To Rule the Alpha's Heart

30. The First Night

CALLA VORONÍN

With the challenger's threat mitigated, the healers tended to Einarr within the walls of his tent. Although every muscle in Calla's body longed to remain by Einarr's side, she worried she'd only obstruct the healers' ability to clean and bandage his wounds. So, she stood outside of the tents, staring at the challenger's head, now mounted on a pike at the center of camp.

Calla shuddered but couldn't find it in herself to pity the male. In fact, she hated the male for what he did to Einarr. When she closed her eyes, images of Einarr's bloody torso plagued her mind. The result of the challenger's claws raking, again and again, across his wolf's belly. The worst wound rested on the back of his neck, where the challenger's mate had clamped her jaws against Einarr's scruff.

A wave of nausea threatened to rise in Calla's throat, and her fingers curled into fists. If she could offer the challengers a longer, more painful death, she would. She'd punish their damned souls for even believing that they could overthrow her mate...

Calla's worry for Einarr overshadowed any thought for herself. Any thought about the fact that she'd received a vision. That, at last, she'd earned the title of Seer. She'd predicted the challenger's attack and offered the pack enough time to prepare. She'd rejoice later. For now, her Alpha occupied every thought.

"Calla, you should rest." Cyril's rough voice broke through her thoughts.

Calla blinked, ripping her gaze from the challenger's head on a spike. She hadn't realized that Cyril stood beside her. "And I will. As soon as the healers have finished tending to Einarr."

"That might take more time than you realize. You must preserve your strength and sleep," he persisted, two lines creasing between his brows. "I've told Lucia and Iva to make a bed for you in their tent–"

"I will not leave him," Calla interrupted, her words fiercer than she'd anticipated. A muscle in her jaw clenched. "Leave me, Cyril. I don't want you here."

Cyril recoiled, clearly taken aback by her cool words. He stayed quiet for a moment, pressing his lips into a thin line before bowing his head. "You are learning to speak like a Luna," he remarked, every word clipped.

Calla took a deep breath, all too aware that Cyril's words functioned as a compliment and an insult, and watched as he turned to leave, heeding her order. She dismissed him with, "Goodnight, Cyril."

His blonde hair faded into the darkness, and Calla chewed on her bottom lip before deciding she had enough of waiting. She spun on her heel and pushed open the tent flaps behind her. The sight of Einarr, surrounded by almost half a dozen Onyx Craven pack members and leaning back on the pillows of their bed, greeted her.

Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him. Tan, elk-skin bandages wrapped around his torso, every place that the challenger's claws damaged him.Although his wounds were not fatal, seeing him like this... It felt wrong.

Einarr's stony eyes flashed toward her, and Calla swallowed the lump in her throat as she held his gaze.

"Leave us," she demanded, her voice lethally soft, never ripping her eyes from her mate.

The healers and Sanguin that surrounded Einarr stiffened, glancing over their shoulders as Calla further entered the tent. They did not protest and dipped their heads to her before exiting the tent, leaving Calla alone with her Alpha.

The tent flaps swayed closed, and Einarr sat a bit straighter against the cushions. "Calla."

He rasped her name, and Calla barely resisted the urge to rush to his bedside. Her fingers clenched the leather of her skirt.