“Shit,” she said, falling to her knees beside the shifter.
“I’m fine,” they said, eyes cracking open. The groan that slipped out did nothing to assuage Sofia’s anxiety, particularly as she noticed the deep slices across their stomach. She wasn’t a healer or an expert in wounds, but they were deep, and she felt sick looking at the blood steadily weeping from them.
“I don’t think you should move,” Sofia said.
“That’s good,” they responded, voice weak. “I’m pretty sure I can’t, so I’ll just rest here for a bit.”
An icy wind alerted Sofia to Chalia’s return, andshe looked to see the dragon landing in the field. She pushed her head through two particularly large trees, trying to see where Sofia and Lumi were crouched, despite being unable to fit her entire body.
“I’ve missed wolves,”she said, snapping her teeth.“Best meat there is.”
Sofia saw a flash of craggy boulders covered in snow, her mind in Chalia’s for just a moment as the dragon snapped a wolf up with her claws and tossed it into the air before sinking her teeth into it. She pushed away the vision, focusing back on Lumi groaning in pain.
Sofia thought back to her times watching Flor heal. She looked around, finding the clothes Lumi had abandoned, grabbing the tunic and pressing it into their stomach.
The shapeshifter let out a growl before clenching their teeth. Sofia didn’t need to tell them what to do. They snatched the tunic away, pressing it into their own stomach.
“I need to get help.”
“Don’t be gone long. I don’t want to meet any other wolfshifters today.”
“I’ll eat their friends, too,”Chalia said, her breath cold against Sofia’s neck.“I told you not to go without me.”
Sofia didn’t bother with apologies, running over and jumping on Chalia’s back.
“Don’t bother with stealth,” she said. “Just get us there and back as fast as possible.”
Chalia didn’t need to be asked twice. She shot into the air, unfettered by the trees.
CHAPTER NINE
FOX
When the sealed letter from his mother came requesting his presence at dinner, he couldn’t avoid it any longer. He’d spent the last couple of days in the barracks, trying to avoid thinking too hard about Ian, Leon, Lumi—everything.
Fox set the note from his mother down and looked at himself in the polished metal mirror on his desk. The worst of his face was healing, but he doubted his mother would ask him what had happened, regardless. If there was one thing their family was good at, it was ignoring pain. Even his mother didn’t want to confront the difficult conversations. He poked at his black eyes. There was nothing he could do to hide them.
He packed a small bag of clothes, knowing she’d guilt him into staying the night. As he turned to switch off the gas lamp on the wall, he noticed the corner of leather sticking out from beneath his pillow. The book’s cover was warm beneath his hands as he pulled it out, running his finger over the fading inked title:Tales of the So-Called Dragonborn.Sofia had given it to him, and though his simply possessing it could spell danger, he couldn’t bring himself to get rid of it. It was a risky game he was playing. If he were caught with it…
Fox tucked it inside his jacket before turning off the lamp and leaving.
He walked slowly, as if delaying the inevitable would make it better. He didn’t want to see his mother and the wraith she’d likely become with the loss of his father—his fault. Not that she knew that part.
But it made it all the harder to imagine looking her in the eyes, knowing that he was the root of her pain. It had been his fault his brother had died, and his own hand that had taken his father’s life. For all the pain he unknowingly inflicted on her, he didn’t deserve her empathy, let alone her love.
When he arrived at last, the sun was just setting behind the horizon, and the gas lamps already glowed along the street. He paused outside the front door of the manor and took a low, deep breath before he entered.
His mother was standing in the front hall, as though she’d been waiting there for him to arrive. Instead of the frail wraith he expected to see, she was beaming, cheeks flushed and full of life, hair done up in a neat coif. She was wearing one of her nicer house dresses, with lace trimming along the skirt and embroidery on the neckline, but she had an old, stained apron tied over it.
Her lips pinched as her eyes swept over his face and the cuts and bruises he knew stood out starkly against his skin. But she said nothing as she swept him into a hug.
“Mother,” he said. She smelled of onions, cumin, and roasted chili peppers.
“You’re late,” she said. Her voice didn’t shake, and he could only study her, looking for the cracks, but seeing none. “You’re never late.”
He wasn’t. His father had beaten that one into him over the sun cycles.
“It smells delicious in here,” he said, ignoring her statement. “Have all the workers returned?”
