Oath of the Hunter

20 - Not Like This

Clutching at my side — I'm certain a few of my ribs are broken or, at the very least, fractured — I stagger across the impossible space between us, Rowan's name leaving my lips in a hoarse cry.

I collapse in a heap at his side. He doesn't stir. Every breath he takes is weaker than the last. What if he doesn't wake up? What if that sickening collision has broken something vital?

I'm lost in space, drifting further and further towards the dark. Grief slices clarity to shreds.

"No, no, no," I manage breathlessly, my hands sliding through his dark fur stained crimson. I can't see him properly— tears blur my vision. "Rowan, wake up. Wake up. Please. Please don't leave me. Not like this."

Terror cracks my voice and chokes the breath from my lungs. I can't breathe. I stare down at him and flickers shoot through my head. The bullet between Esme's eyes, her limp form in my arms, the emptiness of her loss, the dirt smeared across my face in the rear view mirror of the car I stole.

I can't go through that again. I can't lose him, too. I can't live a shadow of a life without him at my back.

I never— I never told him I loved him.

"Rowan, please," I beg around desperate gasps for air. "Please don't leave me. You— you said we'd get out of this together."

Panic has my heart in a death-tight grip, relentlessly squeezing. My Haze flickers and agony surges forwards. I can't take it. A weight settles on my chest, dragging me further into the dark. I'm clawing for the light, straining for air, but I just keep sinking. Darkness lurks like tangled vines on my peripheral; awareness collapses to a single, eternal moment of horror.

Right as I'm at the cusp of a deeper insanity, he stirs. Only a little — ears flicking, nose twitching — but it's enough.

And it's as though my feet touch solid ground.

With a broken sob, I pull his head onto my lap and bury my face against his soft fur, relief coming just as sharp as the grief. As the terror.

He whines, his tail thumping weakly against the ground as he melts into my hold. He tilts his head a little to sniff at my hair. I've never been so close to his wolf, before, but now I can't get close enough.

Every sob that tears through me sends a thunderclap of agony surging in my chest, but I can't stop. I thought I'd lost him. Nothing else matters but holding him close. I'm gasping hard between the sobs and every breath is laced with his scent. Cinnamon, musk, nutmeg, peace. He smells like home. I can't lose him. I can't lose my home.

I feel when he starts to shift back. His form goes tense against mine and ripples and shudders until his fur becomes skin, until his whines become gasps of pain, until he slides his arms carefully around my form and holds me steadfast to him. I return his embrace fervently.

"River, it's alright. I'm okay. Breathe for me, love," he murmurs weakly against me. His forehead is pressed into my neck, the curve of his nose settled against my collarbone, and I feel every shuddering breath he takes against my skin.

At the assuring sound of his voice, I only cry harder. He's shaking in my arms, though whether from pain, shock, or the icy air swirling around us, I can't say. He melts against me, a soft, bleary apology on his lips.

I pull back and study him fervently for injury— not that the map of his pain is hard to decipher. Blood is smeared across his face and there's a substantial cut on his brow. Tangled roots of crimson stream down his temple. His chest pulls at my focus; the lycanthrope has dug its claws deep into him and there's four puncture wounds seeping rivers of blood. They aren't healing.