Chapter 6
Zeke’s eyes snapped open to the sound of fabric tearing.
Michelle thrashed against the furs like she was fighting for her life. The makeshift bed groaned under her violent movements, and her skin burned against his arm where they’d been pressed together moments before.
“No,” she gasped, head whipping from side to side. “Don’t... please don’t...”
Heat poured off her body. Sweat plastered dark hair to her skull, and her breathing came in rapid, shallow pants. He rolled away, the sudden absence of contact letting the cabin’s cold air bite at his skin.
Her injured leg kicked out, catching the edge of the wooden frame and she cried out, raw and terrified, but didn’t wake up.
Draanth. What the hell was—
The smell hit him then. Sweet and rotten, like fruit left too long in the sun. Infection. The scent was unmistakable, and it was coming from her leg.
His hands moved to the bandages he’d wrapped around her calf the night before. The fabric burned against his fingers. When he peeled back the first layer, a yellow-green stain bled across the cloth. The wound beneath was angry red, the edges puffy with inflammation.
Oh gods, he was so draanthing stupid.
He should have seen this coming. The floodwater had been full of debris, rotting vegetation, and probably animal waste. Of course bacteria would have gotten into the open wound.
His jaw clenched as he examined the damage. Pus leaked from the edges of the cut, and the skin around it was hot enough to make him wince when he touched it. The infection was aggressive, red streaks already creeping higher, racing toward her heart.
How had he missed this? How had he been so focused on her hypothermia that he’d ignored the obvious signs?
Her back arched off the bed as another wave of delirium hit her. “So handsome,” she mumbled, her voice thick and slurred. “Look at you. Like something from a holo-movie.”
Heat crept up his neck despite the crisis. Even delirious with fever, she could make his pulse spike with a few words.
“Michelle.” He touched her forehead, checking her temperature. The heat radiating from her was scorching. “Can you hear me?”
Her eyes opened, but they didn’t focus on his face. Instead, they stared at something behind him, pupils dilated and glassy. “Too good for me,” she whispered. “Young, beautiful man like you. What would you want with an old woman?”
The words hit him like a punch to the gut.
Old woman? He didn’t know how humans aged, but she looked strong and vital to him. And even if she were ancient by human standards, it wouldn’t matter. Age was irrelevant when you’d lived as long as he had.
“Michelle, listen to me.” He cupped her face between his hands, trying to capture her wandering attention. “I’m older than you think.”
Her laugh was bitter, broken. “Sure you are. Look at you.” Her hand reached up to trace his jaw, fingers fever-hot against his skin. “Perfect face. Perfect body. You could have anyone.”
“I don’t want anyone,” he rumbled. “I want you.”
He didn’t know if she heard him because at that moment, her eyes rolled back and she slumped against the furs. Her breathing evened out, but the fever still burned through her skin.
The infection was killing her. He had maybe hours before it spread to her bloodstream, and then...
Pain exploded behind his eyes.
Images flooded his mind—not his own memories, but someone else’s. Hands that weren’t his cutting herbs in a forest clearing. The same hands, but covered in black armor that gleamed like oil in sunlight. Knowledge poured into his brain in a torrent that made his skull feel ready to crack.
Ketara root. Slice thin, steep in boiling water. Draws poison from wounds.
Velix leaves. Crush fresh, mix with clean water. Accelerates bone healing.
Blood casting. Legion blood forms protective shell. Adapts to need.
The visions came faster, overlapping until he couldn’t tell where the foreign knowledge ended and his own thoughts began. He saw himself, but not himself, gathering plants and preparing treatments, using abilities he’d never known he possessed.
His breathing came in ragged gasps as the thoughts finally stopped. The truth solidified in his gut like a cold, heavy weight.
Feral. He was feral now, no question about it.
The realization should have terrified him. Instead, all he felt was cold determination. If being feral meant he could save Michelle, then he’d embrace it completely.
The herb knowledge burned bright in his mind, as clear as if he’d gathered them a thousand times before. But the plants he needed weren’t common. They grew in specific conditions, usually deep in the forest where—
His head snapped up. Through the cabin’s single window, he saw the clearing outside. Morning light filtered through the canopy, illuminating patches of vegetation he hadn’t noticed before.
Ketara root. Growing under the trees outside.
Velix leaves. Clustered near the water barrel.
And both were resistant to the cold. How he knew that, he had no idea, but he did.
The plants were here. Right here, like someone had planted a medicinal garden around the dwelling.
His eyes narrowed as he studied the cabin’s interior with new awareness. The construction was too sophisticated for random ferals. The joints were precise, the walls straight. Even the furniture showed craftsmanship that took time and planning.
Ferals didn’t build like this. They used caves, crude shelters thrown together from scavenged materials. They didn’t plan gardens or design living spaces.
So who had built this place? And why was it stocked with everything he needed to treat Michelle’s infection?
The questions could wait. Michelle couldn’t.
Her breathing had grown more labored, and sweat poured down her face despite the cool air. The infection was winning.
He moved toward the door, then stopped. Leaving her alone, even for the few minutes it would take to gather herbs, felt like abandonment. The ferals had taken her once already when she was vulnerable. What if more were out there, waiting?
But the plants were less than twenty yards away. He could see them from the window, and he’d be back before she knew he was gone.
Zeke pulled on his pants and boots, then cracked the door. Cold air rushed in, carrying the scent of damp earth and growing things. The clearing was silent except for the drip of melting snow from the eaves.
He moved fast, Legion knowledge guiding his hands as he gathered what he needed. The ketara root came up easily, its thick taproot still damp from the storm. Velix leaves grew in abundance near the water source, their distinctive serrated edges exactly as the borrowed memories had shown him.
Back inside, he set water to boil over the cabin’s small fire while he prepared the herbs. His hands moved with the ease of long practice, slicing the root into thin slices and crushing the leaves until they released their bitter sap.
The ketara tea steeped to a dark amber color. He cooled it with cold water, then returned to Michelle’s side.
“This will help,” he rumbled, lifting her head and supporting her weight as he brought the cup to her lips. “Drink.”
She swallowed reflexively, though most of the liquid ran down her chin. The taste was bitter enough to make her grimace, but she managed to get some down.
Now for the hard part.
He unwrapped the infected bandages completely, revealing the full extent of the damage. The wound was worse than he’d thought—edges black with necrosis, pus oozing from multiple points along the cut. Red streaks had spread halfway up her thigh.
He cleaned the wound with the remaining ketara tea, watching pus and debris wash away in pink-tinged rivulets. Michelle moaned in her sleep but didn’t wake, lost in fever dreams.
The crushed velix leaves came next, packed directly into the cleaned wound. The plant’s natural antibiotics would fight the infection from inside while promoting healing. But it wouldn’t be enough. Not with the infection this advanced.
The legion whispered in his mind, showing him what came next.
He drew the knife from his boot and pressed the blade against his forearm. The cut opened easily, blood welling dark red in the dim light. He held his arm over her leg, letting crimson drops fall onto the velix-packed wound.
The first drop hit her skin and spread like liquid metal. The second joined it, and the third, until a thin film of blood covered the entire injury. Then something extraordinary happened.
The blood began to harden.
It wasn’t clotting… this was something else entirely. The liquid transformed into a substance that looked like black glass, smooth and seamless. Within minutes, a rigid shell encased Michelle’s lower leg from ankle to knee.
Adapts to need, the legion whispered. Flexible armor for combat. Rigid casting for healing.
The cast was perfect. It immobilized the break completely while allowing the infection-fighting herbs to do their work. And it was made from his blood, his essence. Something primal and possessive stirred in his chest at the sight of it.
He cleaned his arm off, but the wound he’d inflicted was already closing so he settled back to wait. The fever would break soon… the herbs were already working, drawing poison from her system. But he needed to monitor her temperature, watch for signs of complications.
Michelle’s thrashing had stopped. Her breathing deepened, becoming the steady rhythm of actual sleep rather than delirium. Color was already returning to her cheeks as the ketara root did its work.
He touched her forehead again. Still warm, but not the dangerous heat of before. The crisis had passed.
He leaned back against the cabin wall, exhaustion hitting him. When was the last time he’d slept deeply? Really slept, without nightmares or the constant vigilance that kept him alive?