Chapter 19 Sam #3
The authority in her voice has me obeying before I can think better of it. I shed the rest of my clothes, careful with the arm that still holds the arrowhead buried somewhere in the muscle. I must’ve snapped the shaft during fight, but the tip is still in there, throbbing like hellfire.
Too tired to be modest, I sit naked on the edge of the bed beside Esme. The cool air raises goosebumps along my skin, but it’s nothing compared to the chill radiating from Esme’s still form.
Lucky approaches with the bowl and a clean linen cloth. “This’ll sting,” she warns, then, with one sharp, practiced motion, she digs the arrowhead out of my arm.
Holy fuck.
“Sting” is a massive understatement. It feels like she’s packed the wound with molten steel and fire ants, like someone’s driving red-hot needles directly into the bone. I bite down on my tongue hard enough to taste blood, refusing to cry out and potentially wake Esme.
“What the fuck is that?” I hiss through clenched teeth.
“Briar root, mountain ash, and a few other things you wouldn’t recognize,” Lucky says with perfect calm, as if she hasn’t just introduced my nervous system to a new definition of agony.
“It’ll draw out any poison and speed the healing.
You wolves might be hardy, but Vanir arrows are often laced with nasty surprises. ”
She’s right, already the pain is transforming, morphing from sharp agony to a deep, cleansing burn that somehow feels like progress. I watch through watering eyes as she wraps a bandage around my bicep with practiced efficiency, her tattooed fingers quick and sure.
“Thank you,” I manage once I can speak without embarrassing myself.
Lucky just nods, then turns her attention to Esme. “She’s drained. Whatever she was doing in that lake. . .” She trails off, placing a hand on Esme’s forehead with surprising gentleness.
“How did you know about the lake?”
Lucky’s violet eyes flash with something that might be amusement.
“Locke and I have ways of communicating that don’t involve ravens or runners.
And I see things sometimes. Fragments in the water, in steam, in reflections.
Enough to know you were in trouble.” She frowns, moving her hand from Esme’s forehead to her throat, then her wrist. “She’s cold.
Too cold for someone who should be generating her own heat. ”
My heart clenches with fresh fear. “Is she going to be okay?”
Lucky’s lips press into a thin line that doesn’t inspire confidence.
“That depends on what exactly happened down there. Her magic is. . .scattered. Like it’s been ripped apart and put back together by someone who didn’t quite remember how all the pieces fit.
” She moves to the tray and begins brewing something in a small copper pot, her movements precise and practiced.
“I can help, but I need to know what I’m dealing with. ”
I tell her everything I know, about the trials, the first and the second, about Esme diving into the lake like she was called by something none of us could hear, about the strange lightning strike that seemed to come from the water itself before she fell.
Lucky listens without interruption, her hands moving deftly as she works with various herbs and powders, mixing them in combinations that fill the room with scents both familiar and alien.
“The Trials of Identity,” she murmurs when I finish, her voice carrying a weight of old knowledge. “It’s been generations since anyone attempted them. Most who try don’t survive the first trial, let alone make it to the second.”
“But she did survive,” I say, perhaps too forcefully. “She’s still breathing. She’s still here.”
Lucky gives me a look that’s both pity and understanding, the expression of someone who’s seen too much loss to offer easy comfort.
“Her body survived. Her spirit. . .to battle one’s own self, to face the truth of what you are and what you’re not.
. .” She leaves the thought unfinished, pouring her concoction into a small glass vial. “We’ll see.”
She lifts Esme’s head with infinite care and tips the liquid between her lips, massaging her throat to make her swallow.
The mixture smells like spring rain and something deeper, earthier.
“Body heat will help,” Lucky says, stepping back.
“Get in bed with her, and I don’t mean that the way it sounds.
She needs warmth, connection to something living and vital. ”
I don’t need to be told twice. Once Lucky leaves, pulling the door closed behind her with a soft click, I slide under the covers beside Esme, pulling her cold body against mine.
Her skin is like ice, and I wrap myself around her, trying to infuse her with my supernatural heat, with the life force that runs hot in all my kind.
“Come back to me,” I whisper against her ear. “I don’t know how to exist in this world without you. I don’t want to learn.”
The words feel torn from some place deep inside me, from a well of need I didn’t know I possessed. Here, in this strange tavern, in this stranger land, with the woman I love unconscious beside me, I’ve never felt more lost or more desperate.
My wolf whines inside me, pacing restlessly against the cage of my ribs. He doesn’t understand why our mate won’t wake, why she won’t respond to our calls, our scent, our presence. He only knows she needs us, and we’re failing her in some fundamental way.
Hours pass like years. The rain continues its assault on the windows, drumming against the glass with a rhythm that should be soothing but only serves to remind me of all the dangers still hunting us.
I drift in and out of consciousness, never fully sleeping but never fully awake either, caught in that liminal space between rest and vigilance.
Every time I stir, I check Esme, her pulse, her breathing, her temperature, like a ritual that might keep her tethered to this world.
Sometime deep in the night, when the storm has quieted to a gentle patter, she begins to warm. Her skin no longer feels like death given form, and her heart beats a little stronger against my chest. Hope flares in my chest like a candle lit in absolute darkness.
“That’s it, Angel,” I murmur, pressing my lips to her temple. “Come back to me. To us.”
I think of Locke, out there somewhere in the storm, hopefully alive and whole.
Fighting for her too, in his own way, drawing danger away from us with his own body as bait.
The thought should make me jealous, territorial, possessive in the way of my kind, but all I feel is a strange kinship with him.
We’re both bound to this extraordinary woman, both willing to die for her, both changed by her in ways we’re probably only beginning to understand.
As dawn breaks, spilling weak gray light through the curtains, Esme stirs. Just a small movement, her fingers twitching against my chest, but it’s enough to have me bolt upright, suddenly wide awake.
“Esme?”
Her eyelids flutter but don’t open. A soft sound escapes her lips, not words, just a sigh, a whisper of consciousness returning to a body that’s been empty too long.
“Angel, I’m here. You’re safe.” I cradle her face in my hands, studying her features for any sign of awareness. “We made it to Briar Row. To the Dog & Dagger. Locke led the soldiers away from us.”
At Locke’s name, her brow furrows slightly, the first real expression I’ve seen cross her face since she fell. Another good sign she can hear me, she’s processing what I’m saying.
“He’s not here yet, but he’ll come. I know he will.” The certainty in my voice surprises me, but I do believe it. I believe Locke will find us, that he survived whatever hell he charged into to keep us safe. “Just rest now. Heal. I’ve got you, and I’m not letting go.”
I settle back down beside her, pulling her close again. This time, she curls into me slightly, her body recognizing mine even if her mind is still floating somewhere between here and wherever she went during those trials.
Outside the room, I hear movement, Lucky, probably, starting her day, preparing for whatever customers might brave the weather. The tavern will open soon, life going on around us while we’re suspended in this fragile moment between life and death, between hope and despair.
I press my lips to Esme’s forehead and close my eyes, finally allowing myself to rest.
“I love you,” I whisper against her skin. “And I’ll wait as long as it takes for you to come back to us.”
We’re fighting on two fronts now and time is not on our sides.