Chapter 6
Kiara
“Fuck it.”
The howling wind and creaking house has kept me tossing and turning for hours, and I finally accept defeat. Ever since the night I lost my parents, I’ve struggled to sleep during storms, knowing firsthand how they can turn deadly in an instant.
A flash flood came out of nowhere when I was six, tearing through the cave system our village compound was hidden in and ripping my family from our beds.
We all nearly drowned before one of our dads used the last of his strength to shove me and my brother up onto a small, rocky ledge.
I had to watch him be swept away in the current, and then it was just Killian and me huddled together to stay warm for nearly three days before anyone found us.
He shouldn’t be sleeping outside in this. Do mountains get flash floods? Even if not, hypothermia is nothing to sneeze at.
Determined, I put on two extra pairs of socks before stuffing my feet into my boots, bundle up my comforter in a trash bag to keep it dry and clutch it to my chest, take a deep breath, and open my front door.
It’s not just cold, it’s ‘get inside, you moron,’ cold.
The type of weather nobody with any sense would be caught dead walking around in.
Not to mention that it’s nearly one in the morning.
If it wasn’t for the street lights, it’d be a complete blackout with the freezing rain assaulting me like it has a personal vendetta.
It takes me nearly three times as long as usual to make it to the clinic.
I knock a heavy fist on the side of the dumpster and shout over the storm, “It’s only me, don’t freak out.
” When no answering snarl comes, I risk shoving the front tarp out of the way and peek my head into the makeshift cave behind it, pleased to see that my work has held up fairly well.
But that relief instantly disappears when I find the sphinx curled up on the wet asphalt with his broken wing draped over him like a morbid blanket.
He isn’t shivering despite the cold, and doesn’t stir as I announce my presence louder.
“Shit,” I breathe, heart plummeting. Hunched over, I crouch and make my way inside to check for a pulse. “Pleeeeeease don’t startle awake and claw my face off.” But honestly, I’d take a few scars over him being dead.
I grew up in a pocket of magic hidden from the world, desperate to see what I was missing, only to discover how depressing the real world really is.
Mysts hiding who they are in fear of humans, supernatural creatures hunted to extinction.
Something as magical as a sphinx? He can’t die.
Not like this. Not if I have anything to say about it.
When a faint thump hits the pads of my fingers, I sag in relief.
“Alright, we tried it your way, and look where that got you? So you’re just going to have to suck it up and accept some help whether you like it or not.
” The towels I left are soaked through and frozen solid, so I ignore them.
Shaking out the trashbag and spreading it on the ground next to his side, I kneel down, doing my best to keep the thick comforter from touching the ground.
As I carefully cover him up without jostling his bad wing, I take off my coat so the wet side is facing outward and nestle into his side so we’re both cocooned.
“We’ll stay warmer if we share body heat.
Survival is more important than your hang-ups on personal space. ”
After an agonizing hour spent in anxious silence with me counting every single one of his breaths, they finally become steadier; rhythmic and deep.
I’m actually warm enough that my fingers aren’t about to fall off anymore, either.
Even the percussive, aggressive sound of the freezing rain against the metal dumpster eventually becomes white noise as I wait for morning to come, my eyelids gradually growing heavier as the night drags on.
I blink against the muted light of dawn, filtered through something hanging above my head and massively disoriented. Fuck, I must have fallen asleep.
Which is both alarming, and nothing short of a miracle.
As I wake up, I realize the thing blocking my view? Blue tipped, tawny brown, gold, and black feathers, some bent at awkward enough angles to let in light. And while I’m not exactly toasty, I’m not a human popsicle either.
He tucked me under his mangled wing to keep me warm.
I knew it. He may be feral, but he’s still in there somewhere. He just needs someone that won’t give up on him.
While he’s passed out and unable to fight me on it, I gently press my hand against his injured wing and close my eyes, feeling my palm heat.
Liquid fire spreads through my veins and I grit my teeth, but refuse to quit.
Bit by bit, I mend every broken bone, speed up the healing process on his bruises until they fade, and stitch together his punctured lung.
A small eternity later, I can’t sense anything else that needs healing and the soft silver glow fades from my skin, replaced by a tidal wave of pain so severe, I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out and risk waking him.
I watch the black veins in my hand disappear beneath my sleeve, waiting for them to fade.
Much to my dismay, it takes a solid minute before I can pass as normal again.
Note to self, splurge on a pair of gloves the first chance I get.
Carefully, I extract myself and pull the granola bar I found in the back of my cupboard out of my pocket, quietly unwrapping it and leaving it in my place.
I might have healed the shifter’s broken bones, but he’s still far too weak.
Starvation is only going to drive him deeper into his feral instincts; he needs it more than me right now.
I’m lucky enough to have a brother that won’t let me go hungry if I can take the hit to my pride and ask for help. This guy? I’m all he’s got.
Poor sap drew the short straw on guardian angels.