“Can you cure it?” I ask, even though I already know the answer. “The bite?”
Villeneuve’s eyes meet mine, the green bleeding out of them gradually as they return to their normally dark shade. “No. But I can slow its progress. Help him fight it off.” His lips curve into an almost-smile. “He has a strong will. That should help.”
I stroke Killian’s fur, willing him to hear me, to hold on. My fingers trace the line of his skull, the point of his ear, trying to memorize this form I know so little and searching for the similarities to the one I know so well.
“I need to make use of your power,” Villeneuve says quietly.
I nod before I can think about it, and then he’s reaching through our bond?—
Wait.
Ourbond?
The realization hits me like a bucket of ice water. He shouldn’t be able to do that. The only way to channel energy through a bond is if thereisa bond, and the only bonds I have are with the pack?—
The presence during the ritual.
Those green eyes.
That sense of something ancient and familiar latching onto the connection we were forming.
It was Villeneuve.
He was there. Hefeltit. He’s been connected to us—tome—this whole time.
He didn’t just oversee the bond, he fucking wove himself into it.
My eyes snap to his face, and I find him already watching me. A warning shadows his gaze, but there’s a promise, too.
Later, that look says.I can explain later.
I fucking doubt it. But for his sake, he’d damn well better.
Right now, though, if I let on about what happened, the pack is going to lose their shit. Rightfully, but Killian is dying, and right now, Villeneuve is the only one who can save him. Can’t do that if he’s dragon confetti.
I open myself to the connection and let him pull.
The sensation is strange. Different from how it feels when I draw from the wolves, but also different from when the covendrew from me. Villeneuve’s pull is precise. He takes exactly what he needs and no more, channeling it through his own magic into the healing work.
Under his hands, the red inflammation around the bite mark begins to fade, but it doesn’t disappear entirely. The angry color just softens to something less immediately threatening.
Finally, Villeneuve sits back. He looks tired in the same way he looked that day after class, when I caught him drinking something from a vial.
“Now we wait,” he says.
He’s placed Killian in stasis. I feel it through our bond, the way time seems to have slowed around him, his heartbeat steady but distant, his consciousness wrapped in a protective cocoon.
Giving him time to heal.
Time to fight.
“The first aid,” Villeneuve says, rising to his feet. His first step falters slightly, so subtle I almost miss it. He’s definitely weaker than before, even using my siphon ability to direct the pack’s energy. “Do you think you can manage the rest of it? You have access to whatever you need from my laboratory.”
I look around the laboratory, at the shelves full of supplies, the tools and ingredients of a craft I barely understand.
But basic healing I can do.
Basic wound care doesn’t require dragon magic.
