Page 200 of A Courage of the Chosen

I wish I hadn’t.

His entire abdomen is soaked with crimson, the shirt beneath clinging to his body, darkened with the life of the best man I know.

Brodie’s still breathing. There’s still time.

There has to be more time. He can’t go out like this.

“Put pressure on them.” Reyne rips off a clean patch of her shirt and hands it to Eòghann, searching over our heads for the healers.

He places it over the largest one still leaking blood across his abdomen. His wounds aren’t life-threatening, but I saw how deep Tavish went. Saw how he curled his hand upward, and watched as red spilled from Brodie’s mouth. He’d gone for Brodie’s heart, and tore through most of his organs to get there.

I’ve survived enough fights, and held enough soldiers as they crossed over into the afterlife, to know there are some injuries you don’t come back from.

The shadows beat back Brodie’s healing, keeping those gashes open so everything Brodie has left seeps out of him.

“Cal, what do we do?” Eòghann’s voice is thick.

“I don’t know.”

“It’s . . . okay,” Brodie rasps.

My eyes bounce up to his, barely open beneath long, dark lashes, clumped together.

I place myself in Brodie’s direct line of sight, and muster all the command I have left into the scowl I give him. “Don’t you fucking dare. You are not allowed to die.”

My friend, my brother, laughs. It’s mangled, and a gurgling reverberates deep within his lungs that doesn’t mean anything good. Fresh red covers his teeth, but it’s still somehow entirely Brodie. “I don’t think . . . I’m walking away from . . . this one.”

My gut agrees with his assessment, but being the stubborn man that I am, I refuse to accept it. “A healer is coming. You’ve survived worse than this. You aren’t giving up on us now.” The injuries he suffered on the road to Ruival the first time nearly killed him too, and he lived to tell the tale.

Why would this be any different?

Brodie’s mouth lifts into a smirk. “Y-you know . . . how b-bad it is.”

My jaw works to hold back the snarl, and the words sitting on the tip of my tongue. To goad him into living just to prove me wrong. Yet, they stay right where they are.

If this is the last time I’m going to speak to him, it won’t be words I’ll regret later.

The acceptance is reflected in his half-open eyes, and he slumps further into me while Eòghann keeps firmly pressing on Brodie’s punctures.

“Where is the fucking healer?” he curses beneath his breath.

We aren’t going to need one.

The thought comes unbidden, and the need to hunt that fucking worthless piece of shit to the ends of the earth is strong enough to nearly pull me away.

Brodie needs me, and Elsie claimed Tavish’s death a long time ago. It’s hers to take, not mine, and they’re the only things that keep me rooted exactly where I am.

I feel her before I see her.

Mabel’s hooves come to a thundering stop, and Elsie’s footsteps squelch across the short distance as she sprints in our direction.

“H-hi . . . Queenie.” Brodie reaches a hand out for her.

Elsie takes it and holds the back of it against her cheek. “Hey, Brodie.”

“H-how am . . . I l-looking?” Because of course he still cares about that.

“Still as handsome as ever.” Elsie wavers as she smiles down at him.