Healing
Chapter 115:
The rogue gestured to the fires. “Come. You’ll need rest. And the wounded one needs tending.”
Lucien didn’t move right away. His gaze swept over the hollow again, scanning every detail, the wolves huddled near the flames, the faint scent of herbs masking blood, the sharp eyes that watched their every step, and lingered too long. “We can tend to his injuries, ourselves,” he said flatly.
The woman gave a faint, humorless smile. “Not with wounds like those, you can’t.” Her eyes flicked toward Kael. “The head wound’s deep. He’ll need cleaning and some herbs, to speed up the healing process.” She turned her back on him, clearly expecting them to follow. “But that's your choice.”
Kael let out a strained laugh. “That’s… comforting.”
Lucien’s jaw tightened, but Aria touched his arm lightly. “Let’s just see what they’re offering,” she murmured. “If they wanted us dead, they wouldn’t have saved us.”
He didn’t answer, but after a moment, he nodded once, leading Kael forward through the narrow path between the fires. Rogues turned to watch them as they passed, silent, curious, their eyes catching the light like embers. None of them spoke, but the air felt charged, as though every breath they took was being judged.
The lead rogue guided them to a low shelter built against the cliff wall. Inside, it smelled of damp earth and herbs. Animal pelts were spread across the ground, and a narrow cot rested against one side. A younger rogue woman was already seated, almost like she had been waiting, her hands already stained with green salve and something that looked like ash.
“Lay down there,” the older woman said.
Lucien hesitated before trying to set Kael down, but was stopped by the healer. He frowned at her, but she just gave a faint smile, more knowing than kind, “Not him. You.”
“What?”
“You were hit by a crossbolt, that from the smell I can probably tell, was laced in silver,” her gaze dropped lower, to Lucien’s shoulder. She gave him a look, “Unless you’d rather watch your shoulder slowly rot.”
Lucien stilled. His hand went instinctively to the spot. It came away red.
Aria’s stomach dropped. “Lucien,” she whispered, stepping closer. “You said it was shallow…”
“It is,” he said tightly, jaw clenching. But the blood soaking through the torn sleeve said otherwise. He hadn’t complained once. Typical. He’d been carrying Kael, fighting, pushing forward, and never said a word.
The older rogue tilted her head. “If you want to keep that arm, you’ll let her look at it.”
Lucien’s golden eyes snapped to her. “Touch me,” he warned, “and–”
Aria cut in quickly, “Lucien! Enough.” She stepped closer, her hand brushing his uninjured arm. “You’re bleeding through your shirt. Let her help.”
His jaw flexed, but when he met her eyes, something there, fear, maybe, or the weight of everything that had happened, broke through the wall. He exhaled through his nose and gave a single, reluctant nod.
“Fine,” he muttered. “Make it quick.” He said, laying down on the fur cot. The rogue’s expression didn’t change, she just knelt beside him without a word, cutting away the bloodstained cloth from his shoulder, he hissed as cool air hit his skin.
The bolt had gouged deep, silver-tipped and corroded, the flesh around it burned and raw. The sight made Aria’s stomach twist. “How long has that been bleeding?”
Lucien’s voice was low. “Since the ridge.”
Kael groaned from the where he sat. “Of course it has.” The young woman made a sound of disapproval. “You Alphas,” she muttered, reaching for her tools. “Always too ask for help like the rest of us.”
Lucien’s lip curled faintly. “You talk too much.”
“And you sit too still for someone losing half his blood.” She pressed a poultice of crushed herbs against the wound. He hissed, muscles tightening. The burn was instant, like fire searing through him.
“Hold still,” she said softly. “The silver’s shallow, but it burns worse coming out.”
Lucien gritted his teeth. “You don’t say.”
Kael shuffled closer to them, groaning with each movement, “You sure you trust them poking around in your mate's flesh?” he rasped.
“Trust?” Aria muttered, her fingers curling tightly into her palms, “I trust that he doesn't want to lose a limb.”
He hissed again at the burn, and Aria moved closer instinctively, her fingers brushing his wrist. The moment she did, something shifted, the faint pulse of the Rune beneath her skin warmed, steadying, like it was answering him. His breathing slowed. The tension in his shoulders eased.
The rogue healer noticed, pausing mid-motion. “Interesting,” she murmured, eyes narrowing. “You steady his pulse with a touch.”
Aria drew back quickly. “We’re mat–”
The healer waved her off. “Whatever it is, it’s working. Hold him steady.”
So she did, pressing her palm against his arm as the rogue worked. She could feel the heat of his skin, the rapid beat of his pulse, and the pain buried beneath his stillness. When the rogue was done, she bound the wound with clean linen and tied it off with a firm tug.
Lucien exhaled slowly. “Finished?”
“For now,” the rogue replied, rising. “You’ll need rest.”
Lucien’s gaze flicked toward the door. “Not an option.”
The old woman smiled faintly. “You’ll rest,” she said simply, her tone brooking no argument. “Or you’ll fall, and then none of your pride will matter.”
She turned to Kael, “Your turn.” She motioned to Aria, “Lay him down, he’s losing too much blood from the head.”
With their help, Aria helped Kael carefully onto another cot made of furs and bark. She knelt beside him, brushing damp hair from his face. Kael tried to make a joke, “Could use a softer bed next time”...but it came out weak and breathless.
The younger healer worked quickly, washing the blood from his temple and pressing a cloth of crushed leaves and ash to the wound. The smell was sharp enough to sting Aria’s eyes. Kael hissed between his teeth. “Are you trying to kill me twice?”
“If I were,” the healer said dryly, “you wouldn’t be speaking.”