011.

Liam’s POV. 

The scent hit me slowly, something foul hanging in the air. I paused, pen hovering over my notebook, my eyes narrowing. It wasn’t woodsmoke from campfires or damp earth from the humid air.

It was blood…and something foul underneath it. Something wrong. 

Rogue.

My body tensed. I closed the notebook and stood up to inhale again.

It was definitely rogue. And it was close too, dangerously so.

The sound of leaves rustling too fast, twigs snapping under the weight of something caught my senses. Followed by a low growl. I prepared myself to shift and attack, although my hand subconsciously wandered to my waist, gingerly waiting for danger so I could pluck my dagger. 

But nothing came. Instead, the growl tore from far away…from the heart of the camp. 

Someone was being ambushed.

My pulse kicked up as I moved before thinking, sprinting back to the camp to save the one person I’ve spent my whole day avoiding. 

Zelest.

I didn’t hesitate. I took off into the trees, barely noticing how cold the air had gotten or how fast the darkness swallowed everything up. My boots hit the dirt hard as I made my way near the campground. I followed the scent and the sound, the panic rising in my throat.

“Hawthorne?” I called out, louder than I meant to.

No answer came.

Branches scratched at my arms as I pushed through them. I caught a flash of movement up ahead. My wolf stirred beneath my skin restlessly in anticipation of the only thing I’ve ever been raised for: war—chaos and how to contain it with brute force.

“Please be okay, Hawthorne,” I chanted under my breath like a mantra as I waddled through the thick woods. 

A branch tore through my thigh, sharp pain coursing through my body but I kept moving until a searing pain tore across my ribs—sudden, hot, and unmistakable.

I staggered mid-run, clutching my side, breath caught in my throat. I looked down to see no blood nor tear on my skin and yet all I knew was immense pain. Then it hit me. 

The wound wasn’t mine. Nor was the pain. 

It was his. Zelest’s. 

“Hawthorne…” I whispered, my chest heaving. 

My wolf howled inside me, clawing against my skin as realization struck hard. He’d been hurt. Slashed at the ribs. And I’d felt it.

My panic morphed into something I’d never felt before—blind rage in a heartbeat. It was all the drive I needed as I ran faster, the pain only fueling the fire roaring through my blood. Branches lashed my skin, but I didn’t care. Not when he was bleeding. Not when a rogue had dared touch him.

I burst into the clearing and saw him—Zelest crouched, breath ragged, blood darkening his shirt at the ribs. A feral wolf loomed over him, claws dripping with blood that wasn’t its own.

Something inside me snapped at the sight of it. Suddenly, my body wasn’t mine again. It was ruled by chaos and destruction. 

An inhuman roar tore from my throat as I lunged at the rogue with anger. He hurt him. 

He dared to hurt him. He hurt him.

I slammed into the rogue with enough force to knock us both off our feet. The rogue flung me off with brute force. Not given enough time to shift, the rogue leaped into the air in my direction and I rolled off, grabbing my dagger and rammed it into his head. 

I didn’t hold back with my attacks as he growled at me, dark blotches of blood dying the grounds crimson. My punches were vicious as they landed on the rogue, each one fueled by the image of Zelest bleeding.

He’d hurt him. 

The rogue snarled and snapped at my throat. I twisted just in time, slamming its skull into a tree, then into the dirt with a brutal crack. Blood spattered across my cheek. I slammed my dagger into at its side, ripping his skin with a long tear as foul blood streamed down. I didn’t let up, even when he whimpered.

I wanted him to suffer.

I wanted him to pay.

Relentlessly, he slashed at my shoulder with the little strength in it, but I didn’t feel it. I reached for my second dagger and sunk it into the jugular, putting and end to the madness until the rogue went limp beneath me. 

I felt my skin crawl as dark blood continued to splutter everywhere, soaking the very earth crimson and my white shirt, even more crimson. The rogue’s blood soaked my entire being.

Only when the rogue stopped moving did I let go. 

I stood, panting, staring down at its lifeless form. 

The relentless pounding of my pulse in my ears was all I could hear, the harsh stings of the pain I’d ignored soon crashing into me, fatigue sinking into my bones. But neither of those were important as I’d survived worse. 

I turned to Zelest.

He was slumped against a tree, watching with heavy eyelids that threatened to shut for good. His shirt clung to his side, soaked in red. My stomach twisted at the sight of him being so wounded and vulnerable.

I rushed to him, falling to my knees beside him. 

“You’re hurt,” I said, my voice trembling.

“You felt that, huh?” he whispered, trying to smirk through the pain.

I pressed my hand to his side, blood slicking my palm. “Don’t speak. Just—be silent. Stay with me.”

And I meant it with everything in me.

Zelest’s body was heavier than I expected. Perhaps it was the blood loss or it was the panic squeezing my lungs. Or maybe it was the fact that every staggered breath he took echoed through me like thunderclap while I was far too spent to help him.

His head lolled against my shoulder as I carried him through the woods, his limbs going limp with his blood soaking into my shirt. My arms locked tighter around him, urging him to stay awake. 

“Stay with me, Hawthorne. You hear me? Don’t pull some dramatic stunt right now.”

Something strange was evident in my voice. Fear? Panic? The unquantifiable amount of terror that coursed through me with every shallow breath that escaped Zelest’s lips?

He didn’t respond.

My boots pounded against the dirt as I reached the healer’s tent. I didn’t bother knocking. I shoved through the entrance, cradling him as gently as I could.

“Save him. Rogue ambush,” I snapped. “Slashed at the ribs. He’s lost a great deal of blood and is now burning up.”

The healer barely blinked, deftly in motion. “Lay him down. There—on the bed.”

I obeyed, setting him down slowly, brushing damp strands from his forehead. His skin was clammy and pale, breaths shallow.

The healer peeled back his ruined shirt, and I looked away for just a second—until I saw the wound.

A deep gash across his ribs… with a faint green color.

Was that… poison? The Healer seemed to notice too, because she casted me a long look before returning her full attention to Zelest. 

She began working quickly, crushing herbs, preparing an elixir. “It’s wolfsbane-laced. The cut,” she muttered. “You got to him just in time. Anytime later and the poison would’ve been in his heart, then he’d have been out before you reached here. Good job.”

She poured a foul-smelling brew into his mouth, coaxing him to drink. Then she pressed a cloth to his wound, cleaning it.

Zelest flinched sharply and I hissed, staggering back as a searing pain erupted in my side.

“Oh, goddess,” I gasped, hand flying to my ribs. 

The pain wasn’t mine. It was his. The mate bond blazed between us, burning through every nerve like my entire being was set on fire.

The healer paused briefly, eyeing me. “You felt that?”

I clenched my jaw, nodding. I couldn’t find a better explanation or lie to justify it but she obviously sensed it by now. She casted me another look before returning to wiping Liam’s blood off his skin.  

She hummed, gently continuing. “Stay close. He’ll need your energy. Take the pain if you can, but be careful.”

As she worked, I sat beside him, hands balled up in a fist on my knees. Every time she pressed into the wound, my side flared in pain.

But I didn’t dare move. I couldn’t watch him in pain so, instead I took it. For him. Like I would, a thousand times. And yet I wasn’t sure why. 

Zelest groaned faintly, his lashes weakly fluttering.

I leaned closer to him whispering, “I’m here, Hawthorne. You’ll be fine.”

But inside, I wasn’t sure who I was trying to reassure—him, or myself.