Page 47 of Wraithwound

“How many souls did it take?” he asked, his voice hardening.

“Too many,” she answered honestly, the numbness dragging her deeper.

He looked stunned, and she couldn’t tell if it was because of the admission or the fact that she’d answered at all.

He gave her one curt nod. “You can call me Cross.”

It went on like this for days, perhaps a week. The days blurred together, and she lost interest in keeping track. She would wake up, he would give her privacy to wash up in one of the small streams, he would pack up their camp, and they would be off, setting a slow course through the plains.

He asked her the same questions every day:

“Who are you?”

“How did you heal me?”

“How is it you’re still human?”

Every night, he would set up camp, ensuring Lena had a comfortable place to rest. She always chose the location farthest away from him. He tended to his horse with care, making sure the pitch-dark beast was fed, brushed, received plenty of scratches, and its hooves were picked out. If they had nothing to eat that night, he would hunt, often disappearing for hours. Not that she ate often.

Nights were punctuated by large twinkling stars and filled with strange sounds: buzzing, chirping, chittering, and other times high-pitched screeches or roars. The strangest part was that she did remain human. For now.

Every night she would have a different variation of the same dream, her claws piercing Eduard’s chest and then Ada’s. Other times, she found herself standing in front of Ahgrie and Jessa. Even Laney and the Conover brothers made it into her dreams. Lena would wake drenched in sweat and inspect her hands turning them over, expecting them to be dripping with crimson.

Some nights she could’ve sworn she felt a small ball of warmth cuddled next to her. Those nights she rested easier, but anytime she dared to check, she found she was alone.

Things went on like this until one night when the soulbound went out to hunt and didn’t return. Lena, often choosing sleep over a meal, woke up sometime later to a still, empty camp.

Just when she had begun to wonder where he might be, he stumbled in from the darkness. Pale, eyes glassy, his tattered armor was shredded at the chest and blood leaked through the leather. For the briefest moment, Lena looked down at her hands, half expecting to see his still beating heart held there.

He made it all the way to the fire before he collapsed. Lena waited for him to get up. Surely, the injury couldn’t be that bad. But he didn’t stir. Instinctively, she grabbed her pack and rushed over, her chain dragging over sand and protruding stones. She had almost reached him when she was yanked back by the chain at her ankle and had to throw her arms out to steady herself. He was too far. Lena tugged at her chain, knowing it had no more give.

She looked around, searching for anything that might help her reach him. The soulbound’s horse swished its tail and pawed at the ground, likely sensing her distress. Taking in the distance between them, she lowered herself to the ground and crawled toward him, stretching out until she was lying prone on the hard rock and sand. Lena hooked her arms under his shoulders, and using the shackle on her ankle as leverage she dragged him back, screaming as it cut viciously through her boot and into the thin flesh there.

EverGods he was so heavy!

Luckily, he’d passed out face up this time, which gave her access to the wound. Working around his armor, she found there were large gashes across his chest.

But his heart was still inside. That was a relief.

Other than the lacerations, he seemed otherwise unharmed. Lena deduced he had most likely passed out from blood loss. Working quickly, she pulled a bitter red vine from a vial and pre-chewed it. The taste was rancid. She gagged, trying and failing to keep her stomach from turning sour as she shoved it between his molars. Lena worked his jaw to release the milky sap, which would stimulate rapid production of blood in his body.

Then, she turned her focus to undoing the belts and buckles that barely held his armor together. Unable to remove it completely, she had to settle for shifting it out of the way and ripping through his tunic. She tried not to think about the blood now covering her hands as she worked to assess the severity of the wound and treat it.

Her hands shook as she sutured the wounds closed. She’d only been able to rinse them with the canteen he’d left by the fire. EverGods, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d done this. Procedures once ingrained in her through rote memorization now seemed as distant to her as her life prior to the wraithwound.

She had just finished when a screeching roar pierced the air. Lena’s head snapped up, and she scanned the darkness for the source of the noise. With her chained to a tree, and the soulbound unconscious, they would be easy prey for any creature who wandered into their camp.

Looking him over again, she spotted a dagger secured to his belt. Careful to avoid disturbing his wounds, she reached over him to pull it out. It was a fine blade, with one line of foreign text carved into the wooden handle. It seemed he tended to all of his things as carefully as he tended to his horse.

Once she confirmed he was stable, she sat guard for the rest of the night. Her ankle throbbed fiercely, but she didn’t dare move. Every so often, she checked his pulse to make sure it was improving and watched as his breathing became steady. She even went so far as to place her hand over his heart. Normally, she wouldn’t have dared, not with the wraith inside her, but she had to know his heart still beat. Lena wasn’t sure when she fell asleep, but by morning, she fully regretted having saved his life, again.

Chapter

Thirty-Eight

Lena awoke to him removing the dagger from her bloody hands. He wouldn’t even look at her. She didn’t care. Her ankle was throbbing, likely swollen inside her boot and she focused in on the pain.

“Where’s the key?” he asked, voice cold.