Chapter 18
Asterion
Igasp for air, breaking through the surface of the snow. Dawn is breaking, the sky lightening to a shade of gray as the evening fades. My temple throbs, my hand coming away sticky with blood. I must have been knocked unconscious at some point.
Birds twitter a sweet song nearby as if I have not just endured a nightmare.
I claw my way out of the bitter cold grave with a feral roar.
Ears ringing and vision spotty, I stumble to my feet, swaying on the spot before collapsing to my knees as the snow continues to shift with the after-effects of the avalanche.
“Katie!” My voice is hoarse, my throat raw. “KATIE!” I scream for her, breaking on a sob. She cannot be dead. I would know. I would know.
A choking, gasping cough sounds out from somewhere to my left.
Heart racing, I scramble in that direction.
I am slowed down by the snow, tripping and sinking in sections that come up to my waist. My fingers are red with cold as I pull myself back out on my hands and stomach.
Strands of purple stain the white landscape.
I collapse to my knees at the spot, chest heaving from exertion, and dig.
I manage to free her face first, not far from beneath the surface.
There’s a gash on her cheek that has coagulated, a thin line of red that stands out against the ghostly gray of her skin.
Her lips and eyelids are tinted purple. She coughs again on a rasping inhale.
I dig faster, like a beast possessed. There is roaring in my ears as my blood thunders in my veins.
A thin sheen of sweat coats my body as the gray of twilight becomes pastel purple, then pink.
I do not know how long it takes me, only that I do not stop until she is free.
I heave big gasping breaths, my fingers raw and bloody by the end.
By some miracle, she is still bound in the fur.
I unwrap her gently, revealing all her limbs tucked safely inside.
The thickness of it has done the bulk of protecting her frail body.
I choke back a sob of relief at not finding any serious wounds.
I reluctantly shift her to check for any head injuries since it seems to have taken the brunt of the damage with the cut across her cheek.
Color drains from my face as I reveal a pool of blood beneath her, the back of her hair matted and stained a dark red along with the snow.
My hands tremor as I feel for the wound on the back of her skull, breath hitching as I trace an inch-long gash.
This wound could be fatal given how much blood has been lost, and I worry that if I do not get her to the Pierian Spring soon, I might lose her.
Wasting no more time, I wrap the fur around her once more.
She has been lucky that it stayed secure, helping to keep her as warm as possible, and I have a horrible feeling that if it had not, I would have found her much too late.
As gently as I can, I cradle her in my arms, not daring to throw her over my shoulder this time.
I grunt as my ribs throb. Now, as the adrenaline wears off, my own wounds begin to make themselves known.
The spring will heal us both. I just have to get us there.
With weary bones and cuts that sting with every movement that reopens them, I push through the snow.
We fell quite a way down the mountain, not far from the base.
Not far from home. The thought keeps me moving, one foot in front of the other.
I do my best not to fall into any more pits, holding Katie high on my chest as one takes me by surprise with a grunt, sinking me to my thighs.
As the sun moves higher in the sky, the snow begins to melt, making the journey easier when solid ground reveals itself.
We pass through the meadow we camped in on the very first night.
How she wound up in my arms that evening remains a mystery, though I suspect the mate bond had us naturally gravitate toward each other in our sleep.
My body screams with each step closer to the cave entrance.
So much so that I begin to pant with the pain that jars through my ribs, and I suspect I may have broken one.
But I will not put Katie down for anything.
I grit my teeth and balance across the rocky outcrops that break up the long grass.
Katie’s color has not returned; instead, perspiration beads across her forehead and upper lip.
Her scent is all wrong, too. The tang of rotten strawberries seeps from her pores.
We are almost there.
The cave entrance comes into view, and I close my eyes with a sigh, apologizing to the Fates for having ever used their name in vain.
Grunting, I close the distance, the dark enveloping us in its comforting embrace.
Home. We are so close I can almost hear the tinkling of the water as it trickles into my bathing spring, fed from the Pierian Spring that sits directly beneath the mountain.
I increase my pace, winding through the labyrinth, thankful to see its walls for a change, until at last, glow worms guide us to exactly where we need to be.
The warm steam rising from the spring casts an almost suffocating fog, the walls slick with moisture.
Fresh fear coats the back of my throat, almost making me gag on it.
What if I am too late? I carefully set Katie down at the edge and unwrap her from the fur.
I step into the heated water myself, not bothering to undress, the water instantly seeking my wounds and weaving around my aching bones to heal any injuries it can find.
Already, I notice the difference as the sting of a cut on my back is replaced with a soothing feeling.
I gently pick up Katie, sliding her into the water fully clothed until she is submerged, with only her face above the surface.
Blood inks the water in floaty tendrils as it washes out of the strands of her hair.
I watch her face intently, looking for any sign of change, the color returning to her cheeks, or the fluttering of eyelashes.
Moments go by, and nothing happens. I growl in frustration.
Perhaps more of her skin needs to be exposed, though it has not been needed before when I have faced greater injuries. But I do not know what else to do.
With great difficulty, I begin to strip her of her clothing, slapping the wet fabric on the stone floor.
I leave her in the smaller strips of fabric that conceal the most intimate parts of her from roaming eyes—my roaming eyes.
She is covered in a smattering of bruises from the fall, angry purple and black ones on her thighs, stomach, and back.
I grimace. Now, without all the layers, I can see how truly scrawny she is.
Not just small in stature, but showing signs of undernourishment, the outline of her ribs easily visible.
I am surprised the breeze did not just pick her up and blow her off the mountain after all.
The mate bond flares to life, angry. But not for us to consummate the bond.
Instead, I am urged to feed her, care for her, and bring her back to life.
I feel sick with myself that I never noticed the extent of her fragility.
Chalking it up to her just being a tiny human and not because she looks like she has never had enough to eat.
Her comments about my simple broth and how she gulped it down like someone starved make more sense to me now. Because she was. Is.
I pound my fist into the water with a splash. “Come on!”
I urge the spring to work its magic like I can feel it doing to my own body.
Frustration grows as Katie remains unconscious.
We stay there for hours, soaking in the spring as our injuries slowly heal.
I assume it must be nightfall when I finally feel as if I am fully healed.
My ribs no longer scream at me with each movement, and the numerous cuts along my arms and legs have long since sealed themselves. Still, Katie does not wake.
We stay there all night, with her battered body cradled in my arms. Her bruises fade, and I trickle water along the cut on her cheek, wiping away the line of crusted blood that remains after the edges seal themselves back together.
I wash the remainder of blood from her hair, detangling it with my fingers as I go, making sure the gash at the back of her skull is clean.
It also seals itself shut when I am done, the skin magically stitching itself together, though this one will likely leave a scar.
The pallor of her skin is the last thing to change, rosy hues rising to the surface, turning the sickening gray back to pale, cheeks and lips flushed healthy again. But still, she does not wake.
When I start to feel myself drift off, unable to keep my eyes open any longer, I concede. The spring has done all it can; now it is up to her to do the rest.