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?
