Flames flickered across the border between our pack and the enemy, the air thick with blood, smoke, and the cries of the dying. Every scream was a blade, stabbing straight into my chest.
Inside me, my wolf Lucy growled low. “Danger. Fall back.”
But I didn’t retreat. The medical tent had already been blown apart. I knelt beneath a makeshift shelter, hands trembling with blood.
The chill of death spread like a rising tide.
I forced myself to focus. The silver needle in my shaking fingers caught the firelight as I stitched wounds, stemmed the bleeding of severed limbs, and whispered healing incantations. My hands were numb, but gripping that needle had become my only obsession.
“This one can’t be saved.” Lucy’s cold verdict shattered me over and over.
And still, I whispered to mys
