Elira’s anger flared like a burst of flame at my sudden weakness, but it didn’t stop her. Her grip tightened, and her eyes darkened with a fierce determination as she hauled me forward, not even pausing to acknowledge the strain in her own body.
I was heavier than her, broad-shouldered and solid—an obstacle that would have slowed anyone else, but not her. Her shadows surged to life, like an extension of herself, coiling beneath my feet and around my waist, as though they were part of her will. They supported my weight with unnatural ease, lifting me slightly off the ground as she moved, their dark tendrils wrapping around me like invisible hands.
The shadows bent and shifted, compensating for her own limitations, allowing her to drag me without faltering. I tried to shake it off, tried to force my feet to move. But blood was slick against my skin, and my vision was narrowing, edges fuzzy.
“I said,no,” Elira growled through clenched teeth, her voice shaking, but not from fear—no, it was something else. It was frustration. And exhaustion.
She was pushing her small body to the brink.
I could hear the pounding of her heart in the silence of the aftermath. She wasn’t just angry at the enemies we’d faced, at the bloodshed, or the chaos. She was angry at me for getting hurt and pissed that she failed to prevent it.
My little wildcat.
I felt the pull in her, her will pushing against me like an ocean against a stone.
“I can walk,” I slurred out.
“Stop being an idiot,” she snapped as she dragged me further into the shadow of a nearby hut. Her sharp breaths echoed in the cramped space.
The moment she eased me against the wall, she turned on her heel and grabbed a shard of cloth, pressing it against the wound in my side.
“I’m fine,” I muttered, but the words were a lie.
She cut me off with a low, guttural growl. “I’m not interested in yourfine,” she spat.
She ripped off a section of her shirt revealing her flat pale stomach and wrapped it around me tightly.
The cloth around my side was tight, the pressure both comforting and painful as Elira worked quickly. She didn’t look at me—her eyes were focused on the task at hand, determined and precise, but I could feel the tension in her shoulders. She was still angry, and I knew it wasn’t just about the fight.
The blood was slowing, but not fast enough. My breath came in shallow bursts, and I could tell I was pushing myself too far.
“Stay with me, grumpy bear,” she said, her voice low, almost a whisper, but the urgency in it cut through the fog creeping over my mind. Her fingers grazed the edges of the wound, and I flinched, but she didn’t say anything. She just kept working, even when I could see the tremor in her hands.
My gaze drifted, not fully focused, as I fought to keep my eyes open. The world felt too distant, too quiet. I wanted to speak, to say something that would reassure her, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, I let the silence settle, the only sound between us the raggedness of our breaths and the distant hum of the market chaos.
It wasn’t long before I heard the heavy footsteps approaching. I tried to call out, tried to warn her, but the words were thick in my throat.
“Elira!” The voice was familiar—Thorne, of course. But it wasn’t until I heard the clink of weapons, the steady rhythm of their movements, that I knew they were getting closer.
Thorne was the first to appear, his silhouette looming in the doorway of the small hut. His sharp eyes scanned the scene instantly, taking in the bloodstained cloth wrapped around my side, the faint sheen of sweat on Elira’s face, and her tense posture—still as a statue, her shoulders drawn tight as if expecting another attack. But before either of us could react, Leo was there, stepping past Thorne and closing the distance between himself and Elira.
He wrapped her in a strong, almost desperate hug, his large arms encircling her with a gentleness that surprised us all. But Elira didn’t push him away. She froze for a moment, her eyes wide, before slowly relaxing into the embrace. When he finally pulled away, it was as if he was checking for something,ensuring she was still there. His gaze flicked to the bloodied cloth wrapped around my side, then to my pale face.
His expression softened, but the concern didn’t hide the faint edge of frustration in his voice. "You’re bleeding," he said, his hands reaching out towards me. "It looks bad!”
"I'm fine," I muttered again, my voice weaker this time. The words were hollower, like a broken record. I could feel the heat of the blood draining out of me, but I couldn’t allow myself to show weakness—especially not in front of Elira.
I didn’t want her to worry.
But Leo wasn’t buying it. He shifted closer, his sharp gaze flicking from the blood-stained cloth to my face. “Where’s Phoenix?” I asked, trying to shift the conversation away from my wound.
Thorne stepped into the hut fully now, his boots making a soft thud on the dirt floor as he crossed to stand beside us. "They dragged off some people," he said, his voice low, controlled. "Men, women—doesn’t matter. He’s chasing them now to see if he can figure out where they’re going."
I nodded, relief stirring in my chest at the thought of Phoenix following through on his instincts. He’d find something. He always did.
But then Thorne’s eyes shifted back to me, a harder edge to his voice. “How bad are you hurt?” he asked, his gaze briefly lingering on the bloodstains that marred my shirt. “Can you ride to the castle?”
I gritted my teeth, pain flaring up in my side with every movement. But I wasn’t about to be left behind. Not now.
