Healer
1422 Words
Iris pov
A violent wave of wind roared, spinning dust and dry leaves into a tight circle around my me.
My dress slapped against my legs like a sail in a storm. I squinted my eyes from the sand flying in the air.
My feet almost slipped on the stony muddy floor, each step i took a battle just to stay upright.
Where am I?
“Iris… Iris… Iris,” A familiar voice reverberated straight inside my ears, echoing from every direction.
My breathing stopped for a second, the air in my windpipe froze solid.
Father– I gasped and turned around so fast my feet skidded in the floor.
A few feet away, a shadow stood beside the thick trunk of an oak tree. Warm light lit up his smiling face. His hands shoved casually into his coat pockets. The storm raged all around him, but not a single hair on his head moved.
Is this real? Oh my moon goddess! Please let it be real.
Tear filled the corner of my eyes, blurring his frame into a soft, glowing halo. The fear that had been clawing at my throat dissolved into pure, desperate longing.
“Father!”
My feet kicked up dirt as I charged forward. I didn't care about the sharp stones cutting my soles and the wind trying to drag me back.
I threw my arms wide, leaning my entire weight forward, ready to crash into his chest and sink into his familiar smell of pine wood and rain. My eyelids squeezed shut as I braced for the impact of his arms around me.
My palms slammed together and hit the tree.
Nothing—
I opened my eyes. Cold air rushed into the space where he had just been standing.
The light was gone. He was gone.
No! No! No! No
I spun around like a lunatic, my dress tangling around my knees as I looked behind the trunk, into the brush, across the clearing.
But I couldn’t find him. My fingernails bit so deep into my palms that skin broke.
“Father!” Where are you?”
Before i could process the hollow ache expanding in my chest, a high-pitched screech tore through the air. It was a brutal, screeching noise that vibrated inside my skull. The wind doubled its fury, tossing thick clouds of dark soil straight into my face.
Pain exploded in my eyes.
I grab my temples and closed my eyes shut. My knee buckled weakly and I fell against the sharp gravel on the ground.
Ahhhh!!
Gasp—
Cold air filled my lungs and My heart pounded against my sternum like a trapped bird.
My eyes opened —my ribs ached with every sudden intake of air.
I stared straight up, completely disoriented. The howling wind was gone.
The smell of pine had vanished, replaced with a sharp, bitter stench of herbs that made my nose wrinkle.
My blurry eyes look at the roof trying to figure out where I was then I saw a man blurred over me he was holding a sharp needle.
What?!
Instinct took over and I quickly sat up scrambling backwards.
He raised his palm, turning the point of the needle opposite side.
“Easy- Easy,” he said.
I pressed my back as flat against the cold wall, my lungs burning.
“Who… who are you?”
“I’m the pack healer,” he said slowly, holding up his hands to show they were clear of any other weapons.
Healer?
The memories from last night flooded back. Mira, Snow transforming, me fainting on the floor and seeing Ryker before my eyes closed.
I blinked, my eyes darting frantically around the room.
My gaze locked onto the far corner of the room. Sitting quietly on a wooden chair was Ryker. His legs stretched out, his arms crossed tightly over his broad chest and his face was completely cold and unreadable, his dark eyes fixed entirely on me.
Did he… did he actually save me?
“I-“
I moved to shift my body forward, but the moment I put weight on my right hand, a tearing pain shot up my arm.
Argh!
A sharp gasp escaped my lips, and I pulled my wrist close to my chest. I looked down. Thick layers of white cloth were wrapped around my skin, but a fresh blood stain was already blooming through the center, spreading fast.
“See? That is why you must stay still,” the healer said with a gentle frown. He stepped forward carefully, setting his tray on the bedside table. “The force of you jumping up has stressed the wound.”
He reached out and gently took my hand. I braced for more pain, but instead, he placed two fingers directly over the bloody bandage.
A sudden wave of warmth radiated from his fingertips. It felt like tiny, soothing electric currents flowing under my skin.
The sharp pain in my wrist began to dull, fading into a mild ache. I watched in quiet shock as the dark red stain on the white cloth stopped spreading, the bleeding halted by his magic.
“Keep still,” He warned and pierced the needle in my skin.
I close my eyes as the stinging pain moved through me, but it didn’t last.
He removed the needle and a tiny black blood clot was at the tip.
“The poison has now being neutralized.” He smiled, placing the needle on a small tray laying beside the bed.
“Poison?” I repeated.
“Yes,” he answered, wiping his hands on a clean towel. “The blade that cut your wrist was smeared with a rare paste made from black-cap mushrooms. It enters the bloodstream quickly, causing paralysis, high fever, and eventually organ failure if left untreated for more than a few hours.”
A cold chill ran down my spine. My hands began to tremble.
Mira really meant the business to take my life.
My heart dropped as I remember the way she used to be kind to me.
Seems my life in this pack wasn't just going to be difficult. It was a battlefield.
The healer packed up his medical kit into a leather bag and zipped it. Then he pointed to a small bowl on the table filled with dark green bitter smelling liquid.
“Drink this herb,” he instructed. “It will purge whatever tiny traces of the poison are left in your system.”
Herb? I squeeze my nose forcing myself not to throw up.
He turned away from my bed and walked across the room toward where Ryker sat. He stopped a few feet, bowing his head respectfully.
“Alpha. I have done all I can for now. She needs rest.”
Ryker didn't move a muscle. He simply raised one hand, flicking his wrist in a quiet dismissal.
“Thank you, Alpha,” the healer murmured. He grabbed his bag, stepped out into the hallway, and pulled the heavy wooden door shut behind him.
A suffocating silence stretched through the room.
Ryker didn't move, he just sat there, watching me from the shadows.
I kept my back pressed against the headboard, my heart hammering against my ribs for a completely different reason now.
“Thank… you.” I managed to say clearing my raspy throat. “For saving me.”
He didn’t say anything, his eyes were dark and cold. He uncrossed his arms and stood up from the wooden chair.
His height towered in the small room, his broad shoulders blocking out the corner light.
“Take the medicine,” he said dryly without a void of any warmth or emotion.
He turned his back on me and took a long step toward the door.
I swallowed hard over the lump in my throat. My mind flashed back to the storm in my dream—the howling wind, the oak tree, my father’s face vanishing into empty air, and that awful, sinking feeling in my chest.
A strange, heavy dread clawed at my stomach. I needed to know how my father was doing.
“Wait,” I blurted out.
Ryker stopped. His hand hovered an inch above the brass door handle, but he didn't turn around.
“How is my father doing? I asked clutching the sheets tight. “Please, I just need to know if he is okay, so I can rest.”
His fist clenched and he turned back to look at me.
“He is dead!”
- Writer
