Chapter 10
Hayden
I’m too injured to stay hidden.
Thankfully, it’s starting to get dark. That’ll give me a little cover to hide in. Not much, but it’s better than everyone on the streets of Chicago seeing a bloody wolf carrying two women on his back. That might actually make the news, if it’s a slow day for murder and politics.
My body is cut open, bitten, and bleeding.
The bites are the worst part. When a vampire bites someone and their venom mixes with the victim’s blood, it induces paralysis.
I’m not immune to it, but it takes a lot of vampire venom to take me down.
A few more bites and I would have been feeling it.
Every mark already feels like molten lava, gushing and pulsating with fiery, radiating pain.
If the rest of the vampires had shown up, I would have fallen. They would have drained every drop of blood in my body. Ansley would be hanging from a chain, right beside her best friend. The more distance I put between the vampire nest and us, the less chance they have of tracking us.
To make it more difficult, I smear my blood in multiple directions. I dash through alleys, around buildings, and stay out of sight, but I leave a trail that will just take them in circles before I finally break into a stride.
Despite the pain, I use wide leaps to diminish the trail. Once I’m sure I’m no longer leaving fresh blood every time my paws hit the pavement, I relax. The trail will go cold. That’s good enough. The best I can do under these circumstances.
“Are you still okay?” I ask Ansley, my voice traveling across a mental link.
“Yes,” she answers. “I’m not sure about Daisy, but I’m fine.”
“I can feel her heart beating. She’s still alive,” I reassure her.
It normally takes a wolf a while to establish a mental link with someone, especially a stranger.
My brothers and I share one when we’re in close proximity.
I shouldn’t have formed one with Ansley so easily, but I will not question it.
It just reinforces what I feel. That despite not knowing what she is, there’s a connection. A primal one. She is my mate.
How? I don’t know. So many stories have been twisted into fiction that barely resemble the truth. Maybe the ones that passed down through generations of wolf shifters have lost bits and pieces that were important. Maybe there was a time when we could breed with other Scions.
Or maybe Ansley is just unique. It wouldn’t be the first time something new emerged from a Scion bloodline.
Not in recent years, but my father used to tell stories he heard from my grandmother.
Stories about a time when Scions lived in harmony and weren’t so different from each other.
I always assumed they were embellished and exaggerated tales, but maybe there is some truth in there.
Wyatt might know more. He’s the youngest of my brothers, but he’s the scholarly one.
“We’re almost there,” I growl, turning a corner and making sure I can stay hidden before continuing on.
“Where are we going?” Ansley asks.
“A doctor I trust,” I reply. “He’s a witch, but that’s exactly what we need right now.”
“A witch?” Ansley questions, then she leans closer to me. “Okay.” I can hear her exhale with the bewilderment the last hour has caused for her.
She’s seen so much in such a short time she doesn’t really question it. I guess if you just found out vampires and wolf shifters exist, the existence of witches isn’t that much of a stretch. Let’s hope she never has to see what hunts us. Crimson Templars are scarier than any Scion.
I find the alley I’m looking for and lunge into its protective darkness. Approaching a door, I lower myself to my stomach.
“I need to shift before we go inside,” I growl. “I can’t communicate with him like this. He won’t be able to hear me like you can.”
“Okay,” Ansley says, carefully dismounting me. She keeps a hand on Daisy, then pulls her best friend into her arms. “I got her.”
I walk behind a dumpster and shift into my true Human Form.
I’m too weak to maintain my Third Form right now.
It’s hard enough around Ansley, without being covered in gashes and bites.
Even while I fought the vampires, I felt the overwhelming need.
The urge. It’s stronger now, but I have to keep it throttled back.
There’s an old blanket near the dumpster. Probably left behind by a homeless person, or it was meant for the trash. It’s got a foul odor, but I wrap it around me anyway. I hold it in place as I stagger back to the door and knock on it.
“Morgan!” I shout, pounding on the door a little harder. “It’s Hayden! I’m hurt! I need your help!”
I stop slamming my hand into the door when I hear commotion on the other side.
It opens with a creak and a pair of aqua-blue eyes that flicker like gemstones peer out.
That’s the tell-tale sign of a witch. Not broomsticks or cauldrons.
Their fucking eyes sparkle so much you’d think they really were carved from shimmering stones.
“Hayden,” he says, looking me over, then peering at my companions. “You really are a mess, but she needs immediate attention. Come inside. Hurry.”
Morgan is a witch who specializes in healing.
He would have been called a Witch Doctor, once upon a time, but humans stole that name long ago.
Tried to mimic magic and potions with gibberish and snake oil.
He’s the real deal. He can treat my wounds, and if Daisy is going to survive what has been done to her, he’s her best shot.
“I’ll take her,” I try to make my voice sound reassuring as I make eye contact with Ansley and gesture to Daisy.
Ansley is reluctant to let go of her best friend, but she seems to trust me. I’m not sure why. If our roles were reversed, I’m not sure I would trust a giant who can shift into a wolf.
“Be careful with her, please,” Ansley says as she lets me pick Daisy up.
I’m hurt, but carrying Daisy doesn’t add any stress to my system. I make sure the blanket is secure around my waist, then duck underneath the door and follow Morgan inside. Ansley trails behind us, looking around cautiously.
Morgan’s home is exactly what you’d expect from a witch who straddles the line between the old world and one we’re forced to live in.
The space is cluttered but organized in a way that only makes sense to him.
The walls are lined with shelves that sag under the weight of glass jars filled with herbs, dried flowers, roots, and things I don’t want to identify floating in murky liquids.
Some of the jars glow faintly with a soft light.
Bundles of sage, lavender and other plants hang from the ceiling, drying in clusters that fill the air with a thick, earthy scent. Incense burns in multiple corners, the smoke curling upward in wispy spirals. Lit candles cast shadows that dance across the walls.
Morgan leads us down a hallway, past his living room, and into the room where he tends to patients. I’ve been here before, but not in a long time.
“In here,” Morgan says, gesturing to a modern medical table in the center of the room. “Put her on the table so I can examine her.”
The table looks like one you’d find in a hospital. It’s stainless steel, adjustable, with a light hanging over it that can be angled. There’s a rolling cart nearby stocked with surgical tools, IV bags, and some medicine.
I carefully hoist Daisy up on the table and pull her shirt over her breasts, giving her back some modesty. Morgan wafts a hand in my direction, ushering me away from the table.
“You’ll live. She might not,” he mutters. “Let me take care of her first.”
“She might not live?” Ansley whimpers.
“We got her here in time. I can still hear her heartbeat,” I try to keep my voice gentle and reassuring as I move out of Morgan’s way. I growl, moving out of Morgan’s way.
“Those vampires had beating hearts too,” Ansley replies, still sounding quite worried about her best friend.
“Yes, but Daisy hasn’t died. Her heart beats with life, not death,” I explain.
I stand by a workbench in the corner of the room. It’s covered in mortar and pestles, beakers, and burners. Crystals, bones, feathers, and vials of colored powders are scattered carelessly beside them.
“I don’t usually treat humans that are this bad off,” Morgan sighs. “But a hospital doesn’t know how to treat vampire bites.”
I seem to be in the way again. Morgan walks closer to the workbench and shoos me, so I move closer to Ansley. She takes Daisy’s hand and squeezes it, whispering reassurances as tears pool in her eyes.
Her pain is my pain. I feel an ache in my chest. This is a true mate bond. We’re meant for each other, but the bond doesn’t feel complete, like there’s still missing pieces, but I don’t know what they are.
Morgan begins mixing some sort of potion or tincture. He’s short and lean with bronze colored skin. He appears to be in his late thirties, but he’s much older. Not as old as my brothers and I, but he’s seen things humans call history.
“This will make the vampire venom bubble out and seal her wounds,” Morgan says aimlessly, turning around with a beaker in his hand that is filled with red, smoky liquid.
“But I’ll need to use a little magic first. Just a simple sleep spell to ensure she doesn’t wake up.
It’ll take some time for her to recover, and it’s best if she’s not thrashing around or asking questions while her body heals. ”
“Do what you need to do,” I tell him.
Morgan walks closer to the table. He puts a hand on Daisy’s hand and chants something in a language too old for any translation to exist. His palm glows orange for a moment, then Daisy relaxes, drifting into a slumber that won’t end until Morgan reverses the spell.
“There. Much better,” Morgan murmurs, filling a dropper with the red liquid.
Morgan bares Daisy’s chest, and I look away. Ansley squeezes Daisy’s hand tighter, a tear finally rolling down her cheek.