Chapter 4

Mallory

I dug the bottle out and pressed it into the man's hand before realizing he was in no state to drink it himself.

I uncorked it, cradled the back of his neck with one hand, and tipped the liquid into his mouth with the other.

At first, it spilled from the corner of his lips.

I wiped it away with my sleeve, lifted his head higher, and carefully fed him the rest.

God, I didn't want to waste this bottle. Not after all the time and effort I'd poured into it, even if half an hour ago I'd wanted to throw it in the trash.

Thankfully, he started to swallow. My effort wasn't wasted.

But when I leaned in to examine his wounds, my heart sank.

The tears across his shoulders and back were deeper than I'd thought. One on his shoulder had split the flesh wide open. Worse, the edges of the wound were an unnatural purple-black. Not ordinary bruising or scabbing. The color of poison.

Then I saw the arrow in his left shoulder.

The shaft was broken, the arrowhead buried deep. The broken cross-section didn't look like an accident.

Someone had done this deliberately. Left the arrowhead inside so the toxin would keep spreading.

I gripped the bottle, studying it, and without much more thought, I already knew what toxin this was.

Wolfsbane.

Wolfsbane was lethal to wolves. Small exposure caused the wolf form to go feral. Large quantities in the bloodstream corroded the nerves, shattered consciousness, and eventually killed.

I took a deep breath and studied the man again.

Even lying half-dead, he was big, with a thick cedar scent.

Soon, I had a new realization.

This was an Alpha.

My hands started to shake.

Not from fear. Because I realized that a powerful Alpha had still been brought down by wolfsbane. Which meant the toxin was severe.

My post-match tonic was a joke against this kind of injury. Like throwing a cup of water on a wildfire.

I stood up, turned toward the door on instinct.

I should get help.

The academy infirmary had professional healers, antidotes, equipment for this level of trauma.

But I only made it two steps before I stopped. Because if I left to call for help, they'd know I'd entered the forbidden zone.

Violating academy rules. Entering the forbidden zone. Expulsion.

I stood in the doorway for about five seconds.

When a low, ragged snarl came from behind me, my selfishness and my conscience went to war.

I wanted to save him. I didn't want to be expelled.

The pained growl came again. I bit my lip, squeezed my eyes shut, and turned back.

I crouched down and re-examined his condition, running through every possible option in my mind, until I landed on something I'd never seriously considered using.

Blood resonance.

An ancient healing technique, recorded in a handwritten manuscript in the deepest corner of the Healing Division library. I'd stumbled across it in my first year and memorized the whole chapter out of curiosity.

Which meant I'd learned it. But honestly, I'd never imagined using it.

Because the book said it had been banned by the Healing Association. The practitioner had to use their own blood as a medium, force a resonance with the dying person's life consciousness, and awaken whatever residual vitality remained.

It was extremely risky.

If the patient's consciousness had already collapsed, the blood resonance would backlash against the practitioner. Both would die.

But there was also a chance of success.

Once blood resonance worked, the dying person's body could reboot its self-healing instinct without any external medicine.

I thought, feeling the man's breath grow shallower.

The wolfsbane was still spreading. I could even see the purple-black creeping toward both sides of his spine.

No time left.

That damn healer's conscience of mine wouldn't let me hesitate any longer.

I yanked the broken arrow out. Then I pulled a small knife from my bag.

My old friend for cutting plant stems. Now, all my hope rested on it.

I sliced a cut across my palm.

Blood welled up. I pressed my palm to the wound on his shoulder, closed my eyes, and began reciting the words I'd only ever memorized, never practiced.

Nothing happened. Just the burning pain in my palm.

But this wasn't a classroom. I had no time to feel defeated. I took a deep breath, refocused, and repeated the words one by one.

Then, I heard a wolf's roar.

Something trapped, something slamming against its cage again and again in the dark, desperate to break free.

A good sign. I'd connected to his wolf. My hand burned again, a force spreading from my palm to my wrist, to my arm.

I clenched my jaw and didn't let go. I used the chant to soothe his wolf.

I needed him to live.

A wolfless waste, saving an Alpha. That sounded pretty badass.

My hand trembled. I let my blood seep into his wound through the cut. Finally, the purple-black began to contract toward the center, visible to the eye.