Chapter 21 #4
A firm shove got me moving. I made it to the first street corner before I looked back. My potential murderer gave me a sexy smile.
“Quickly now! I want the chance to hold that gorgeous body again!”.
Um, what now?
I tripped over my own feet, and his grin widened enough to show me his pearly white fangs.
I blinked, not sure I’d heard him right, but a wave of dizziness threw me against the nearest building, and I didn't have any more time to consider it. Dragging air into my lungs, I tried to stay conscious. Damn, Bal would be pissed off if I died on the same night that Sorcha was poisoned. Knowing him, he probably had a key to the fucking underworld, and he’d come right on in and drag me back to this world just so he could punish me for dying, when he wasn’t the one who’d allowed it.
Fuck. And what about Sorcha? Why the hell had I left her? Even though I’d been consumed with a need to find out what they’d used to drug her, it had been more about me wanting to rip apart the ones who’d hurt her. My lack of control had made me lose sight of any potential danger.
Idiot! I should get my arse kicked for failing to protect her. I had to learn to calm my need for violence and be better, get back to the analytical thinking I’d used as a pack Alpha. Though truth be told, I’d never been that good at it. My wolf was as wild as I was, and our temper always ruled.
He snarled and urged me to get back to Bal.
I’m going…
My legs felt like rubber, but I forced them to move and staggered across the small deserted street.
My wolf’s mood abruptly turned from rage to anxiety.
I’d never forgive myself for leaving Sor if she didn’t recover.
But what was it that the mage had said? They’d saved her, not poisoned her.
The redhead had. I fell against another building, scratching my forearms as I dragged my bulk along the old red brick and tried to stay upright.
If Brian had lied, would Bal have been able to save her?
If the Made was right, and Bal could save me from Hemlock, he could save Sor. Right? I had to believe that.
Another glance back told me the handsome Made had disappeared. Probably wise, considering the heavy footsteps beating a path towards me.
“Shane!”
“Wolfie, where the fuck are you?”
Connor and Dav. I grunted. As annoying as that fucker was, I was relieved to hear his voice.
Not so much the King of Shifters, though.
Connor always seemed to be around when I was incapacitated.
I tried to focus, but the darkness and streetlights swayed dangerously, converging into a weird blur.
My knees buckled, and I sagged against the building while sweat poured into my eyes.
My chest felt like someone had tightened a steel band around it, and I couldn’t make it move quick enough to get air in.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
That wanker with the perfect smile was right. My body was shutting down. My knees buckled completely, banging painfully into the concrete. Saliva rushed into my mouth, and I vomited, fresh blood spraying from my nose and mouth.
“Shit, that’s not good.” Dav loomed over me.
“No shit, Sherlock.” It really wasn’t. My skin was freezing, my lungs burning, my heartbeat sluggish, and my limbs heavy. It was an effort to talk.
“What did they shoot you up with?” Connor squatted in front of me and unceremoniously pulled the arrows from my flesh.
“Hemlock.” My voice was barely more than a rasp.
“But that shouldn’t make you bleed.”
I know. At least, that was what I wanted to say, but words were no longer possible. Perhaps that fucker had lied… I slumped against the wall, half-lying, half-sitting.
Dav pulled out his phone. “Bal! Shit! Yes. No, he’s not okay. They’ve done something to him, too. I don’t fucking know. Just get here. He needs you.”
It was strange to feel the moment my body stopped responding, yet my brain still continued to absorb information. There was a blast of air, and familiar hands gripped my hair and jaw.
“Drink, Fledgling. Remember, you are mine, and I did not give you permission to die. And definitely not like this. Poisoned by our enemy.”
My head was manoeuvred back, allowing my jaw to drop open. The dark, spicy nectar of Bal’s blood flowed over my tongue. It pooled in my mouth and throat, but my body would not obey me when I told it to swallow. Soon, its warmth dribbled from the corners of my mouth and down my chin.
“Drink, damn you!”
I wanted to open my eyes and rage at him that I was trying, but I couldn’t.
Firm fingers began massaging my throat.
“It’s not enough, Bal.”
Even Dav sounded concerned. I wanted to laugh at his good acting skills, but couldn’t.
He liked me even less than I liked him, and that was saying something.
I wondered how long it would take my brain to shut off now that my body was essentially dead.
Would it ever shut down? Would my soul still be capable of thinking?
Would I remain aware and attached to my body?
Because being trapped in my head, alone in the dark as my flesh rotted around my consciousness, wasn’t how I’d ever envisaged my end.
Fear slithered through me. It was a shit way to go, that was for sure.
Even if there was an afterlife, by the time my soul reached it, the fucker who’d done this would be well beyond my reach.
Unless I could become a ghost. Did ghosts exist?
I mean, other things did. Vampires for one…
I wanted to huff a laugh at the thought of Bal becoming a vampire-like ghostie…
Shit. I was already going mad. Maybe that’s what would happen to me.
I’d go slowly insane from hypoxic brain injury.
Could immortals get hypoxic brain injury?
I chuckled. Yep, definitely losing it. Maybe I wouldn’t die as slowly as I feared.
It didn’t really matter, I’d just go utterly insane first…