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The wolf holding me down relaxes his grip, shifts, then returns to keeping me balanced with my injured side up.
Seemingly unaware of Oliver’s ire, the Voice crouches down. She brushes my hair from my face. It’s difficult to know what she’s thinking. I can’t read that stoic expression.
“She will not die from such an injury.” Her hand remains pressed to my head as she looks up at Oliver. “It is poison only to your kind. Miss Valmont may have claws, but she is no wolf. It will help her sleep and stave off the risk of infection.”
I cannot begin to guess why she would help me.
The Voice rises gracefully, then walks away. She hasn’t gone more than a few yards before she pauses. “You would do well to make sure it does not fall into the wrong hands.”
When I blink, she has vanished. Logically, I know she used her vampire speed, but in my delirium, I’m left with the strange impression that she was a specter, vanishing like the smoke from a match.
Then Oliver is before me. Gentle hands, only slightly calloused, cradle my face and check me over.
“Lift her up so I can wrap her,” a soft voice orders.
I am surprised that the wolf who sewed me up with such stern motions owns a voice so gentle.
If Oliver takes exception to one of his pack members daring to give him an order, he does nothing to show it. His hands slide under me and gingerly lifts me into his arms. My fingers curl into his jacket, and I bury my face against his shoulder. He strokes my head and murmurs soothing words.
Was I poisoned?I ask Varin silently.
Even when they do not speak, I’m able to sense them with me. Their constant presence is a comfort I never expected.
The moment stretches before their answer comes.No. Trust in these wolves. You will heal before we reach to the Keep.
With that, I relax. I still don’t understand why the Voice would help keep me alive. Part of me wants to believe it’s a trick. Elizabeth wants me dead, so the only reason that makes sense for her to keep me alive is if I still serve some purpose to her queen.
Someone tugs on my clothes, tearing my top further and more poultice is pressed against the wound, then the wolves who have been tending to me work together to secure a wrap around my middle.
The effects of whatever the Voice forced me to drink is beginning to work. My limbs grow heavy and my body numb. No matter how hard I try, I can’t keep my eyes open any longer.
The sounds of activity are all around me. Hoof steps clomp over, bringing the scent of warm apples and grass.
Oliver hooks his arm under my legs and lifts me up. I am cocooned in warmth as he carries me. He shifts, and then I’m rocking from the gentle sway of Nyx’s gait.
“Clara?” Oliver speaks my name.
“Hmmm?” It’s the closest I can come to forming an answer.
“What happened back there?” The question is tentative.
“Mmm… a trick… she never….” I try to explain, but I am exhausted, and I am not yet ready to talk about what happened.
The pull of sleep is irresistible, so I quit fighting it.
***
“Clara,” a man’s voice calls, breaking through the dark fog of unconsciousness.
It’s warm and comfortable here. I feel like I’m floating. And I’m not ready to leave. I try to sink deeper into unconsciousness.
“Clara.” That same voice continues to follow me, tugging and pulling. “Clara, you need to wake up now.”
The more he calls to me, the faster I am forced out of the peaceful dark.
Someone pats my cheek. After a pause, he does it again.
I groan. Shifting slightly is enough to make me aware of every ache and pain. My entire body is stiff with cold, even though I’m being held against a warm body and blanketed.
