Page 182 of Feralheart

Someone pressed against the wound and warmth bled through. Her magic. She was here. She’d found me.

My mouth wouldn’t cooperate, but I tried to say her name anyway.

Eradin’s face appeared above me, her brown eyes stark with fear. She’d slipped her hands beneath my tunic and pressed them against the wound.

“Stay with me,” she said. “Don’t you dare die after I just—” Her voice cracked. “Stay.”

I wanted to tell her I wasn’t going anywhere. That I’d survived and so had she and that was all that mattered.

But my vision went black before I could make my mouth work.

The last thing I felt was her hands on my shoulder, steady and warm, refusing to let go.

I woke, lying on my bed inside my tent, Vella sitting on a stool beside me.

“The healer will be here soon,” she said, her grip tightening on my arm. “Rest.”

“Where’s Eradin?” I growled.

“I sent the commons away.”

“Bring her back.”

Her gaze widened. “Sire⁠—”

“Bring her back!”

She jumped. “If you insist.” Rising, she left the tent.

Eradin slipped in through the opening not long after. She came over and dropped to the floor at my side.

“Your tunic’s ruined,” she said, not looking at my face. Her hands hovered over the blood-soaked fabric stuck to my shoulder.

“You’re not worried about my tunic.”

“No. I’m not.”

She hadn’t looked at me since she’d entered. Not once. She was looking everywhere else with the intensity of someone who’d decided that looking would cost them more than they could afford to pay.

I understood the feeling.

“I’m alright,” I said.

“Good.” She released a short exhale through her nose. “I need to get this off you.”

“Be my guest.”

“Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

“I’m being cooperative.”

“You’re being impossible.” She grabbed the blade from the bedside table and sawed through the fabric. When she peeled the tunic away from the wound, her fingers barely touched my skin, yet my entire nervous system noted every single point of contact anyway.

She dropped the ruined tunic beside her. “Stay still.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Never. Not as long as she was near.

“This is bad. You’ve messed up all my fine stitching.”