Chapter thirty-five
It’sworking,it’sactuallyworking. I’m getting closer and closer to Fitz, I can feel it. It’s a tingling on my skin, an ache in my bones, a giddying flare of hope and excitement in my heart.
I pick up my pace. I’m going to find him. Everything is going to be okay. Suddenly, an old ruin of a warehouse comes into view. My feet slow. Fitz is in there. I know it. The hunters took him less than three miles away from the bar. It’s a damn good tactic, staying inside the search zone. Everyone will assume they got as far as they could in the time available to them and the search will spread outwards from that point.
My hand pats my empty pocket and my heart sinks. Where is my phone? Shit. Tearing off without telling anyone what I was doing was a stupid thing to do. Has this day taught me nothing? I guess not. Though, in my defense, I wasn’t at all sure it was going to work. But that’s a lame excuse.
For fuck’s sake, now I’m going to have to run back to the bar to tell them I’ve found Fitz. I’m nowhere near powerful enough to create a portal and I don’t know any magical way of contacting the Grand Master or his enforcers.
My wolf whines at the thought of turning back and leaving Fitz. The mere idea of it goes against my every instinct. I grit my teeth. Fine, I will sneak up and check. He is probably just tied up in a corner somewhere. Once I’ve made sure they are not imminently about to murder him, I can go get help.
I might even find that I don’t need help at all. It will depend on how many hunters are holding him and if they have any magical protection. Only one way to find out.
Pulling my cloaking spell tightly around me, I creep forward. There must be a window or something that I can glance through. Someway to ease the panic in my soul. I would know if Fitz was dead, I wouldn’t have been able to follow his essence. I’m sure of it. But that doesn’t make me any less anxious. I don’t know if I would be able to tell if they hurt him. Would I feel his pain? Sense it? I have no idea.
How scared is he right now? He can be a feisty little thing but he can also be a sweet young omega. Is he crying out for me? Is he wondering why I’m not there yet? What if he thinks I’m not coming for him? He could be sobbing right now, believing I have abandoned him.
I can’t breathe, I can’t think. My heart is stuttering all over the place and my guts are full of jagged ice.
There are no fucking windows, so I quietly slip in through a side door. I’m near invisible with the tightness of this cloaking spell. I just need to be silent too.
The warehouse is bare. Dusty and littered with pigeon shit and broken bits of the roof. Three hunters are by the far wall. They are sitting on deck chairs around a pile of crates. An open cooler of beer is by their feet. They are playing cards, while drinking and smoking. A radio is playing pop music quietly. Its tinny sound echoing around the empty space.
But where is Fitz? I know he is here. I can feel him. A small crumpled shape in the shadowy corner catches my eye. My breath catches. Carefully I drift closer. It’s a sprawled human shaped form. I can see arms and legs and far too much blood. It looks like a dead body. It can’t be Fitz, it can’t.
Chalk lines encircle the hunters. A rudimentary protection circle. Damn it! Why couldn’t they be the type of hunters who refuse to use any magic, in case its evil taints their souls, or some bullshit like that.
The circle is shit, clearly copied from some book with no true understanding of what they were doing. But it would probably slow me down long enough for them to shoot me again. I could kill one, possibly two in my wolf form, but again, the third would have time to fire his crossbow.
I need help. But first I need to know that crumpled heap isn’t Fitz. He has to be tied up out of sight somewhere. This warehouse is bound to have offices or possibly even a basement.
I ease even closer. Every step is risking discovery, but I have to know. That has to be the fourth hunter. There were four of them when they first got out of their truck. One must have been mortally wounded in the fighting and they haven’t bothered to bury him yet. I can’t smell death, but in this state I probably couldn’t discern anything.
Just one step closer and I’ll be able to see.
There is a puddle of blood by its head. Most of the hair is soaked in it. But one strand has escaped. Silver amongst all the crimson.
I’ve fallen to my knees, and it feels like my soul has left my body. I want to run to him and scoop him up in my arms, but one tiny part of my mind is stopping me. One of the hunters has a loaded crossbow leaning against his chair. It would take him mere seconds to reach it and fire it at me. I can’t help Fitz if I’m dead.
My gaze rakes up and down his body. There is so much blood. I stare at his chest but I can’t see any movement. Is he dead? No, wait. There! A shallow movement. He took a breath. He is not dead. Not yet. But he can’t be far from it. Maybe I should just fling myself forward and let the hunters kill me. Then we can die in each other’s arms.
No, I’m not giving up. Shifters can heal from most things. The healer that put me back together has incredible power. I just need to get Fitz to him. That’s all I need to do.
Okay, concentrate. I can do this. I inch one step closer. Now to spread my cloaking spell out until it covers Fitz too. The hunters aren’t paying the slightest bit of attention to him, so it should be easy. They beat him nearly to death and left him in a broken bloody heap on the concrete floor. And they think we are the monsters.
My spell stretches out to envelop Fitz in its embrace. He is already half in the shadows anyway. This should work. They won’t see me.
Quickly, I step forward and scoop Fitz up into my arms. He is limper than a rag doll. Biting back my sob of despair, I silently step back. I want to run, but cloaking spells don’t work like that, they just make it less likely for people to notice you. Running will certainly catch the hunters’ attention.
I need to keep a slow, steady pace even though my muscles are screaming at me to run. Every step feels like it takes a millennium and the exit of the warehouse looks as if it’s lightyears away. All I can do is keep going. One step and then another. Plod along until it is done. Let myself fall into daze so I can bear this torture.
The cool night air ruffles my hair. Somehow we have made it outside. I start running as fast as I can, buildings pass in a blur, but suddenly, Fitz’s breathing turns into a rattling wheeze. Swearing, I dive into an alleyway and carefully lay him down. His face is all bruised. One eye swollen grotesquely shut. The one undamaged patch of skin I can find is cold and clammy. I want to howl to the night sky. I want to sing my sorrow and grief. But I can’t. Hunters are close by. They will hear and they will answer.
Fitz is dying. I can’t get him to the healer in time. I think running jostled his lungs and made everything worse. Fitz is going to die in my arms and there is not a thing I can do about it. I don’t have healing magic. I’ve never learned the art. Another failing for my list.
All my alpha strength, all my magic, and it’s all useless.
Unless… I could pour both into Fitz. I can’t direct it like a healer can, but it will help. I’ve healed myself a few times with just the brute force of my magic. If I fill Fitz with all my power and all my strength, it might be enough to fuel his own body’s healing abilities. I’d give him my soul too, if I could.
