It’s no easy task with a creature this large. The calf isn’t much smaller than I am, and there might not be another demon who could do this unassisted. Starcaller is already fighting her instincts to let me and Ingrid be in the stall with her, there’s no way she would tolerate another body, not even her bonded.
I have to do this on my own, and it requires every bit of strength and finesse that I possess. Working from multiple angles, I maneuver the calf inside her belly, muscles screaming for a break, sweat dripping to the hay-strewn floor. It’s hard, exhausting labor for both me and the ifrak mother, but the moment the calf’s head emerges, we get the second wind needed to see it through to the end. Front legs follow the head and neck, and then the whole calf slides out in a deluge of blood and fluids.
I could be swimming in it for all I care right now. Every bit of my attention is on the calf. I’ve got to get it on its feet in the first couple of minutes or it won’t be able to support itself. Ingrid’sstill humming to Starcaller, praising her for doing such a good job, but the ifrak’s not having it. She knows something’s wrong, and the mournful cry that leaves her as she nudges the still calf is almost more than I can bear.
I was too late.
I failed the reach.
Again.
“What’s wro—oh,” Ingrid says, coming around to investigate. I look to her to see if this loss has as profound an impact on a human as it does the rest of us, but she doesn’t seem to understand. Instead of standing back and letting the mother grieve, Ingrid moves in, hefting the calf’s head into her lap and using her dress to clear the blood and mucus from the babe’s snout. She works quickly, not in a rushed, panicked sort of way, but confident, efficient. I can’t see everything she’s doing because I’m now focused on making sure Starcaller doesn’t turn hysterical and crush us all. Mostly Ingrid.
There’s a small squeak, and I first think it’s Ingrid coming to accept reality, but then Starcaller trumpets and her calf sneezes again, wobbling up to shaky legs as it seeks out its mother’s milk.
“I…You… We did it?” I stammer, still not believing it.
“We did!” Ingrid cries, flinging her arms around me, too short for her hands to connect.
So dainty. And precious. Soft and sweet.
Butstrong.Amazing.
I wrap my arms around her in return, neither one of us caring about the blood and gore covering us. With the thrill of success coursing through my veins and Ingrid in my arms, I can only think one thing.
Mine.
Chapter Sixteen
Ingrid
We did it.The reality of it hasn’t sunk in, my heart still racing from the excitement. And realizing I’m wrapped up in Xandril’s strong embrace does nothing to slow my heartbeat. His arms begin to tighten around me, but then he freezes. For a moment, I think he’s going to pull away, or he’s expecting me to scold him. But that’s ridiculous. I’m the one who embraced him!
I squeeze my arms around him a little tighter, stretching to try to get my fingers to link around his back, and he sucks in a breath. A wince.
I pull back, and he’s immediately apologetic, stammering about how he shouldn’t have touched me or assumed or—
“Where are you hurt?” I cut through his unnecessary apology, doing what I can to inspect him. I can’t tell if any of the blood is his. Was he gored by Starcaller’s tusks? Is he fading right before my eyes?
My stomach sinks like a stone in a stream. I’ve hardly had one actual conversation with this man, yet the idea of him being injured is enough to make my blood run cold. He may not have always beenkindto me, but he’s shown himself to be harmless, and finding him at Starcaller’s side when she needed help most is not what I would have expected of the king.
“I’m fine,” he insists, turning to speak with Visri and the other grooms, wincing again when he does.
Nope.
I might not have fully pieced together the complete picture of who this scarred demon is, but I’ve seen his determination, his willingness to step in when no one else will, and I’ve felt the deep rumble of his voice when he speaks of his seldom-idle hands. There is more to this quiet mountain of a man than meets the eye. But before I’m able to uncover any of his hidden soft parts, I need to make sure he survives this night.
With a couple of quick steps, I’ve put myself between Xandril and Visri, concerns of rudeness far, far away. Xandril moves to step around me, but staggers when he does, his painful gasp loud enough to alert the nearby grooms.
“Help the king to the keep,” I tell the collected group. “However many it takes. He can’t walk on his own.”
“I told you, human, I’mfine.” Xandril shakes off the couple of grooms who have moved in to support him, grumbling under his breath.
He can grumble all he likes, because I’ve just spotted Morwen in the stable doorway. It took her long enough to catch up with me, though I can’t imagine she was in any hurry to get to her least favorite part of the castle. She looks, frankly, horrified at the state of me, and I think she might actually be considering turning around and leaving me to deal with this on my own—at least for a second. I wave her over, and reluctant as she may be, to her credit, she toddles over to me.
As soon as she’s within earshot, I begin ticking off things I’ll need. “Meet us with hot water, bandages, and whatever potions and poultices you have that could help treat his wounds. Andyou three, I don’t care what he says, the king needs help.” Two of the grooms are still doing their best, but the other three who’d started to help have quickly taken the excuse to abandon the task.
Not on my watch.
