Page 4 of Dragon King’s Bullied Mate

Leave him.

The thought came strong and demanding.

Leave him, and walk away, and let the mountain take what it already claimed.

Whatever he had been doing here had nothing to do with her. If she turned now and gathered Beckett and went back to the cottage, no one would ever know she had found him.

Most likely, no one would ever find him, at least not for a long time. But then she dug deeper and her gaze landed on his face.

It was far too pale and his lips were tinged blue. His breath was so faint she had to strain to see it, and his arms were curved around his head. His fingers were frozen and unmoving, but she could see the cuts and the blood on them from his attempts to dig the snow away from his face.

No one deserved this.

The second thought hit harder. No one deserved to die alone and buried in the cold as though his life had meant nothing at all.

Not even him.

Lyra closed her eyes briefly and a flicker of anger tightened in her chest. Not at him, but at the cruel part of herself that still hesitated and still remembered too much.

“Damn you,” she whispered under her breath. Whether it was meant for him or herself, even she did not know.

Behind her, Beckett let out a small, anxious sound, and that decided it.

Lyra continued her desperate attempt to free Mikael. The snow was heavy and unyielding as she tried to roll him, and it almost took more strength than she had. Her hands had lost all feelings despite her gloves as she pulled until she could get a better grip beneath his shoulders. He was heavy but she couldn’t give up.

“Lyra?” Beckett’s voice came, edged with fear.

“I’m coming, sweetheart,” she called back. “Stay where you are.”

Every inch she dragged Mikael was accomplished through sheer stubbornness. His weight resisted her at every step as the snow packed and slowed her efforts. More than once she nearly lost her footing. Her muscles burned and her lungs ached from the cold, but she did not let go.

Not when it would have been easier and not when part of her still whispered that she should. She worried that his injuries would worsen with each tug, but she had no options. Beckett followed behind and fought his own battle as he carried the basket.

The first flakes started to fall by the time they reached the cottage. Her arms trembled with effort and her body screamed in protest. Lyra forced herself forward with one last surge and hauled Mikael across the threshold and into the space she had made her own.

Beckett hovered near the fireplace, his eyes wide as he stared at the unconscious man as Lyra struggled to strip off the king’s soaked clothes.

“Who is that?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

Lyra did not answer immediately. Finally she glanced at him. “We’ll talk in a minute, okay? I have to get him warm first.”

She cleared a space near the hearth where the floor was warm and pulled Mikael onto her thickest throw rug. It would have to do until she had the strength to lift him. She dragged blankets from her bed and tucked them around him.

Her first order of business was wrapping his head where he had a large gash across his forehead. Blood flowed freely from the wound as he warmed up, and she needed to stop the flow. Her mind raced as she worked, trying to piece together what she had just done and what would come next.

Trouble.

That much she knew with absolute certainty.

“Listen to me,” she said, finally turning to Beckett as she knelt beside Mikael’s still form. “I need you to go to your room and change into some dry clothes. Put your wet things in the washroom.”

Beckett didn’t move. “Lyra, I’m scared.” The admission broke her house.

“I know, sweetheart. But we’ll be fine. I just need to figure out what I need to do now. I need you to help me by getting into warm clothes.”

His gaze flicked from her to Mikael and back again and for a moment she thought he might refuse.

“Okay,” he whispered.