Lowell’s breath comes in ragged gasps as he stumbles away from the last group of Marco’s warriors. His body aches, bruises and scratches covering him, but he’s still alive. Barely. The fever clings to his skin, sweat dripping down his back, making it hard to see straight, but the pain in his side is the least of his concerns right now.
He pushes himself forward, leaning against a tree for support. The world around him spins, the smell of blood thick in the air. His own blood, mixed with the stench of the forest. He feels the weight of every injury, but there’s something stronger pulling him forward.
Nana.
That pull is still there, sharp and insistent. The bond between them feels like a chain around his chest, pulling him towards her even though every instinct screams at him to turn the
