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She had to shift back to human form to continue healing. But her heart was slowing again.
“She’s still dying,” I groaned.
The realization swept through everyone gathered around, but before anyone could begin the mourning howl, Bradley thundered again, his command inescapable, “Shift!”
And somehow, she obeyed.
Her fur receded, her limbs reformed, arms and legs thickening until she was pale again. Finally, she was human, without the gaping wounds that had stretched her open. Her heartbeat was sluggish and weak, her lungs rattling slightly as she breathed.
Finnick darted forward, startling me. I growled, but he was just pulling off the cloth that had bound her wounds. The skin underneath the red-soaked bandages was clean and clear. He rolled her over, double checking that all wounds were gone. His hands moved over her skin as if he had to feel every inch of her, to make certain.
“Healed,” he whispered. “She’s healed.”
She was, but by the moon, she was thin. Like a prisoner, each rib outlined, each muscle protruding in a way that showed she had never eaten enough to develop the softness that other girls had. The only curves she had were those of the tight, lean muscles that defined her body.
I didn’t care. She was alive. I would feed her every delicacy she ever wanted, starting with the hearts of her enemies, if she would let me kill them for her. Still kneeling, I wondered at the way the moonlight shimmered over her skin.
First shifts had the effect of erasing all injuries in a way later ones did not. She was as physically perfect now as she would have been at birth.
Which was why it was odd to see the five silvered marks that stretched from her left shoulder across her chest to her waist on the right.
A birthmark? I didn’t care. She was perfect in every way.
Thank you, Mother Moon. Thank you for whatever part of her is mine to care for, to protect, to worship. I will never hurt her.
26
Dreaming of Death
FLOR
Pain tied me up, stuck a sock in my mouth, and dragged me down a gravel road that seemed to never end, cutting into my insides and pulling me apart as it went.
My throat was pulsing with agony, my head split open by razor blades dipped in acid. My lungs were filled with what had to be blood, but my mouth was dry as sand. I’d never imagined this kind of pain was what I’d find in the fighting ring. If I’d known, I would have run from the Southern packlands and taken my chances with the feral rogues.
Why wasn’t I dead? Hadn’t Trevor killed me?
I wanted to die. Before I remembered that the moon had never answered me, I prayed for it. Let me die. Take me now, before I break.
She didn’t answer me now, either. But someone did.
Buried in the gritty rockfalls of pain, Del’s voice was a gentle touch. “Trevor? Kill you? That boy couldn’t wipe his ass with both hands, girlie. Millie over at the laundry told me as much.”
I wanted to laugh, or cry, or jump for joy, but I could barely manage a whimper.
“Del?” I whispered into the darkness. “Are you all right?”
“Sure,” he replied. “But don’t worry about me right now. I need you to focus, or that useless piece of shit will win after all. Focus on slowing your blood, slowing your breath. Hear me? The boys are fighting for you now. Give them the time to save you.”
The boys? Save me? What was going on in the world outside the ocean of pain I was in?
“Focus. Slow everything down. Now.”
Del was dead. I knew that, so I knew this couldn’t really be him. It was my subconscious, or something. It just felt so good to hear his voice, I almost wanted to ignore his instructions. But he’d kick my ass in the afterlife if I didn’t at least try to hold on.
“Del, say hi to Mom, will you?”
A strange silence slid around me like a cold embrace. “Sure, kid.”
