Page 69 of A Courage of the Chosen

“It’s been happening for a long time,” Callahan mildly reminds her.

Someone has cleaned Erin up since the last I saw her, and now she’s not covered in dirt and blood, it’s easy to see the effects of what she’s been through in her pale skin and sunken cheeks.

Her hair is fanned out on the pillow and her hands lie limply at her sides. If it weren’t for the steady rise and fall of her chest, I’d think she were dead.

It’s beyond callous to have done this to her, and my blood boils at the thought of how many children like Erin have seen atrocities that no infant should endure. That instinct to protect her again is sudden and fierce, and the anger sweeps through me like a wildfire.

Find him. Kill him. End this.

The beast purrs for retribution. Not just for me or Erin or Mom or Granny, but for everyone that has been harmed by the Dorche.

Frigid frost pours through my bloodstream, turning the white-hot anger into something colder and more deadly. The kind of rage that could end worlds hardens in my gut and steals my breath.

That new tune in my heart, wicked and ominous, sings louder and louder, summoning me closer with each harmony.

I focus on the tiny form lying in the bed, to stop me from mounting Mabel and using the dark threads in my core to find wherever Tavish is hiding.

There’s a little warmth to Erin’s fingers now when I take her hand in mine, settling into the lone chair at the side of her bed. My palm encases it completely.

“Erin is healing very well, I’ve stayed with her all night. She should be awake any minute now.”

I turn to face the short Seelie who just spoke to us. Her gray dress is long with a white apron over the top, and dark blond hair is neatly tied at the back of her head. Faint wrinkles crease the corner of her eyes, that are heavy with exhaustion. She was patient yesterday, when I asked her questions in a clipped tone as she treated Erin’s injuries.

“What’s your name?” I ask her.

“I am Lorna Campbell, my lady.” She dips into a curtsey.

“Thank you for taking such good care of her, Lorna. I’m sorry if I was short with you.”

“There’s no need to apologize. I’ve dealt with far worse.”

I don’t like the idea of someone being rude to her. She radiates the type of presence that means I could see her being nothing else but a healer, and that shouldn’t be taken for granted.

“Try healing soldiers and not developing an extraordinary level of patience,” Lorna adds with a smirk. “Lady Macleod,” she greets Reyne.

“I’ve been able to determine she’s around eight, albeit she’s on the wee side for a lass her age. But she’s strong.” Lorna’s eyes pass over Erin.

My mouth opens to ask more about her recovery, but a tiny mumble from the bed snaps all our focus.

Lorna shifts to the other side, and holds her hands over Erin’s chest, closing her eyes. Similar to last night, warm energy begins to gather around her, like nothing I’ve ever felt before. That second heartbeat in my chest, where my own magic lives, surges in response to this power, as though it’s drawn to Lorna’s energy.

“She is well. She simply needs lots of rest and a few hot meals. Erin will be on her feet in no time. I suggest we keep her here for another night to watch over her.”

“Thank you, Lorna.” Callahan’s voice is low from the corner of the room. “Arrangements have already been made for her.”

The healer leaves us then, just as Erin starts to fidget beneath the blankets.

“Erin?” I ask softly.

She blinks her eyes open, the brown clearer than they were in the library before she passed out. Erin’s chest begins to rise and fall rapidly, and she tugs her hand away from mine.

“It’s okay,” I soothe. “No one is going to hurt you. You’re safe now. I promise.” My words don’t mean anything, that much is clear from the look on her face.

Reyne steps forward, perching herself on the foot of the bed. “Hi, Erin. My name is Reyne.”

“Hi.” She squeaks, fisting the blankets.

Erin’s gaze keeps flicking over to Callahan, where he’s leaning against the wall.