Chapter 11: Hiding the Enemy

KIERAN

Pain is a distant thing now.

It had been sharp once—unbearable, fire tearing through my body, claws raking across my ribs, fangs sinking deep into my shoulder.

But now, it's fading.

The edges of the world blur in and out, the dark forest around me giving way to the soft glow of firelight. My body feels like lead, my limbs useless, my strength drained with every slow drop of blood that seeps from me.

Something warm presses against my wounds, jolts of pain sparking through my nerves, but I'm too weak to fight it.

Too weak to move.

Through the haze, I feel hands—small but firm, practiced, careful in their precision.

Someone is tending to me.

Someone is keeping me alive.

Instinct roars to wake up, to fight, to not trust the touch of a stranger.

But the scent…

Lavender and steel.

It coils through me, slipping beneath my skin, tugging at something buried deep within my bones.

I breathe it in.

And everything in me stills.

Not a stranger.

Her.

Raven.

Victor’s daughter.

The girl who has no reason to save me.

I force my eyes open, my vision swimming before settling on her face—sharp green eyes, streaked with dried blood, her dark hair falling in tangled waves over her shoulders.

She’s kneeling beside me, pressing a cloth against the worst of my wounds, her hands steady despite the mess of blood staining her fingers.

She looks…

Angry.

Not at me.

At the situation. At the fact that I’m even here.

I try to smirk, but my lips barely twitch. My body refuses to obey me, too weak, too drained.

Still, my voice comes, rough and low. "Didn’t think you were the nursemaid type."

Her fingers pause for half a second before pressing harder.

Too hard.

I wince.

"Shut up and stop bleeding out," she mutters.

I let out a weak chuckle, though the movement sends another jolt of pain through my ribs.

"You know, most people wouldn’t drag an enemy Alpha to safety," I rasp. "They’d let me rot out there."

Raven exhales sharply, shaking her head as she grabs a bundle of dried herbs from a satchel beside her.

"Yeah, well," she mutters, grinding the leaves between her palms before pressing them against one of the shallower wounds. "Most people are idiots."

I hiss as the herbs make contact, a sharp burn sinking deep into my flesh before dulling into numbness.

She sits back on her heels, studying her work before reaching for another cloth, dabbing away the worst of the blood.

Her movements are quick, efficient.

Not like a healer.

Like someone who had to learn this out of necessity.

I let my head fall back against the mattress, my gaze flickering to the cracked ceiling beams above us.

"How bad is it?" I ask, my voice thick with exhaustion.

She snorts. "On a scale from ‘you’ll live’ to ‘dig a grave’? You’re somewhere in the middle."

I smirk despite myself. "Comforting."

She rolls her eyes. "I haven’t decided if I actually want to keep you alive yet."

That… probably wasn’t a joke.

She hasn’t tried to kill me, though.

So, that’s something.

My gaze drifts around the small cabin—dusty, abandoned, the scent of old wood and rainwater lingering in the air.

A safe house.

Smart.

It’s far enough from Nightshade’s main territory that no one would hear me if I made a sound.

Which means no one knows I’m here.

No one knows she’s hiding me.

I swallow thickly, my throat dry as sandpaper.

She’s risking everything.

For me.

And that?

That’s something I don’t understand.

Raven moves again, grabbing a needle and a spool of thread from a small pouch.

My stomach twists.

"You’re not seriously about to stitch me up without—"

"You want something to bite down on?" she interrupts.

I glare at her.

She just lifts a brow.

"Yeah. Didn’t think so."

Then she sets the needle to my skin and begins stitching.

I grit my teeth, my whole body tensing as pain burns through me like fire.

Holy shit.

She isn’t gentle.

Not at all.

I don’t know if she’s doing it on purpose or if she’s just this ruthless all the time.

Probably both.

I let out a slow, shuddering breath, forcing myself to stay still.

Her hands are steady, her fingers moving with practiced ease.

And despite the pain, I watch her.

Really watch her.

Her expression is unreadable, her mouth set in a firm line, her eyes locked onto her work.

She isn’t afraid of me.

Not once has she hesitated.

Not once has she backed away.

I have spent my entire life commanding respect, watching people shrink in my presence, warriors bow their heads and submit to my power.

But Raven?

She doesn’t cower.

She faces me like I’m just another problem to solve.

And that?

That is fascinating.

Then the scent hits me again—lavender and steel.

It fills my lungs, my mind, my very soul.

My chest tightens.

My body reacts instinctively.

My wolf stirs, snapping awake, claws scraping at the edges of my consciousness.

And then—

Everything inside me goes still.

Like the universe has just shifted beneath my feet.

Like my very being has been yanked into place.

I suck in a sharp breath.

No.

Not possible.

Not her.

But my wolf knows.

Has known from the second she touched me.

From the second she dragged me from the forest and refused to let me die.

Mine.

The word roars through me, primal and raw, settling deep into my bones, into my soul, into the bond that is already beginning to weave itself between us.

Fated mate.

Raven.

The realization slams into me like a blow, sinking deep, deep, deep.

I suck in another breath.

My vision swims.

The room blurs at the edges.

My body is shutting down, losing the fight against exhaustion, against blood loss.

Raven’s voice sounds far away now.

"You still with me?"

I fight to speak, to hold on, to stay awake just long enough to say something, anything.

To tell her.

To warn her.

To—

Everything goes black.