Chapter 33 Croía
The big ugly red bull didn’t even bother to get me shoes. Typical, drag me through hell, dump me in a musty room, then act as if footwear is optional.
I can’t sit here, doing nothing, while Braiden is out there, somewhere, in Saoirse’s hands. Every second I waste, feels like another nail in his coffin.
The air here reeks of damp stone and rot, as if the walls themselves are decaying. My stomach twists as I force myself to my feet, my eyes scanning the empty room for a pair of boots or shoes. There’s nothing here, no rugs, no crates, nothing except a single chair.
When the adjoining rooms also turn up empty, frustration claws at me. I force myself into the dark hallway to search. There must be something, anything, somewhere.
My hand finds a closed door, and I push it open.
The hinges groan, and I stop dead at the sight before me.
Fionn is sprawled flat across the bed, his chest rising slowly and steadily.
He's sleeping, I think. His claws curl against the dark sheets as if they’re ready to tear through flesh at the slightest sound.
My pulse stutters. He was gentle the last time we crossed paths.
However, that doesn’t mean he will be now.
Monsters don’t stay soft forever. What if he wakes and decides I’m prey?
My head screams to run, but my legs refuse. Against the fear, I force my feet forward. Each step drags me closer to the beast sprawled across the bed. The air thickens, heavy with the musk of ash and something feral.
Then I hear it, low, broken whimpers. Not the growl of a predator, but the sound of something wounded. My stomach twists. A hellhound in pain is still a hellhound, but the noise doesn’t match the monster.
He shifts, his jaw clenching as though he’s fighting something in his sleep.
With my heart hammering, I extend a trembling hand, my fingers hovering just above his furred shoulder.
Every instinct I have screams at me to pull back, but the whimpers tug at something deep inside.
Slowly, I brush my fingers along his flank.
Fionn flinches at first, a low growl vibrating in his chest, but he doesn’t snap.
His hot, ragged breath presses against my skin, and I feel the tension in his muscles like coiled steel.
My other hand reaches forward, trying to soothe the tremor running through him, and for the briefest moment, the hellhound in front of me seems less monster, more… lost.
The memory of Saoirse’s fist connecting with him, hits me like a punch to the chest. I want to help him, to heal the damage, but I don’t know how.
My hands feel useless, trembling over wounds I don’t know how to mend.
The stench of rot and shadow mixes with the metallic tang of blood, and I can barely think through it.
Careful not to startle him, I close my eyes, trying to call on what little I know, willing my energy to flow into him. It feels like grasping smoke and every second I hesitate, his low whimper cuts through me, gnawing at my chest.
“Please… just let me…” I murmur, more to myself than to him.
Tentatively, I press both hands to the worst of his wounds, imagining that something inside me can help stitch him back together. My power is chaotic, a pulsing energy I can barely control. The darkness tugs at me, trying to twist my focus, but I grit my teeth and force myself to push past it.
Each flicker of movement from him makes my heart leap.
He could turn on me in an instant but I can’t stop now.
I can’t leave him like this. I close my eyes and focus on the raw pulse of energy inside me, drawing it out slowly, as if I’m coaxing a storm into submission.
The darkness presses closer, trying to suffocate me, to make me falter.
Then I feel it. A tiny spark of connection, his pulse brushing against mine.
However slight it may be… he’s responding.
Power rips from my chest like glass shards, tearing through me as it flows into him. My scream is silent, trapped in my throat, as the energy burns its way out of me and into Fionn. His body jerks beneath my palms, a guttural snarl rolling out of him.
The torn flesh begins to knit together, his blood hissing as it evaporates.
His whimpers fade, replaced by heavy, steady breaths.
His massive ribcage rises and falls beneath me, strong again.
But, the cost is mine. My vision blurs at the edges, my bones feel hollow, and the strength in my arms collapse.
I slump against his flank, my cheek pressed to coarse fur that now radiates heat like a furnace.
“Fuck,” I whisper, my voice nothing more than a rasp.
Fionn stirs, lifting his head slightly. His burning eyes lock on mine, wild and unblinking.
He sniffs the air, then nudges me hard with his snout.
My body gives in, and my knees hit the stone floor, hard.
A sharp whine escapes me, and my heart rate accelerates.
I’m too weak to push him away, too drained to defend myself if he turns on me.
My body trembles as darkness claws at the edges of my mind.
Níl mé in ann ach luí anseo, ag guí go gcuimhneoidh an cú ifrinn a shábháil mé díreach ar thrócaire seachas ar an ocras. (All I can do is lie here, praying that the hellhound I just saved remembers mercy instead of hunger.)