But even as I thought it, I knew I was lying.
The bond hummed between us, content now that I was close. My wolf spirit settled, satisfied in a way it hadn't been all day. And despite everything, despite all the reasons this was impossible, all the ways it could destroy everything I'd built, lying here beside her felt like the most natural thing in the world.
Mine,my wolf spirit whispered, and this time I didn't argue.
I would figure out the politics tomorrow. Would seek Elder Sira's guidance, would make the hard strategic decisions an alpha had to make.
But tonight, I would keep her safe.
Tonight, she was mine to protect.
CHAPTER 10
ELLIE
The wolves broke camp with the kind of efficiency that made our modern expedition training look like amateur hour.
I sat near the dying fire, trying to stay out of the way while they worked around me with barely a sound. No wasted movements. No discussion about who should carry what or which direction to take, each wolf knowing their role as naturally as breathing. I had tried to help, but the healer, Daska, despite not being able to speak my language, had made it clear I was to sit and rest by literally lifting me and carrying me back to the fire. Considering the size of him, and how he was able to lift me as easily as breathing, I decided to take the hint. Nathan and Megan, I noticed, hadn’t even tried to help. They sat on the other side of the fire, talking quietly.
I shifted my weight carefully, testing my injured leg. The wound throbbed with each heartbeat, a deep ache that had only gotten worse overnight despite Daska's treatment. I'drewrapped it this morning while everyone was distracted, pulling the bandages tight enough to make my eyes water.
It would hold. It had to.
I leaned over to where Dav was still lying on a thick pad of furs. He seemed bright this morning and I gave thanks for small victories.
"How're you doing, Dev?"
"Five-star accommodation. Gourmet dining. Personal physician who could bench-press a car. What more could a man want?" He grinned at me, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
"I know," I said quietly. "I miss him too, but we’re alive and we'll get through this."
Dev's jaw tightened and he looked away, blinking hard. Stephen's absence sat between us like a physical weight, the space where he should have been cracking jokes and complaining about the cold. I reached out and squeezed Dev's hand, and he squeezed back, hard enough to hurt.
"Right," he said after a moment, his voice rough. "Course we will. We're British. Stiff upper lip and all that." He shifted on the stretcher and winced, the movement jostling his leg despite the splint. "Though I wouldn't say no to some paracetamol. Or a helicopter. Or a nice cup of tea."
"I'd commit actual crimes for a cup of tea right now," I admitted, and his laugh, a real one this time, loosened something tight in my chest.
I glanced over at Nathan and Megan. They were huddled together, Nathan's head bent close to hers, and whatever he was saying made Megan's mouth press into a thin line. She nodded once, sharply, then looked away. Nathan caught me watching and his expression shuttered instantly, going blank in that way I'd come to recognise as his tell for I'm planning something you won't like.
I held his gaze for a beat longer than was comfortable, then turned away. Whatever he was scheming, I didn't have the energy to fight about it right now. Not when every ounce of focus I had was being spent on not limping, not showing weakness, not being a burden to the people who'd saved our lives.
Daska appeared at my elbow with a waterskin and a few strips of dried meat that he shared between me and Dev. I noticed he hadn’t brought any for Nathan and Megan, and fought back a petty smile.
"Thank you," I said, taking the waterskin and the food. The words felt inadequate for everything he’d done for me. But it was all I had, and I paired it with a smile that I hoped conveyed the rest.
Daska nodded, his warm brown eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that made my stomach do something entirely inappropriate for the circumstances. He said something in his language and gestured at my leg with a questioning tilt of his head.
"It's fine," I said automatically. "Much better."
He studied me for a moment with an expression that suggested he didn't believe a word of it, language barrier or not. Then he reached down and, before I could protest, rested his palm against the bandage on my thigh. Not pressing, just touching, his hand warm even through the leather wrapping.
I held very still.
His brow furrowed. He made a disapproving sound deep in his chest, that same bear-like rumble I'd heard the night before, then spoke again, his tone shifting from gentle to what was unmistakably a telling off. I didn't need a translation. The gist was clear: *You're not fine, you're a terrible liar, and you've wrapped this too tight, you stubborn woman.*
He unwound the bandage with deft fingers, ignoring my half-hearted attempts to wave him off. The morning air hit thewound and I hissed through my teeth, not from the cold, but from the sight of it. The edges were angrier than yesterday, the skin around the gash swollen and hot, streaked with red that radiated outward like cracks in ice. The poultice had done its job overnight, drawing out some of the dirt and debris, but what was left underneath wasn't pretty.
The leather strips I'd pulled tight enough to cut into the swollen flesh had left deep indentations in my skin, and when the pressure released, blood rushed back into the tissue with a throb that made me hiss through my teeth.
