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As I stand above him, panic grips me for a moment before I see his chest moving. His stomach is a gouged, bleeding mess, but he’s alive.

“That was fucking dumb.” His eyes open and clash with mine. “I can’t die, remember? You can.” Despite my harsh words, I sink to my knees and take his hand, checking his wound as the others finally walk this way.

“I didn’t want to. The mate bond demanded it,” he grumbles, his teeth clenched in agony.

“Sure thing.” I glance at Kitt since he seems the most in charge. “Now, what the fuck do we do?”

CHAPTER

FOURTEEN

The van is fucking totalled. I manage to recover my bag, and they grab their things before Kitt and Bram get to work, stripping a door completely off, and then they slide Torrin onto the metal. Blood trails after him and he groans, his eyes half-lidded as they each grab a corner and look at me. “We’ll walk from here. We need to find somewhere to lie low, but more will be coming no doubt. Let’s go.” They set off down the road, dragging Torrin behind them. With little other choice, I fall into step with Emrys and Raiden, wiping away the blood and tissue on my arm as I do.

There’s a small tug on my hair, and I look down to see my little friend. Sparing the others a glance, I crouch near the base of a tree and scoop him into my hand before lowering him to the ground.

“Thanks for keeping me company, buddy. It’s not something I’m used to, but I like it. It’s too dangerous for you though. You’re so little, and a lot of people want to kill us. Go on and live a good life.” He eyes me for a moment before scurrying into the tree. Watching him go with a smile, I dust off my hands and stand, only to find all of the guys watching me. I storm past them, refusing to lower myself to their glowering and moody behaviour.

Thirty minutes later, though, we are forced off the main road and into the forest when it’s clear there is nothing for miles. Kitt thinks this will be a shortcut, but every rock and bump of the door on the uneven ground sends a spasm of pain through Torrin, and he writhes and roars in agony.

After five minutes of it, I can’t take any more. I storm up to Kitt and stop in his path. His eyes narrow on me. “Wait,” I demand as I kneel next to Torrin and dig around in my bag. My hands connect with what I need just as I’m yanked to my feet by my wrist, herbs clutched in my grip.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Kitt asks roughly, eyeing me like I’m a venomous snake, ready to strike.

“My mother is a mage, so I know about herbs. These are from Flora, and they’ll help with the pain. If he carries on like this, he’ll tear himself open and bleed out.” I try to rip my hand away, twisting it in his grip, but he only tightens his hold, and I feel my bones grind together. I don’t cry out or protest, even as he steps closer. Just then, Torrin lets out a wail of pain, and Kitt glances at him, fear in his gaze before he looks back at me.

“Either let me help him or he’ll die. Your choice.” I twist my hand again and open it to show him the herbs. “Do you trust me enough to save him, or will you let him die?”

I see him debating his options before Emrys pulls my hand from Kitt’s. “Do it.”

They exchange glances, talking silently, and I leave them to it as I sink to my knees and reach out, cupping Torrin’s clammy face and turning it towards me. He’s delirious, though, and when I try to offer him the herbs, he simply moans and writhes.

Damn it. I rack my brain, trying to remember the lessons I was taught before an idea comes to mind. Stuffing the herbs in my mouth, I chew them into a paste, grab Torrin’s jaw, force his mouth open, and slide it in. Working his throat, I watch him swallow, and within minutes, his colour is better and his clenched eyelids relax. The herbs work swiftly, knocking him out, and then I relax with a breath.

“They won’t last long with his size and metabolism. We need to find somewhere soon.” Wiping off my hands, I stand and find Kitt watching me. “No need to thank me.”

“I wasn’t going to because this is your fault. Let’s move,” he barks, and we practically run, dragging Torrin and the metal. I keep up as we hurry through the trees before I see an old wooden sign. Darting forward, I ignore their calls and break out of the tree line with a grin.

“Found us a place!” I call as they join me. “It isn’t much, but it should work, right?”

At the top of a small mountain, a lodge perches upon the rocks. This area is covered in snow in the winter no doubt, but for now, it’s all grassy hills and rocks. There’s a rusty, forgotten chairlift hanging high above, as if whoever owned this place just closed up one day and left. It’s abandoned, judging by the overgrowth and rust everywhere. We choose to climb the mountain instead of risking the lift, and once we reach the top, we peer into the lodge. It’s one large building, with what looks like a restaurant on the first and second floors, a gift shop, and not much else, but it will do. It’s also dark and cold—perfect for us monsters. The chairlift benches sway in the breeze, creaking as I yank on the handle and force the back door open. Wind billows in after us, blowing leaves in as well, but we ignore it as the guys hurry Torrin inside, pushing dust-covered tables and chairs out of the way. Leaving them to it, I head to the gift shop. Most of the products are gone, clearly taken when this place closed, but I find piles of old ski coats in boxes at the back. Clutching them, I head over and lay the jackets out in front of the fireplace and stone chimney.

“Lay him there,” I direct, and despite their hatred of me, they do so, their concern for their friend overshadowing everything else.

As they settle him in, I explore the rest of the space. The two stories aren’t big, but it’s quaint. There’s a weird, musty smell to it, but nothing that will kill us. I hear the telltale sound of mice in the walls, but again, nothing that will harm us. All in all, we got lucky. Once I’m back downstairs, I lean against the fireplace, rearranging some wood inside, and blow onto it. Flames ignite, and I shut the grate and step back as the fire bursts to life, lighting up the darkened room and warming it slowly. The heat doesn’t reach the entire space, especially to the dusty windows, but it’s better than nothing.

“Don’t suppose anyone has food?” I ask as they hurry around, doing their own tasks. “Hello?” I call, and Kitt clutches my bruised wrist, drags me from the main dining area, and kicks open a few doors before shoving me into what looks to be an old coat closet. There are hangers and shelves but not much else. There isn’t a window either, just the door and shelves. Tossing me inside, he glares at me.

“I don’t trust you around us. You’ll stay here until we leave.” He slams the door and locks it.

Snarling, I tug at the handle, knowing I could break it, but then he’d only find another way to lock me up. Turning away in frustration, I begin to pace. I try to settle down after a while, but being trapped alone in the dark gets me back on my feet as old fears return.

I’m not in Gehenna. I remind myself over and over, hoping I’ll believe it, but the room closes in. It’s too hot, dark, and familiar. I’m trapped again.

Sinking to my knees, I cover my ears and head, rocking on the carpet as I try to distract myself from the useless panic clawing at me. I don’t know how much time passes until an unfamiliar sound breaks through the madness and fear.

Whimpering.

Pained whimpering, like a wounded animal.