a wolf before, but I think it’s in your best interest if I just attach you to me at all times.”
Vorria starts to chant, and despite my inability to really feel my body, the telltale cool feel of healing magic washes over me.
“You’re the one who keeps...leaving me,” I accuse playfully, my words partly slurred and clumsy as they tumble out of my mouth. “I just wanted...to stay in bed,” I add, giving Tyran my best you should have listened to me look. “I mean, what’s a girl gotta do to get a cuddle?”
“Stay here, Mate, and I’ll cuddle you all you like.” When I cough, Tyran’s throat bobs and his eyes go pained. He leans in, pressing his fingers into my claiming mark, like he wants to remind me of our connection, anchor me to this world even though my body is trying to slip away. “You hear me? You’re not going anywhere, Seneca.”
“Bitch ass, leg humping fuckers,” Vorria barks out, and Tyran looks over at her with concern. “There’s a lot of damage, Alpha,” she tells him plainly.
His lips pull back from his teeth. If he were in wolf form right now, he would be snapping and growling at her. “Fix it,” he bites out, and just those two words fill me with horrifying sorrow at his desperation to keep me alive, to keep me with him.
I didn’t get enough time, I think, as teardrops flow from my eyes. Not nearly enough time with this pack, with him. My wolf whines inside of me, the wound paining her, our shared spirits cracking.
Vorria shoots him a sympathetic look. “I could drain myself dry, and I will, Alpha, but it might not be enough,” she tells him matter-of-factly, and I blanch at the truth I hear ringing in her words as fear soaks my cheeks.
Tyran looks like all the breath was stolen from his lungs in a brutal hit, like he’ll never be able to breathe again. “You’re fucking strong, Seneca, so I want you to fight, you hear me?” he says, hands cupping my cheeks and holding me firm. “I just got you, and I refuse to let you go.”
My eyes are pulled away from his beautiful brown ones when Vorria presses down brutally against my wound, making me see stars and let out a gargled scream. I look down, watching as she presses harder against my stomach and shoves her magic forcefully into me. I gasp at the sensation that starts to spread, feeling the cool flood of her power. I immediately close my eyes and do something my mother and I used to do. I visualize the blood stopping and the layers of muscle, fat, and skin starting to knit back together.
Leading the magic, my mom used to say.
I focus as much of my energy as I can on getting better in hopes that it helps to save Vorria. I don’t want her being drained to death—not even for me. Vorria gasps, and I open my eyes to try and see what happened. Her hazel gaze is fixed on me, and there’s a gleam there now that wasn’t there before.
“What?” Tyran demands.
“She has a spark,” she declares, a palpable relief washing through her.
“What does that mean?” Tyran demands, and I’m grateful he does because I want to know the same damn thing.
“Luna, you said your mother was a healer?”
“Yes,” I croak out. “But...I didn’t...get...the gift,” I add, struggling to form words even though it feels like thick cotton is being stuffed in my head, making it hard to think.
“You may not have gotten a strong enough spark of magic to become a healer, but you have a spark, honey, and you can use it to help me.”
I try to nod, but I think I mostly look like I’m losing muscle control of my head and neck.
“Just focus, Luna. Focus just like you were. Shove everything you can at what’s happening inside of you, and maybe we can do this together,” she instructs, not wasting another second as she begins the cool rush of magic again, a soothing balm against my worried soul.
“Push,” the healer demands, and I close my eyes, once again focusing all my energy just like my mother always taught me.
She never mentioned a spark, but she always made me do this when she used her magic on me. It happened less than a handful of times, a broken arm here, or when I fell out of a tree and cracked my head open, and