Page 122 of A Cruel Kindness

Tightening my legs around Lucky’s saddle, he took off towards the camp and the infirmary at a full sprint.

The trip was short, if not from the fact that my vision was going black with pain. Despite it, Bellamy’s body never touched the saddle.

Lucky all but bucked us off of him when we reached the infirmary, bending down to help me get off of him as quickly as possible. When my boots hit the ground, he took off after Clover, who was hovering by the stables and drinking water.

“She’s shot. Someone make sure she’s okay,” I commanded, not speaking to anyone in particular but knowing that someone would listen.

I walked into the infirmary without another word. I had to make sure my girl was okay.

“What the hell?” Freya shouted when she saw me carrying Bellamy’s limp form. A distant, sane part of me knew that Bellamy would appreciate how much Esme and Freya cared about her.

The part of me that was controlled by the Bond only saw Freya as an impediment to getting Bellamy help. I shoved past her to an open bed in the back corner, barking a command at a doctor I saw entering to get the fuck over here.

I laid Bellamy down as carefully as I could. When her midnight black hair spilled over the crisp white of the hospital bed, I finally broke.

I fell to my knees next to her bed, holding her hand in mine and resting my forehead on her wrist. Her weak pulse pattered against my forehead like a bird’s fluttering wings.

I could hear people moving around me, orders being barked and equipment being shoved around, but I couldn’t move. I was paralyzed in fear.

My hearing was just fine though. With my head down and my eyes closed, I could just make out the sounds of scissors cutting through her pant leg and of metal clanking around.

Nausea rolled through my stomach. They were about to cut into her perfect, soft skin. I didn’t give a shit about scars, but you only gained them through some sort of pain.

I squeezed Bellamy’s hand even harder, muttering pleas to God and the Goddess under my breath. At some point, someone’s hand came down on my shoulder.

When the hand passed over my shirt in comforting, if not a little awkward, strokes, I knew it was Esme. She was probably the one person I was okay with seeing me like this. The only person who knew what—

“She’s going to be okay.”

My head snapped up, needing to see the face of whoever said that. Needed to see with my own eyes that they were telling the truth.

The doctor—Jansen, if I recalled—was peering into the open gash in Bellamy’s leg. Seeing any part of her in such a mutilated state was enough to send rage pumping through my veins so quick, the only thing that stopped me from rising was the pressure of Esme’s hand on my shoulder.

“She was shot,” I said, if not to remind myself that this was my reality.

Jansen nodded her head. “Arrow, from the looks of it. Not the smartest of you to remove it, but she’ll be fine.”

I shook my head, trying to remember if I’d seen one near her. Maybe she’d ripped it out herself in a panic. “There wasn’t an arrow,” I said, my voice barely able to say the words it was so hoarse.

Jansen’s eyebrows pinched together. “It wasn’t near her?”

I could have missed it. My focus was so singular, making sure Bellamy was okay, that maybe there was one in the grass somewhere.

But I trusted her. I knew she was well-trained. She would have known not to remove it, even through panic. “No.”

Jansen hummed under her breath, all curiosity. The Bond was still thrashing, making me want to snap at the doctor that there was nothing curious about my Soul Mate being hurt, but I held my tongue.

I forced myself to watch as Jansen inspected Bellamy’s leg, even as she tucked her fingers inside the cuts to feel around. Nausea rolled and panic rose, but after a moment, Jansen leaned back, looking relieved.

“I need a scan to confirm, but…” Her eyebrows rose as she shook her head in disbelief. “She got really lucky. Whoever shot her managed to completely miss the bone and bypass her femoral artery. She’s lost a lot of blood, but even if she was out there all night, she would have survived.”

“Why isn’t she awake yet?” It must have been close to two hours. Too soon, probably, but the Bond was impatient. I was too.

Jansen pointed to the purple veins crackling up and down Bellamy’s leg. “Arrow was probably laced in poison. Common practice for a lot of Muli hunters. It speeds up the death so animals they hunt don’t have to go painfully.”

I opened my mouth to ask why the hell we were sitting here talking when Bellamy had been poisoned, but Jansen raised a hand to cut me off. “If she’s still breathing she’s fine. They probably used a lower dose.”

“Someone planned this,” Esme said, her voice soft. When I turned to her, she was looking at Bellamy with pinched brows.