It claws at me.
I shuffle closer to the wounded soldier, settling down next to him.
Knox’s hand is still outstretched toward me, limp and smeared with blood, and I scoop it up. Our fingers don’t interlock, but I hold on tight, needing the contact. Needing him to know I’m here with him.
He's coated in a sheen of sweat, his body burning through its last scraps of energy to heal.
“You’re okay,” I murmur. “Viper is going to stop the bleeding then your healing will catch up in no time.”
His lips twitch, maybe trying to form words, but all that escapes is a harsh exhale.
Viper works in silence. His face is set, jaw clenched so tightly I can hear it grinding. He has a nasty looking contraption gripped in his meaty fist. He presses it to Knox’s open wounds repeatedly. It looks like it hurts, but Knox holds steady with each click.
I watch as metal staples force the still-bleeding gunshot injuries to close, giving Knox’s Alpha healing a chance to fuse his skin back together. When it’s done, one by one the staples are forced from his skin and drop to the floor with a metallic ping.
Shade shifts gears up front, and the truck jolts slightly, jerking me forward with the motion. I catch myself with my free hand onthe vehicle wall, blinking through the dizziness. When I look up, they’re all watching me.
All four of them. Not with fondness or tenderness, but with unreadable expressions, like they’re trying to see past my skin to the truth underneath.
I avert my eyes and lick the salt from my lips.
I feel exposed. Bare. The silence is starting to hurt more than the ache in my healing wound. I can’t take it anymore, I have to fill it with something. Anything.
“I should still be bleeding. I’m not supposed to be healing this fast, my body has been so slow lately. I guess it’s because you’re near… because my Pack is—”
“Don’t,” Shade snaps, his tone sharp and immediate.
I flinch as if he struck me.
He doesn’t look away from the road, but his nostrils are flared.
“You don’t get to call us that now, not—” his voice catches and he clears his throat. “Not after everything.”
My chest constricts.
“I didn’t mean…” I start, but the words die in a pitiful whimper.
I don’t know what I expected. That in saving me from death on a battlefield, it meant they forgave me? That they’d welcome me back with open arms? Tell me that I still belonged with them?
I left. Betrayed and abandoned them.
And they haven’t forgotten.
I want to tell them how sorry I am, how much I missed them, and that I never meant to hurt them. But the words stick in my throat, and I fail to find the courage to speak them. I’ve used up my daily quota for bravery, it seems.
The minutes tick by, punctuated only by the occasional sharp inhale from Knox and the grind of the gearbox.
"Where are we going?" I blurt out. My voice sounds high-pitched and panicked, and I internally cringe.
"A field base," Shade answers from the driver's seat, cold and emotionless. "You and Knox need medical attention."
I stiffen.
They’re taking me to the Fathim military.
Theycan’t.
My chest is tight, the urge to beg pressing against my ribs like a trapped scream.
