Chapter 97
Ember
I hold Kellan's hand.
Or—I try to.
His fingers tighten around mine, convulsing, crushing, and I feel the bones in my hand snap—twice, maybe three times.
I don't let go.
I don't even flinch.
Pain doesn't matter.
Not when his pain is pouring into me through the bond like molten lava, drowning every thought, every breath.
Lady Kaia kneels beside him, blood up to her elbows, face carved in stone. Multiple healers surround us, forming a desperate circle over Kellan's broken body.
"Again," she says sharply.
Two wolves brace his legs. Another pins his shoulders. And the healer on his right drives his palms into Kellan's ribcage with a sickening, wet crunch.
Kellan jerks violently—so violently I'm nearly thrown aside—but I throw my weight over his chest and hold him down, screaming for him, screaming inside my own skull.
"Heal slower, damn you," Kaia snarls at him, as if yelling at a god.
But Kellan's healing doesn't listen.
It stitches the bone wrong.
