Chapter 16
WE NEED A MEDIC, BUT THEY STOLE THE MEDIC
ERIKA
My knees hurt.
I’ve been sitting in the dust of the deep chambers for an hour. Maybe longer. It’s impossible to tell in the pitch black.
Kol is dying in my lap.
That is the only thought my brain can process.
I have both my arms wrapped tight around his neck, holding his broad frame together as the transformation rips through his body.
His breathing is a wet, terrifying rattle.
Every muscle in his chest is locked rigid with pain.
The only light in the cavern is coming from the shrinking patches of gold skin left on his torso, the last bits holding out against the spreading black starfield.
The bone knife Amelia gave me is still locked in my fist. The blade is wet with dark, shimmering blood that is not mine.
I remember driving it into the rival warrior’s arm.
The shock of contact jarred my whole arm.
It bought Kol’s warrior half a second to close the gap and swing, but the intruder spun on them like a beast with nothing to lose.
My fingers cramp open and the knife clatters onto the stone beside my knee.
“Kol,” I whisper, my voice cracking. I press my palm hard against his chest, right over his heart. The erratic, pounding heartbeat is terrifying. “Kol, please. Stay with me.”
He doesn’t answer. The starfield burns so hot it scorches my palms.
I need a medic. I need Mira. But if I let go of him to find her, I’m legitimately terrified his heart will simply stop.
“Don’t you dare leave me here,” I beg, my hands shaking as I drag them up his jaw.
The erratic pounding beneath my palm suddenly stutters.
Slowly, his hands twitch in the dust. They rise, uncoordinated, until his thick claws lock around my waist. He takes a ragged, shuddering breath that sounds like tearing stone, and forces his chin up.
His black eyes find my face in the dark.
He shifts, forcing his dense muscles to unlock. The physical pain must be blinding, but he swallows it down.
He grunts, his claws digging a fraction of an inch into the fabric of my pants as he forces his frame upright. He hauls me with him and I grab his thick wrist to keep from tipping sideways.
He pulls me flush against his chest, dropping his chin to press his forehead hard against mine.
“My mate.” The projection punches straight into my brain. It is raw, exhausted, but unyielding. An absolute refusal to drop while I am standing. “Safe.”
He drags one sharp breath in through his nose, his nostrils flaring against my hair. Whatever scent he finds seems to anchor his failing body. His forehead lifts off mine.
“I have to check on the wounded,” I whisper, my throat incredibly tight as I look up at his fractured, shadowed face. “I have to get you help.”
His hand locks onto my shoulder. It shakes for a fraction of a second, but his grip is iron. With a shuddering breath that rattles his ribs, he steers me forward toward the main cavern.
I swallow the nausea down and I start walking. He shadows me, exactly two inches behind.
The cavern floor is a mess of slick dark stone, and blood.
Blood everywhere. The reek of it mixes with the scent of the dust, making it hard to breathe.
I step over the dense, armored plates of a dead shadowmaw, my boots slipping on something wet.
I catch myself against the rough rock wall and keep moving.
I have to check the faces.
I find Justine first. She’s sitting on a low rock shelf near the entrance to the storage alcove, shaking uncontrollably, her hands covered in someone else’s blood.
Rok is kneeling in front of her. He is ignoring the horrific, bleeding gash across his own chest, his large hands frantically sweeping over her arms and shoulders to make sure she is unharmed.
The thud of Kol’s feet sounds right behind me.
Rok freezes. His amber eyes flick from Justine to the terrifying shadow looming directly at my back.
Rok slowly lowers his chin in recognition of his dra-dam.
I can feel the absolute, unquestioning respect, even without words being spoken.
Then his amber eyes turn to focus back to Justine.
Justine is pale, her chest heaving, but she’s alive.
Jacqui is standing near the remains of the central fire pit, arguing softly with Zan. Her voice is hoarse, her scale tunic torn, but her posture is intact. Alive.
I turn the corner toward the narrow offshoot. A sudden wave of intense, suffocating heat presses into the length of my back. Kol doesn’t give me more than an inch of space.
Mikaela is there, her shoulder wedged under Sarven’s thick arm, supporting his weight as he limps badly on a ruined leg.
She’s covered in dust and someone else’s blood.
Sarven’s head snaps up as we approach. He sees Kol and immediately tries to force his ruined leg to bear his own weight.
A deep, warning vibration rattles in Kol’s chest directly behind my ear, and Sarven instantly drops his gaze.
Mikaela’s eyes meet mine in the faint glow of Ain rising in the distance. Alive.
Pam is wrapping a crude hide bandage around the forearm of a warrior I think is named Rhaz. She’s shaking so hard she drops the hide twice, but she’s on her feet. Alive.
Mira is kneeling in the middle of the torn-up sleeping mats. She’s packing mud and green paste into a Drakav’s chest wound so fast her hands are a blur. Her face is blank. I don’t interrupt her. Alive.
I step around her toward the edge of the mats.
Alex’s sleeping mat is pushed against the stone wall. The thick fur she uses as a pillow is slightly indented, a half-empty waterskin sitting next to it.
My breath dies in the center of my chest.
I turn, my feet dragging on the stone, toward the center of the cavern where the fighting was thickest. Kol shadows my turn precisely, his broad frame shifting to block the open cavern at my back.
Amelia’s bone spear lies shattered on the ground. The thick shaft is cracked clean in two, the leather binding torn loose. The amount of force required to snap that weapon is sickening. I stare at the splintered bone, picking out the dark smears of blood on the grip.
My breathing stutters. Behind me, Kol’s hand instantly clamps onto the back of my neck, his long, thick fingers spanning from my ear to my collarbone, anchoring me to the earth.
“I’m alright,” a rough voice says.
I jerk my head up. Amelia is sitting on a low ledge a few feet away, her dark hair plastered to her forehead with sweat and dust. She is cradling her right arm against her ribs, looking at her broken spear with absolute disgust. She’s alive.
I let out a ragged breath, easing back into the tension of Kol’s hand.
I keep going, keep counting heads, my legs feeling disconnected from my brain.
I look toward the far corner where the empty woven baskets the women were working on just days ago are pushed against the wall.
Lucy is sitting there, her knees pulled to her chest. Her face is wet with tears, and she scrubs at her wet cheeks furiously, trying to hide them from me. She’s alive.
She’s accounted for. But one woman is not.
One of us. Stranded on an alien planet, terrified, relying on the safety of the cavern. And we lost her. A rival warlord walked right into our home and dragged Alex screaming into the deep dust.
My throat closes. The walls of the cavern tilt sideways. The burning weight of Kol’s hand on the back of my neck instantly tightens, his towering frame a solid wall directly behind me, holding me upright when my knees threaten to buckle. I close my eyes and force myself to breathe.
Uno.
Dos.
Tres.
Cuatro.
Cinco.
I open my eyes and shove the terror and the failure into a dark box in the back of my mind, and I lock it down.
I turn away from the empty baskets and walk straight toward Mira.
“What do you need?” I ask, a bit surprised I’m able to keep my voice flat. It sounds unrecognizable.
Mira doesn’t look up from the warrior’s chest. “Firebloom. As much as you can grind. We’re going through it too fast. And I need someone to hold Trecia down. She’s thrashing, tearing her stitches.”
Stitches?
My chest hurts as I head toward the sick bay.
Trecia is writhing on a blood-stained mat. I stop dead. The entire right side of her face is a shredded, pulpy ruin. Four deep, diagonal gouges tear from her temple down past her jaw.
A wave of guilt drops straight into my stomach.
Hot tears instantly blur my vision as a sob tears out of my throat, but I choke it back down.
I sent her down that tunnel alone. I should have gone with her.
I should have dragged her straight down into the dark and made absolutely sure she kept moving instead of trusting her not to freeze up again.
If I had just taken the risk and stayed with her, she wouldn’t be in pieces right now.
I drop to my knees beside her, swallowing back the bile rising in my throat and pushing back the tears threatening to fall.
I grab her thrashing shoulders, pinning her to the stone with my entire body weight.
She screams, a raw, rough sound of pure panic, fighting my grip with terrifying strength.
Mira moves in fast with a bone needle and a fresh piece of hide thread.
I look away. I stare at the cave ceiling, my jaw locked so tight my teeth hurt, holding my friend down while she is pieced back together.
When it’s finally done, when Trecia’s face is tightly wrapped in bandages and she goes limp from sheer exhaustion, I push myself back up.
I don’t pause. I stagger over to the grinding stone, drop to my knees, and start pouring dried firebloom leaves into the bowl, bringing the stone pestle down to grind them to dust.
I scoop a handful of the finished paste and turn, my hand rising toward the sluggishly bleeding wound on Kol’s ribs. He is standing still right behind me, like a dark starry shadow, not moving.