Lukynae.” The Fae pleaded, “Let me save her. For all the…”
The green fire went out.
I waited. A second? A minute? Four? Five? But magic-mine didn’t return to me. The night was dark again, lit only by the moon and stars, not the green fire of the thing I’d dismissed so coldly just twelve hours ago. Just me, and Ralph, and the silver knife—its handle shallowly bobbing, very slowly, up and down, up and down … My Were was stumbling, too; hurting terribly, as if the blade had not only pierced my skin, but torn through her pelt, through her ribs and sinew to pierce her heart.
A clink of metal. A grunt. Two hands held me upright as another tore the chains from me. Then I was in his arms. The right man touched my face, cupped my jaw, and lifted it. Dark hair, dark brows pulled together. A glimmer of blue eyes. A glimpse of high cheekbone. His scent wrapped around me.
“What did you do?” he asked brokenly.
“Oh God, look at her.” A voice as raw as the wound in my belly. “Tink, you hold on, you hear? You hold on.”
I wanted to keep my eyes open, so that his eyes would be the last thing I saw, but I felt myself starting to drift. No longer held by any chains, no longer hurting. Warm arms cradled me. How many nights had I dreamed of being held so? A deep, strong heart beat under my ear. How many hours had I spent remembering the warmth of his body, the scent of him, entwined around me, comforting as his embrace?
My lids fell, and I fell, too. Inside myself.
“Come on, sweetheart. Come on.”
“Move away,” the Fae said quietly.
“No! Give me the juice. I will do it.” My mate’s loving fingers were hurtful now, thumbs digging into the soft flesh of my cheek. Prying open my jaw. Something metal clicks against my teeth. My tongue investigates it. Round and smooth. The edge of a cup.
“Drink it, sweetheart. Please.” A low voice. Rumble soft.
“I swear to God, Hedi. I have gone through hell to come back home. You will not die in my arms. Do you hear me? You will drink this.”
Cold liquid floods my mouth.
Tasteless, and yet somehow potent. My tongue, which had felt so thick, now tingles.
“Swallow it.” Hard command in his voice. The water tastes like spring water, but purer and sweeter than any that came in a plastic bottle. I feel panic as it clogs my throat.
“No!” Another squeeze of my jaw, another mouthful poured between my chattering teeth. “You’ve got to drink it all. You have to. I promise that you’ll feel better.”
A hand massaged my neck. My throat flexed, struggling to get the hurtful ball of wet past the knot in the throat.
“Please.” His tone softened. “Do it for me.”
I forced it down.
But I didn’t feel any better.
“On the next mouthful, I’ll slowly pull the blade out of her,” said the other man.
“More, Hedi,” said Trowbridge harshly again, pressing the cup back to my lips. Another cool flood into my mouth. Something tugs at me, pulls at me. I swallow, chest hurting. The liquid cools my throat, then my gullet. As it swims down into my core, I struggle to focus on his eyes. To see past the ropes of hair, the black whiskers.
Blue comets, blue fire.
Mine.
And then … a wave of warmth … and I was no longer hurting. The raging fire in my center was cooling, easing, being pushed away by something that wasn’t seething hot, but warm as my mum’s hand on my brow. Soothing as someone stroking the pointed tip of my ear.
“Don’t you dare leave me. If I could hold out this long, you will find the strength to fight this … You
