And unlike those who might pursue us, the silver cuffs around our ankles, throats, and wrists mean we can’t shift.
We’re still pushing, the moon bright enough to light our way when I decide we’ve both had enough.
“We should find water,” I murmur, throat raw.
Lithia nods, too tired for words.
I lead us southeast, my nose tracking moisture, until we stumble across a trickling creek. We drop to our knees, shoving faces into freezing water.
“Fifteen miles, maybe,” I say, wiping my mouth. “Not enough.”
“We need to keep moving,” she rasps, but her body’s shaking, her eyes glassy.
I shoulder her weight when she stumbles. Pretend not to notice when she leans heavily against me. Pretend not to care when every part of me warms at her touch.
Mine,my wolf howls.
We push on, and it’s as dawn breaks that her body gives out on a rocky slope. I catch her, easing her down into a hollow beneath an overhang.
She’s shivering and pale, clutching at her side.
“Let me see,” I murmur, my fingers gentle. She lifts her shirt, and my jaw tightens. Her side is one deep mottledbruise. Her skin is split at the bottom of her rib cage, and there’s a smell of blood that’s both sharp and wrong.
I gently run my fingers over her side, feeling the ridges. “Looks like some broken ribs.”
“Probably,” she mutters. “But we need to keep moving.”
“Not like this,” I say, voice low, firm. “You’re exhausted. If you keep pressing, you’ll only slow us down when you fully collapse.”
She leans against the stone with a grudging nod. I settle beside her, shoulder to shoulder, feeling the faint tremble in her body.
I watch over her until her breathing evens out, then slip away to scavenge the surrounding area. There’s enough berries and herbs around to make her a poultice—and feed us a little.
Dark clouds are gathering on the horizon, and I can smell rain in the air. Good. A storm will help wash away our scent trail.
I return, finding her sound asleep. While she rests, I crush herbs and gently smooth them over her wounds. She gasps, jolting upright with a cry.
“Easy,” I murmur. “I’ve got you.” I smooth the paste over her broken skin.
“Where did you learn this?”
I shrug. “You pick things up when you’re on your own.” I pull my shirt off, tearing it into shreds.
“Kier!”
Ignoring her protest, I wrap the shred around her middle, binding her ribs as best I can.
“Sorry,” I wince in sympathy when she gasps. “But it has to be done.”
After she’s eaten some berries and we drink from the creek, we begin to move again.
The first fat raindrops splatter against us as we crest the ridge, cold needles prickling through the thin fabric of ourclothing. By the time we’re backtracking through the valley, it’s coming down in earnest. We spend the day crossing rivers then backtracking, smothering ourselves in mud and sap to hide our scent. Our progress is painfully slow but necessary. In wolf form, a were could hunt us down easily.
Years of being a lone wolf has taught me a few tricks, and now we have weather on our side.
The icy rain continues to batter us, coming down hard, plastering hair to skin. I curse under my breath, pulling Lithia closer as we push through the undergrowth.
When I scent the cabin—ash, dust, and wood rot—I’m half-carrying her. It’s small, decrepit, barely standing, but it’s four walls and a roof.
