She attempts to put weight on her right arm, but a sear of pain so heavy and fierce rips through her, it knocks her back over.
And then everything goes black.
Carmen wakes to the gentle tugging of fingers weaving through her hair, soft and featherlight. She tries to pry her eyes open, squinting against the bright sunlight breaking through the trees above, but it’s hard. Her head throbs, her mouth is drier than the southern desert, and though this is aprettyfamiliar way for her to wake up each morning, it’s still always a struggle.
Finally peeling her eyes open, the realization that she’s laying on the ground somewhere in the woods sinks in. She watches the leaves rustle and sway in the breeze up against the sky, her mind distantly working to catch up to the moment, to capture the frayed traces of where she might have lost herself drinking last night to get here now. She remembers the bar, remembers Teddy dressed as the ghost from the Neitherworld. She’d ordered a drink with soda this time because . . .
Oh my god, she thinks, eyes widening.
“You’re awake,” a female voice says gently from somewhere above her.
Panic takes hold in Carmen’s chest. She tilts her head back against the soft earth beneath her, eyes rolling up until they settle on the form of the girl in the tattered dress, now fully human again.
The girl smiles, a little hesitant. The outer edges of her red hair glow bright, backlit by the warm golden sun. “I did my best with all these wounds, but you should probably stay lying down.”
Carmen pulls her tongue from where it’s cemented to the roof of her mouth, croaking out a rough and dry, “What?”
The girl’s blue eyes go round. “You need water! Shoot, hold on,” she says, scrambling to her feet. Carmen catches a glimpse of a bare ass cheek rounding out from the scraps of her skirt and quickly looks away. “I dragged you as far as I could, but I’m not very strong . . . I found a river close by though, so I used some dead wood to collect a little water for you. Here,” she says, coming back into view, holding a curved piece of bark above Carmen’s head.
Carmen just stares at her, unblinking.
The girl sighs, insistent. “You lost a lot of blood. I workedveryhard to keep as much of it inside you as I could, but you need to hydrate before you keel over and try to die all over again.” She tips the makeshift cup toward Carmen’s lips. “Drink.”
Carmen parts her mouth, allowing the water to dribble in. It’s a relief, the moisture. The cool brush of the girl’s knuckle against her cheek. “What happened?” Carmen asks, allowing some water to spill down her chin.
“You saved me,” the girl says, setting down the piece of wood. “And then I saved you back.”
“How?”
She shrugs. “I had to take down those assholes first. But it honestly wasn’t very hard . . . I feltsostrong, like I was somehow able to harness all this power. It was like . . . like I could reach deep within myself, and there it was! A whole bunch of it. You know?”
Carmen shakes her head and then winces from the pressure mounting in her temples.
The girl goes on. “Anyway, after I ripped their heads off their bodies, I ran to you. You were already unconscious and bleeding everywhere—it was a mess. I did my best to lick your wounds clean, and then I ripped more of my dress to use the fabric to wrap around your arm and torso. God, it was so hard to figure that out without thumbs, but?—”
“Why?” Carmen interrupts.
The girl frowns. “Why, what?”
“Why did you save me?”
“Oh.” She looks down at the ground. “I mean, it was only fair, right?”
The simplicity of the statement knocks something loose in Carmen. She doesn’t even know how to respond.
The silence between them swells, and then the girl breaks it with another soft smile. “I think we’re going to have to rest here for a day or two until you get your strength back. I was thinking of going out to find some clothes . . . maybe some food and bandages. But I’m not sure if leaving you alone is a good idea.”
“Why not?”
The girl giggles. “Something tells me you wouldn’t be here when I got back.”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” Carmen argues. “Especially not one like . . .you.” Carmen knows all too well that werewolves are extremely temperamental and prone to violence. Warren is a definite outlier when it comes to reason and integrity—his moral compass stayed mostly intact after his transition, but that’s not normal. Carmen would be an utter fool to trust this girl.
“You sure needed one last night,” the girl volleys, squinting down at her. “Plus, it’s not just about you, you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was kind of hoping you might be able to tell me who I am?”
