Chapter 10
ELLIE
The wolves broke camp with the kind of efficiency that made our modern expedition training look like amateur hour.
I sat near the dying fire, trying to stay out of the way while they worked around me with barely a sound.
No wasted movements. No discussion about who should carry what or which direction to take, each wolf knowing their role as naturally as breathing.
I had tried to help, but the healer, Daska, despite not being able to speak my language, had made it clear I was to sit and rest by literally lifting me and carrying me back to the fire.
Considering the size of him, and how he was able to lift me as easily as breathing, I decided to take the hint.
Nathan and Megan, I noticed, hadn’t even tried to help.
They sat on the other side of the fire, talking quietly.
I shifted my weight carefully, testing my injured leg. The wound throbbed with each heartbeat, a deep ache that had only gotten worse overnight despite Daska's treatment. I'd rewrapped it this morning while everyone was distracted, pulling the bandages tight enough to make my eyes water.
It would hold. It had to.
I leaned over to where Dav was still lying on a thick pad of furs. He seemed bright this morning and I gave thanks for small victories.
"How're you doing, Dev?"
"Five-star accommodation. Gourmet dining. Personal physician who could bench-press a car. What more could a man want?" He grinned at me, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
"I know," I said quietly. "I miss him too, but we’re alive and we'll get through this."
Dev's jaw tightened and he looked away, blinking hard. Stephen's absence sat between us like a physical weight, the space where he should have been cracking jokes and complaining about the cold. I reached out and squeezed Dev's hand, and he squeezed back, hard enough to hurt.
"Right," he said after a moment, his voice rough. "Course we will. We're British. Stiff upper lip and all that." He shifted on the stretcher and winced, the movement jostling his leg despite the splint. "Though I wouldn't say no to some paracetamol. Or a helicopter. Or a nice cup of tea."
"I'd commit actual crimes for a cup of tea right now," I admitted, and his laugh, a real one this time, loosened something tight in my chest.
I glanced over at Nathan and Megan. They were huddled together, Nathan's head bent close to hers, and whatever he was saying made Megan's mouth press into a thin line.
She nodded once, sharply, then looked away.
Nathan caught me watching and his expression shuttered instantly, going blank in that way I'd come to recognise as his tell for I'm planning something you won't like.
I held his gaze for a beat longer than was comfortable, then turned away. Whatever he was scheming, I didn't have the energy to fight about it right now. Not when every ounce of focus I had was being spent on not limping, not showing weakness, not being a burden to the people who'd saved our lives.
Daska appeared at my elbow with a waterskin and a few strips of dried meat that he shared between me and Dev. I noticed he hadn’t brought any for Nathan and Megan, and fought back a petty smile.
"Thank you," I said, taking the waterskin and the food. The words felt inadequate for everything he’d done for me. But it was all I had, and I paired it with a smile that I hoped conveyed the rest.
Daska nodded, his warm brown eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that made my stomach do something entirely inappropriate for the circumstances. He said something in his language and gestured at my leg with a questioning tilt of his head.
"It's fine," I said automatically. "Much better."
He studied me for a moment with an expression that suggested he didn't believe a word of it, language barrier or not. Then he reached down and, before I could protest, rested his palm against the bandage on my thigh. Not pressing, just touching, his hand warm even through the leather wrapping.
I held very still.
His brow furrowed. He made a disapproving sound deep in his chest, that same bear-like rumble I'd heard the night before, then spoke again, his tone shifting from gentle to what was unmistakably a telling off.
I didn't need a translation. The gist was clear: *You're not fine, you're a terrible liar, and you've wrapped this too tight, you stubborn woman. *
He unwound the bandage with deft fingers, ignoring my half-hearted attempts to wave him off.
The morning air hit the wound and I hissed through my teeth, not from the cold, but from the sight of it.
The edges were angrier than yesterday, the skin around the gash swollen and hot, streaked with red that radiated outward like cracks in ice.
The poultice had done its job overnight, drawing out some of the dirt and debris, but what was left underneath wasn't pretty.
The leather strips I'd pulled tight enough to cut into the swollen flesh had left deep indentations in my skin, and when the pressure released, blood rushed back into the tissue with a throb that made me hiss through my teeth.
"I was trying to keep it stable," I muttered defensively, even though he couldn't understand me. "It's called compression. It's a legitimate medical technique."
Daska gave me a look that transcended all language barriers.
It was the universal expression of every medical professional who'd ever dealt with a patient who thought they knew better.
I'd seen it on doctors, nurses, paramedics, and now apparently it translated perfectly across twenty-five thousand years of human evolution.
"Don't look at me like that," I said, but my mouth twitched despite myself.
He shook his head slowly, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like the Ice Age equivalent of idiots, the lot of them, and reached for his healer's pouch.
Fresh poultice first, the same dark, bitter-smelling paste from last night, applied with fingers that were impossibly gentle for their size.
He spread it across the wound in thin, even layers, working from the edges inward, and the numbness followed his touch like a blessing.
I let out a breath I hadn't realised I'd been holding, my shoulders dropping as the worst of the pain receded.
Then he rewrapped the leg. Properly this time, with strips of soft leather padded with dried moss, each layer overlapping the last with the precision of someone who'd done this ten thousand times.
He left enough room for the swelling without letting the bandage shift, and when he finished, he sat back and looked up at me with one eyebrow raised.
See? That's how you do it.
"Show-off," I muttered, but there was no heat in it. My leg already felt better than it had all morning. Still painful, but manageable. The kind of pain you could walk through if you had to.
Daska glanced up at me, clearly not understanding the words but responding to my tone. The corner of his mouth twitched, and he gestured to the meat in my hand.
“Ok, ok,” I said, and bit into the dried meat to avoid further interrogation.
It was good, salty and rich, with a smoky depth.
Tough enough to require serious commitment from my jaw, but the flavour was extraordinary.
Real food, from real animals, prepared by people who understood preservation as a matter of survival rather than a lifestyle trend.
I chewed slowly, savouring it, and Daska nodded his approval, then moved away to help with Dev's travois, steadying him as two of the wolf shifters lifted it with casual strength, positioning themselves at front and back, as they had before. Not for the first time, I gave silent thanks they’d found us.
"Ready?" Nathan appeared beside me, Megan a half-step behind him. He looked more rested, focused, back in expedition-leader mode, much better than he had the day before. The man whose girlfriend was currently studying me like I was a specimen she'd rather leave behind.
"Ready," I said.
Megan's gaze flicked to my leg, then away. "We need to maintain pace. The wolves are likely taking us to their camp, and thankfully, it’s in nearly the same direction we were heading, but we can't afford delays."
Translation: Don't slow us down.
"I understand."
"Do you?" Her voice stayed perfectly pleasant, but something cold moved beneath it. "Because yesterday was... difficult. For everyone."
Nathan touched her arm, a brief gesture that spoke of familiarity. "Megan…"
"I'm just saying we need to be practical." She smiled at me, the expression not quite reaching her eyes. "This isn't a rescue mission. It's mutual survival. We all need to pull our weight."
Meaning I wasn’t. "I know what this is."
The wolf alpha's low whistle cut through the tension. The pack began moving, falling into formation with the same unspoken coordination they'd used to break camp. Nathan and Megan moved toward the front, their body language suggesting they intended to walk with the leaders.
I hung back, letting the group flow around me. Better to stay out of the way. Better to...
Daska materialized beside me again, matching my pace without comment. On my other side, one of the younger wolves took up position with an easy grin that suggested this was perfectly normal.
Great. Babysitters.
But I was too tired to argue, and the company was welcome. My leg ached with each step, the wound pulling and throbbing despite the tight wrapping. The cold bit through my inadequate clothes, making everything harder.
One foot in front of the other. Don't slow us down.
The landscape around us shifted gradually as we traveled, the dense forest giving way to more open terrain. Snow-covered hills rolled ahead, leading toward distant mountains that looked impossibly far away. The sun climbed higher, providing light but little warmth.
My world narrowed to the rhythm of walking—step, breathe, ignore the pain, repeat.