I’m not human.
Blood roars through my temples, vision darkening for one moment, two, before I start breathing again.
A dust cloud is all that remains of Daisy and the saddlebag with my phone. Tempest stomps, teeth baring when I step closer to find his phone—if he even brought it.
The world slows to the space between heartbeats, Kael’s face red and hard, teeth grinding and breath coming in sharp exhales. Sweat pours from his skin, body tense and writhing with each surge of pain.
“What do I do?”
“Use my belt. Tie it off.”
His words sound distant, like I’m floating far above him. But I still remember my rattlesnake training.
“No,” I gasp, breath coming almost too fast to speak. “A tourniquet could do more damage. Cut off circulation.”
“Tie it off,” he growls, nodding toward his waist. His other hand tries to grip the bite, fingers shaking and failing.
“God, this isn’t right.” My voice trembles as I work to free the leather, wrapping it around his arm and pulling tight.
“Tighter!”
“You’ll lose your arm.”
“Tighter.” It comes out guttural. Final.
The blood drains from my face. “I’m trying…” I shake my head. “We need an ambulance… now.”
“No. Mags, that’s it.”
“But how do I reach her? Did you bring your phone?”
He shakes his head, neck muscles straining against another pulse of agony.
“Knife. Whiskey.”
I can’t move, stuck to the spot.
“Now. The knife. Whiskey.” His eyes dart to Tempest.
My breath hitches in my throat as I try again, moving one tentative step toward the proud mare.
She shrieks, eyes fiery and wild. Feet pawing the air.
“Lord help me, Tempest!” he grunts low and hard. Eyes squeezed shut, words flowing. Strange. Unrecognized, like a language that doesn’t exist.
Tempest’s ears twitch forward; her body relaxes, muscles no longer so taut beneath her ebony hide. His voice is low, soft though gravel edges it. Like he’s hypnotizing her. Maybe me, too.
Something washes over me. A calm I shouldn’t feel. Not now. Not like this.
“Whiskey. Knife,” he orders again, expression tortured.
My heart thuds as I take first one, then two steps toward the mare, palms facing her until I touch shivering black hair. I work my way slowly to her side, opening the saddlebags.
Sun-warmed leather creaks as I reach inside. Trembling fingers find a cold glass bottle, then an intricate bowie knife sheathed in buckskin.
My stomach drops when I kneel before Kael. Suffering animates his features, face caked with sweat and dust.
I pass him the uncapped bottle, watching as he fights to suck down a shot. The sounds he makes are more animal than human.
