The world tilts. “Fix it.”
“With everything she’s been through, her body…” She trails off, accurately reading the look on my face. “We’ll do everything we can.”
“She better survive.” My voice is quiet. Deadly quiet. All three healers go pale. “Because if she doesn’t, every single person who had a hand in this will wish they’d never been born.”
The healer swallows hard. “We need to move her to the clinic. We can’t treat this here. We need equipment, specialized medicines.”
“Lead the way.” I’m already scooping Violet into my arms, careful of the wound in her shoulder. She weighs nothing, like she might float away if I don’t hold her tightly enough. Her head lolls against my chest, and the sight of it makes me tremble inside. Her scent wraps around me, faint but still there. Jasmine and something wild, something uniquely Violet. My wolf recognizes her even like this, and it’s the only thing keeping me from losing control completely. “Let’s move. Now.”
The older healer takes charge, barking orders. Other healers whoremained in the arena fall in behind us as we push through the crowd. People make way for us, their faces blurring together. I don’t care about any of them. Don’t care about the whispers, the shocked expressions.
All I care about is the woman in my arms and the fact that she’s still breathing. Barely.
The clinic is a thirty-minute run from the arena. I push myself harder than I ever have, feet pounding against dirt roads, then pavement. The healers have to shift to be able to keep up with me. My arms burn from holding my mate, but I don’t slow down. Can’t slow down. Each second stretches, elastic and terrible. Violet’s breathing hitches twice, her body convulsing against my chest, and each time, I think this is it. This is when I lose her.
But then she settles again. Her heart keeps beating against my ribs. And I keep running.
The clinic doors burst open at our approach. The healers who have been running with us immediately shift back and into professional mode, reaching for Violet. The air inside hits me, cool and sharp with the scent of antiseptic and something herbal I can’t identify. It’s too clean. Too sterile. It smells like death pretending to be healing.
They try to take my mate from me, but my arms lock around her automatically. I can’t let go. Can’t surrender her to these strangers, even though I know they’re her only chance.
“Alpha.” The older healer puts her hand on my arm. Her touch is gentle but firm. “You need to let us work. Please.”
The “please” breaks through my haze. I look down at Violet’s face, memorizing every detail. The curve of her cheekbone. The dark fan of her lashes against her skin. There’s a small scar near her temple I’ve traced with my fingers a dozen times. A freckle just below her ear that I’ve kissed. All the small things that make her mine.
“Save her.” My voice breaks on the words. “Please save her.”
“We’ll do everything we can.” The healer nods to her colleagues, and they take Violet from my arms. “Wait here. Someone will update you as soon as weknow anything.”
Then they’re gone, disappearing through double doors that swing shut with a finality that echoes in my head.
I look down. Violet’s blood is drying on my chest, sticky and dark. My hands are stained with it. I can feel it under my nails, tacky between my fingers.
I killed my father less than an hour ago. His blood is on these same hands.
The thought that I might lose them both in the same day makes my knees buckle.
I take a deep breath and look around me. The waiting area is small. Just a few benches, some outdated magazines on a side table, fluorescent lights that buzz overhead like angry insects. The temperature is wrong, too cold; it makes me think of morgues. Someone hands me a shirt, and I pull it on.
I should sit down. Try to collect myself. Instead, I pace, my wolf clawing at my insides, demanding we break down those doors and stay with our mate.
My father’s face flashes through my mind. The moment I grabbed his jaw in both hands. The terrible crack of his neck breaking. The way his body went limp and shifted back to human form as he died.
I shake my head, trying to dislodge the image. I can’t think about that now. Can’t process what I’ve done. If I let myself feel the full weight of killing my own father, I’ll shatter, and Violet needs me whole.
But my hands won’t stop shaking.
Time loses meaning. I count my steps. Fourteen paces from one wall to the other. I’ve made the circuit so many times, the linoleum is probably wearing out.
Footsteps approach, different from the soft-soled shoes of the medical staff. Heavy boots. I know that stride.
Ethan appears in the doorway, his clothes torn and dirty. Blood spatters his face, but I can tell it’s not his own. His expression tells me everything before he opens his mouth.
“He got away.” Ethan’s voice is flat. “I’m sorry, Darius. We tried.”
Rage explodes through me. I spin toward the nearest wall anddrive my fist into it. The plaster cracks. Pain flares up my arm, but it’s nothing compared to the fury burning in my chest.
Ethan says nothing.
