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Howling, it staggered backward and fell, clutching at its wound. Glaring at Micah, it started toward him, clearly intending to finish him, but didn’t make it. The wolf fell facedown and didn’t move, blood seeping out onto the ground.
Panting, Micah lifted his head, ignoring the pain enveloping him; then he wished he hadn’t. His shoulder and chest were a mangled mess, as was his right leg, the bloodied femur sticking through his cammo pants. His broken arm felt like it was hanging by a thread inside his jacket.
Dying. He was dying, and he couldn’t help his buddies. The knowledge was more agonizing than his wounds.
Through a red haze, he saw Jax fall, then Ryon, Nix, and so many others. All of them, one by one. Except Aric, who was still putting up a good fight.
Unsheathing his knife, Aric spun to face the beast coming up on his flank. “Come on, bitch. Let’s dance.”
“Get him,” Micah whispered through bloodied lips. But his friend couldn’t hear.
Aric rushed in and leapt, burying the blade to the handle in the creature’s throat. As it fell, Aric whirled and thrust out a hand, and as Micah watched in amazement, a column of flame shot out from Aric’s palm and engulfed the wolf-man. Screeching, the beast dropped to the ground, writhing as it burned.
“Take that, cocksucker!”
Micah blinked. What the ever-loving fuck?
Then, moving slowly, Aric palmed another grenade. “Come on, you ugly fucker. Come to Papa.”
The creature ran at Aric and took him to the ground, and he pulled the grenade’s pin. When the wolf stuck its nose in Aric’s face, its mouth open, his friend rammed his fist down the beast’s throat, pushing his arm as far as it would go. Immediately, the thing gagged and jerked back reflexively, clawing at his shoulder and arm to dislodge him. Aric scrambled backward, moving fast.
The grenade detonated, spraying fur, blood, and entrails everywhere. God. Aric lay still, and Micah prayed the man wasn’t dead.
It came to him then that the sounds of battle had ceased after the grenade. Now there were only the moans of the wounded and dying. He tried again to move, but his limbs felt as though they were encased in cement. His lungs felt wet, and he knew he was drowning in his own blood. It was just a matter of time.
“Mom,” he choked. Tears rolled down his temples, into his hair. “I’m sorry. So sorry.”
His mother hadn’t wanted him to join the military. Now she’d mourn her only son. And it was all his fault.
“Hey,” a voice said from above him. A palm rested on his hair. “Easy does it.”
Blinking, Micah tried to focus. “Who?”
“It’s me, Zan. I’m a Healer, and I’m going to help you, okay? Just stay calm.”
“Say what now?” Narrowing his eyes, Micah peered up at his friend. Zan’s dark hair and serious but gentle blue eyes became clear.
“I’m a Healer,” Zan repeated, lips quirking some. But there was sadness in the small smile, and no little pain. “Surprise, huh? We all have our secrets.”
“Who’s going to heal you?” Zan’s shoulder had been plenty mangled by those bastards.
“Don’t worry about that right now. Let’s take care of you.”
A Healer? The guy must be out of his mind with grief and shock. It was understandable. With his good hand, Micah gripped his friend’s arm. “Zan. Tell my mom and my sister I love them,” he whispered. “Please.”
“Shh,” Zan soothed, placing a hand on Micah’s mangled chest. His blue eyes were filled with pain. “Just hang on. You’ll make it, trust me. You’ll see your mom and sister again. I promise.”
“Tell them.”
“I promise, but it won’t be necessary. Tell them yourself.”
A brilliant blue light enveloped Micah, and warmth seeped through his battered body, to every limb. Pain and shock took their toll and finally carried him away.
Zan had been only half right that horrible day. Micah had survived.
But he never saw his mother again.
* * *
