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For a second, I heard nothing but the erratic beat of my heart. Howls pierced the silence.
Freya chuckled.
“You guys are screwed.”
Those are some big-ass dogs.
Darkness tunneled my vision, and I fought to hold onto consciousness. The six wolves were almost as big as Arion and looked just as mean. They charged down the mountain and leaped with uncanny grace across the creek. As they lunged for the dark witches, their huge claws dug into the earth. One wolf, who was as black as night and had bright yellow eyes, tore into the evil redheaded witch.
I looked away from the gruesome scene. The witches had nearly killed us, but it was still too much to watch. Everything had become too much. Dizziness blurred my vision and muddled my thoughts. I stared at the rocks. Blood spattered them, both black and crimson. I reached out to touch it and lost my balance.
I barely felt my body thud against the ground. The rocks had softened. I wanted to sink into them and rest for days. Sleep was something I often longed for, but, this time, I allowed myself to drift away.
Chapter Nine
Freya
Walker wouldn’t stop bleeding.
The remaining dark witches fled or were decimated, so the magic binding me in my shackles finally evaporated. I didn’t understand why the dark witches had wanted to take me hostage rather than kill me outright, but there was no time to ponder it. Arion stormed through the woods and rushed to my side. Black blood stained his maw, and he bared his teeth at the wolves who surrounded us. He’d never been a fan of theirs.
“Hey, friend. I was starting to get worried about you. Thanks for your help.” I scratched him behind his ears. “I need your help finding a few herbs.”
I listed the various things I needed to heal Walker—lavender, sage, and tarragon—and instructed him to search for them.
The wolves came to a halt around me. Their synchronized movements had always freaked me out. Covens were close, but packs were something else. It was as if they shared a single brain.
“Shift,” I instructed the nearest wolf, Ryder. I’d recognize his dark coat and dayglow yellow eyes anywhere.
Ryder did as I asked. He ran a hand through his shaggy, black hair. Sunlight gleamed against his light brown skin and rippling muscles, which were on full display. Werewolves weren’t known for modesty.
When they look like this, why should they be?
A loose string had fallen to his ankles. Attached to it was a small bag of clothes. They’d clearly meant to encounter others if they’d bothered packing a bag. I wondered if I was the one they were tracking.
“I need you to use that nose of yours and search for the herbs—Walker is bleeding too quickly.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but I headed for Walker’s prone body. When werewolves spoke, walking away from an Alpha—or an Alpha’s son—was a huge form of disrespect, but I didn’t have time for diplomacy or fragile male egos.
I took off my jacket and placed it under Walker’s pale face, then grabbed the bottom of my shirt. I found a sharp rock and used it to tear off the strip. I wrapped it around Walker’s leg to cut off blood flow. The bleeding persisted, but at least it slowed.
I hoped Walker had passed out more from the shock of bloodshed than from his own blood loss. Watching witches die—even deceitful, covenant-breaking ones—had been hard. Death by werewolf was certainly not the way I wanted to go.
At least they’re on your side, I thought, for now.
“What the hell, Freya?” Ryder snapped and stormed over to me. He’d finally thrown on some sweatpants. The other wolves scattered, hopefully to search for what I needed.
“I thought I asked you to do something,” I said and checked Walker’s pulse. For now, it was steady. I tried to send magical feelers across the woods for the herbs, but healing magic wasn’t intuitive for me, and I was drained from the fight.
“That’s an interesting way to say thank you,” he huffed.
I sighed. “I’m sorry. It’s been a taxing few days.”
He gave me a hard stare, like he wanted to ask what I meant but was also hesitant to hear the answer. I wondered if he’d heard about my mom.
I prayed he had nothing to do with it.
Arion returned with the lavender and tarragon in his mouth. He spat it in my hand, already ground up from his sharp teeth.
