ASH
No.
No. No. No. No.
I watch on in horror as Morgan lifts his hand, fingers curled around the hilt of that fucking blade. He moves to the side, blocking Cal’s face from me, and my heart stutters because this can’t be happening.
There’s a snarl behind me, a rush of air. My head snaps around in time to see Morgan sink his claws into Birch’s throat.
Birch spreads his arms wide. “Do it.” He coughs up blood as Morgan sinks his claws in deeper.
He doesn’t even put up a fight. “Wish . . . could be here . . . see Lynx’s face—” He coughs again, blood splattering Morgan’s chin and neck.
“—hunter council know. You’ll never . . .
stop . . . fight rings.” He grins, blood coating his teeth. “He’ll die in—”
Morgan snarls again, draws his hand back, and slashes Birch across the throat. Blood sprays out in an arc. He’s dead before he hits the ground.
I turn away, not giving a shit about that motherfucker.
“Cal,” I murmur, cradling his face.
His eyelids flutter, lips curled back in a grimace as he twitches like he’s having a seizure. Three bikes roar over the hill, but I can’t tear my gaze away from Cal long enough to see who it is.
I don’t care.
Because Cal is ashen and trembling and he’s got a fucking knife sticking out of his chest.
I don’t know whether to pull it out or not. It’s a big fucking no for humans, but Cal’s a shifter. Does that make a difference?
“Cal,” I try again, but it’s like he can’t hear me.
And then he lets out a blood-curdling scream that makes my hair stand on end. “Help him!” I yell, scrabbling to my feet and grabbing Morgan’s arm. He’s all bloody and gross, but I don’t fucking care. “Please.”
“I don’t—” He drops to his knees beside Cal, hands hovering over him. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Wipe your fucking hands for starters.” Careful of my shoulder, I ease out of my T-shirt and shove it at him. “I don’t want that fucker’s blood anywhere near him.”
He does as he’s told, then tears open Cal’s shirt, and I gasp.
Black spider webs radiate out from the knife wound, covering most of his chest.
Fucking hell.
I stare at it, horrified, and it takes me way too long to realise his chest isn’t moving. He’s not breathing. I check for a pulse, and I must be doing it wrong, because I can’t find anything. “Morgan,” I plead, desperate now. “Don’t let him die.”
Lynx lets his bike fall to the ground as he rushes over and skids to a halt beside us. “What the fuck happened?”
“He got stabbed with an aconite dagger,” I cut in when Morgan freezes. We don’t need to deal with that now.
We need to fucking fix Cal.
I elbow him hard and he snaps out of it.
“I tried to wipe some of it off on my trousers, but he was watching. I had to stab him close to his heart because he said he’d kill Ash if I didn’t, and I tried to pull it—” He chokes on his words.
Fuck’s sake, Mor.
“What do we do?” I snap, drawing Lynx’s focus.
“Flint!” Lynx yells over his shoulder. “Bring the fucking antidote.” He leans over and yanks the blade out of Cal’s chest, then whips out his phone and starts dialling.
Meanwhile, I breathe out a huge sigh of relief. “There’s an antidote? Thank fuck.” I glance between Morgan and Lynx, frowning because neither of them seem as relieved as me. “That’s a good thing, right?”
“It’s not enough,” Lynx grits out, then whoever’s on the other end answers. “Cal’s been stabbed by an aconite blade, close to his heart.” He describes the black lines covering his chest, the way Cal’s lips are turning a greyish colour, and that he’s barely breathing.
I listen to it all in disbelief, unable to get my head around the fact that he’s fucking dying.
I grab his hand and squeeze it tight, but there’s no response. It’s all lifeless and cold and wrong.
Flint races over, needle in hand, and jabs it straight into the mess of black on Cal’s chest. I hold my breath, willing it to perform some kind of miracle, but there’s no change.
“Will my blood work like last time?” Lynx asks down the phone.
Last time?
I’m about to ask, but Lynx shoves the phone at Morgan and bites into his own wrist.
Jesus Christ.
Blood flows freely from the cut he just made, and I’m both horrified and praying it’ll work as Lynx presses his wrist against Cal’s mouth.
“Drink,” he urges, cradling Cal’s head with his other hand. I should be doing that, I know I should, but I’m frozen in place, gaze stuck on the blood dripping into Cal’s mouth.
“C’mon, Cal. Fucking swallow.”
I hate the desperation in his voice. I need someone to have hope here because mine’s fading fast.
And I can barely feel him anymore.
His throat moves the smallest amount, then again. My heart is in my mouth as I wait and watch, no idea what I’m waiting for. “Is it working?”
Cal’s hand lies limp in mine and our bond has faded to a weak hum behind my ribs. So I’m guessing not, but I don’t want to say it out loud, because that will make it real.
Lynx watches the spidery black lines on Cal’s chest, so I watch them too. The edges begin to lighten, the black leaching out of them, and my heart stutters, hope flaring back to life. But after about an inch of it has disappeared, it seems to stop.
I hold my breath, praying for the rest of it to go, but nothing fucking happens. “What now?” I snap, looking to Lynx, then Morgan, who’re both listening to whatever’s being said down the phone.
Then they look at me.
That can’t be good.
“What?”
“My blood isn’t enough. The poison’s too close to his heart.”
I swallow past the huge lump in my throat, a horrible feeling where this is going.
“Corey says yours might be different since you’re bonded.”
I thrust my wrist out to him. “Do it.” My heart bangs against my ribs, fear a tangible thing that I can taste at the back of my throat.
Lynx’s eyes widen. Shocked.
“Of course I’m going to do it if there’s even the smallest chance it’ll help him.”
He nods once, the look in his eyes softening as he gently takes hold of my wrist. Flint hands him a knife, thank god, because I wasn’t looking forward to having his teeth in me.
Only Cal’s.
The cut is quick but still stings, and there’s more blood than I was expecting. I try not to flinch as Lynx drags my arm closer to Cal. Instead of going for his mouth, he lets my blood drip onto the stab wound in his chest.
“Corey thought it was worth a try,” he offers, so I let him hold my arm there while my blood trickles from my skin to Cal’s.
I bite my lip, willing it to work, as Lynx finally moves my arm to his mouth.
His lips are cold where they brush against me. Cal is usually so warm, and I hate this so fucking much.
I gasp as his mouth closes around the cut on my wrist and he swallows.
In all the books I’ve read on shifters, the only time blood ever came up was when they bit someone to turn them or bond with them.
I never imagined them drinking it to heal, but there’s no getting away from the fact that Callum is drinking my blood. Straight from the source.
“Look,” Morgan whispers.
We all look down at Cal’s chest.
I watch in awe as ever so slowly the black lines start to recede again, and this time they don’t stop.
The more he drinks, the more they disappear, until they’ve almost gone altogether. His fingers twitch in mine and I gasp again. “Cal?”
His eyes flutter open.
That gorgeous deep brown such a welcome sight.
He meets my gaze, the connection sharp and vivid for one glorious second before they fall shut again.
“Let’s get him up. We need to get him back to Corey before your blood wears off.”
“At the hospital?” I struggle to my feet as Lynx and Flint lift Cal between them.
“No, he’s at the compound,” Morgan answers, tearing a clean bit off his T-shirt and wrapping it around my wrist. “Treating Jet.”
“Oh god, Jet!” Shame washes over me. How could I forget about the person who fucking saved me? “Is he okay?”
“He will be.”
I swallow down the guilt. “If he hadn’t attacked when he did, they would’ve killed me.”
Lynx grunts. “We protect our own.”
He says it like it’s a given that I’m one of them now.
I keep an eye on Cal as they carry him over to Birch’s car, and it hits me that there’s a lot we don’t know about each other’s lives, about each other full stop.
It shouldn’t feel like this between us. It’s too soon.
And yet this warmth, this delicious ache behind my ribs . . . it feels a lot like l—
I can’t say it.
It’s way too fucking soon for that.
He said it.
When he thought he was dying. That doesn’t count.
I blink back tears, clinging to the fact that he’s breathing stronger now. I can see the rise and fall of his chest. Can feel it.
But like I already told him, there’ll be time for words later.
When we’re not covered in blood.
I hope.
They position him in the back of the car with me, his head on my lap, and I hold onto him for dear life as Morgan slides into the driver’s seat and starts the engine.
I don’t even care that we’ve left Birch lying at the side of the road.
Old me would’ve already called the police.
I don’t trust them anymore though, and that’s new too.
There’s only one thing I care about as we race along the dual carriageway towards the Wild Wolves compound, and he’s lying unconscious in my arms.
Closing my eyes, I focus on the steady throb deep in my chest that tells me we’re still connected.
He’s still alive.
Hold on, Cal.
Hold on.