Get it OUt
*Hezzlie*
“Rowan!” I implore my mate, staring down at his face as he continues to grow more pale by the second. My magic glows around the wound, but he doesn’t seem to be getting any better. I need James, and I need him now.
“Get. It. Out.” Rowan manages to say through gritted teeth.
At first, I’m not sure what he’s talking about. My magic? But then I realize he must mean the bullet. Is it still lodged in his shoulder?
“The silver… is poisoning… me,” he says, sweat pouring down his forehead.
I understand now. It wasn’t just a regular bullet that the queen shot at him, after all. It was a silver bullet, and that’s deadly to wolves for more reasons than one.
He’s right. I need to get it out. I can’t wait for James.
For a second, I think about how gross it would be to have to dig that sucker out of the bloody wound, but I can’t do that. Even if I had the right tools, I couldn’t do it. Instead, I need to rely on the one asset I have that’s gotten me through every problem I’ve faced so far–my magic.
I’ve never tried to do anything like this before, but I decide to give it a whirl.
In my mind’s eye, I envision the bullet slipping back through the muscle of Rowan’s shoulder and coming back through the hole. Rowan grunts, and when I open my eyes, I see that I’m hurting him. The tiny beads of sweat that had appeared on his forehead a bit ago are thicker, and there are more of them. He’s grimacing, but he’s trying to be strong, and I know he wouldn’t tell me that it’s hurting even if he could. I have to hurry and get it out.
As much as it kills me that I’m causing him pain, I have to finish what I’ve started.
With my eyes open now so that I can see the progress I’m making, I intensify my magic the best I can, and a few moments later, the bullet pops through the hole that it originally made in his shoulder, and I swipe it away. It lands on the ground next to Rowan’s shoulder.
He shudders, but then he lets out a sigh, and I know that he’s better off with the bullet out. I place my hand over his wound, and my light intensifies. I see the skin around the red raised wound begin to change color as his flesh mends itself together.
It doesn’t take long before it’s clear that the wound is healed, and a moment later, Rowan begins to stir. He wants up.
He reaches out and grabs my wrist. “You did it, Hezzlie,” he tells me, gingerly sitting up. “I’m good, baby.”
I stare into his eyes for a moment and then let out a sharp breath before I press my lips against his. He kisses me back, and when he lets me go, I’m crying.
“What the hell?”
We both turn to see James climbing off the back of one of the wolf warriors. His eyes are wide with confusion.
“I healed him,” I explain. I hold up my hand, which is now covered with blood. “I did it.”
“That’s… amazing,” James says, and I smile back at him. “Come with me back to the mansion, then. There are plenty of others who need your help.”
“Be careful,” Rowan says, his tone warning. “Don’t wear yourself out.”
“I’ll be careful,” I assure him, and then he kisses me again, and I stand.
I’m just about to climb on the back of the wolf that brought James here when movement catches my eye back toward the castle. I turn to see my brother’s wolf coming out of the castle with blood dripping down his front. I don’t have to ask to know that he’s killed our father. I look at him for a moment, silently asking if he’s okay, and even though I can see he’s far from happy, he only nods.
Later, I will go to him and assure him that he did the right thing. When he sees his mother’s body lying on the ground near his mate, Aiden rushes over, and I can only imagine the conversation they are having through the mind-link. But he won’t be mad at her. She did what she had to do, too.
I climb on the wolf’s back, and James tells me, “The healers are triaging the wounded. They’ll tell you what to do. I’ll continue to check the wounded on the battlefield.”
“All right,” I tell him. I take one last look at Rowan, who is in his wolf form now, and with one last smile, I turn and hold on to the wolf’s fur as he takes off sprinting toward the mansion.
The closer we get to home, the more chaos seems to erupt around us, but it’s not battle this time. It’s the movement of dozens of wounded wolves on stretchers or in the arms of others being moved toward the house. Some of them limp in themselves in various forms–some human, some wolf. Some of them are stark naked while others have on tattered shorts or sweatpants. The wolf I’m riding doesn’t slow, only dodges around them, and soon, I’m dropped at the front door.
I thank him, and he nods before rushing off again, probably responding to an order through a mind-link, and then I burst through the door, and the chaos inside is even more insane than I could ever imagine.
I take a deep breath and dive in.
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