I threw myself on the ground, hands shaking, touching her head, her shoulder, avoiding her neck.
“Isla, Isla,” I panted hoarsely. “Isla, no, no, no, you’re going to be fine, it’s going to be okay.”
I knew it was a lie, deep down, and so did Isla. Her wide eyes blinked rapidly, her face turning red from lack of oxygen, the thick arrow preventing her throat from filling with anything but blood.
“Isla, no. No, you’re going to be okay. Just hold on. I’m mind-linking Rush, he’ll be here soon. Just hang on. It’s going to be okay.” I pushed back one side of her hair. Her body stilled from the shivering. “Isla!”
I heard footsteps approaching, and I didn’t care if they were the hunters or if they were Rush’s. Isla’s eyes closed slowly, her brown irises sliding into her head.
“No,” I sobbed, shaking her shoulder roughly. “Isla, no. I need you, please, please don’t do this. Isla! Isla! Isla, I love you, please don’t go. I’m so sorry. Isla. Isla.”
Arms wrapped around me and hauled me back away from Isla’s body. I knew instantly they were Rush’s, but it didn’t matter. I swung my legs and grabbed his arms painfully, trying to get to Isla.
Rush whispered into my hair, holding me around my stomach, quickly pulling me back to the packhouse.
“No, we can’t leave her,” I begged, reaching out into the open air.
“She’s gone, sweetheart. The hunters are still out there, I need to get you safe.” His voice was gruff, emotionless. His grip was secure but not bruising as he carried me awkwardly inside. He swung the door shut with his foot and walked directly up the stairs.
He walked into our room, into the bathroom where he set me on the counter. He brushed the hair away from my face with both hands, grabbing my face to steady me.
“I will be right back,” he promised, staring into my eyes. He kissed my forehead and let me go, stepping out into the hallway and calling Beckett’s name painfully loud. I could hear him tell Beckett the situation and to put the pack on lockdown.
I looked down at my pale hands, dreadfully still, a stain of red on my index finger. There was another streak on the underside of my palm, and droplets under my nails. I swung my legs off the counter and slid down, turning the water on in the sink fully. I grabbed the bar of soap and roughly rubbed my hands under the water, scratching my skin until it turned red.
Before I was aware of it, I was in hysterics, trying to breathe as I scraped layers of skin off my hands. Rush opened the bathroom door again, taking a moment to see what I was doing. He stood behind me, turning off the water and grabbing both of my hands, pulling them to his chest and therefore pulling me to his chest.
“Shh,” he murmured, bending down until he was sitting on the ground with me between his legs. “You’re okay, Sloane.”
“I’m not,” I sobbed, my words barely understandable. My chest heaved, and Rush struggled to keep me contained in his arms.
“I know, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.” He kissed my hair, leaning his head against mine afterward. “I’m here for you. Whatever you need, I’m here. You aren’t alone.”
“She’s gone,” I said hollowly.
“She’s not gone. Your sister was loved, she will be loved, she isn’t gone,” he promised, stroking my hair. I breathed in, cringing at the rawness of my throat. “Just breathe, sweetheart. I’ve got you. I’ve got you now. I’m here. I love you, you aren’t alone, you’ll never be alone. Just breathe.”
“She’s gone.”
This Body
Rush’s fingers gently traced his mark on my neck, his body curled on the outside of mine. I stared at the same spot I had been staring at for days, the tiny nick in the wall Isla made from knocking over a sharp-edged picture frame.
That was all that was left of her here.
“Sloane, we need to get out of bed. Your parents are waiting downstairs, it’s almost time,” Rush murmured lowly. I allowed him to help me sit up and slid my legs over the edge of the bed. “Come on,” he urged, desperate to get me out of the room I had been holed up in since Isla was killed.
I glanced down at my clothing, Rush’s shirt, and a pair of his boxers, and knew I needed to change. I pushed myself off the bed, wobbling on my unused legs. Rush grabbed my elbow to steady me, and his lip jerked up in an apologetic grin.
I tore a white dress off one of the hangers in the closet, ignoring the hanger that came tumbling down with it. Rush picked it up tenderly and hooked it back on the rack. He looked at the ground as I slid his clothes off my body and slipped the dress over my head.
I wandered to the bathroom and opened the many drawers in the vanity, looting through them anxiously. I slammed one of the drawers too loudly, and Rush appeared in the doorway, clouded face, hand on the doorframe. I threw some of the items on the ground and in my frustration, began breathing faster and faster.
Rush grabbed my hands, turning me to look at him.
“What are you trying to find?” he asked. I breathed in a few times, sniffling.
“My hairbrush.”
He let my hands go and opened the second drawer, where my hairbrush always was and closed it softly after him. He pushed me to the bed with wavering hands. I tumbled onto the bed clumsily and sat on the edge, allowing him to run the brush through my hair, top to bottom.
He was deliberate in his movements, holding my head with one hand as the other brushed the three days of tangled knots out of my messy hair.
He set the brush on the bed, holding my head in both of
