Page 20 of The Alpha's Pregnant Mate

“Water,” he instructed Rovell, who was standing quietly at his shoulder, clearly fascinated by what he was doing. “Cloth, to clean these wounds—whatever’s clean. And disinfectant, preferably alcohol. Check Dasha’s still if there’s none in the hospital tent. Go.”

Rovell was gone in a heartbeat, not wasting a moment. Grateful that he shared his sense of urgency, Laurent continued his careful check of the unconscious woman before him. He needed to be sure that there were no broken bones and no major internal injuries lurking beneath her skin…and as the light of his blade danced along her skin, he found himself thinking of his lorekeeper training. During his studies, he’d found it a source of unique frustration that he was utterly incapable of seeing auras. He’d expected that it would come naturally to him, given his gifts for foresight, for seeing clearly, and his classmates had teased him when it became clear that he could no sooner see their auras than he could have levitated the great stone building they were standing in with his mind. But when it came to healing, he’d discovered something that had wiped the smug smiles from the faces of his competitors. Auras might have been a mystery, but the light of his magic did imbue him with one kind of vision. He could gaze down at any injury—a broken limb, a bruised midsection, even a feverish child—and see to the very heart of the complaint, straight through flesh, blood and bone if necessary.

It was a gift he was proud of, though he tended to keep it to himself, given how much the details had unnerved the first few non-lorekeepers he’d told. Now, he was fiercely, desperately grateful to be able to draw on it to ascertain what had happened to Rhietta. He checked her face, head and neck for any trauma that could explain her unconsciousness, relieved to find nothing. He worked his way down each of her arms, finding several deep wounds with demonic taint already attempting to infect them—those would be dealt with once Rovell returned with the supplies. But something was tugging at his attention, drawing him downwards, and he frowned, skipping past her torso to shine the light of his blade on her legs.

“There you are,” he muttered, scowling. On the back of her leg, obscured by the angle at which she was lying, a deep, ragged wound had been torn into the flesh, gouts of blood still oozing from its edges. He’d seen worse injuries in his time, but his heart was still pounding harder than it ever had when he set to work cutting her clothing away from the injury. Rovell returned just in time with an ample armful of supplies, but Laurent was too focused on his work to spare him more than a cursory glance. He cleaned the wound of its demonic residue, feeling his heart ache as her body flinched and she uttered a low whimper, the pain reaching her even in her unconscious state. But he kept at his work until the light of his blade confirmed that the wound was completely clear of corruption. Finally, he was satisfied enough to start stitching the wound, neatly and carefully, only sheer force of will preventing his hands from shaking.

Finally, once he’d wrapped a clean bandage around the wound and secured it tightly, he sat back on his haunches, dizzy with the effort of sustained focus. Rovell hadn’t left his side, and he realized with a jolt that more wolves were standing around them. The battle, it seemed, was done—and they were worried about their Alpha.

“She’ll recover,” he said, raising his rasping, weary voice so the worried-looking crowd could hear him. “Blood loss. She’ll rouse soon. Give her some space,” he added, more sharply than he’d intended. Still, the wolves seemed to understand—they dispersed quickly, more than a few offering him murmured thanks for taking care of their Alpha. It almost offended him. How could he have done anything else?

But there was something troubling him, even as he looked down at Rhietta’s sleeping face. It was a nasty wound that she’d sustained, true—it would likely be a day or so before she was up to putting weight on the leg again, and it would be at least a week until it had healed enough for the scar to fade entirely. But at the same time…he knew this woman well enough to be surprised that a wound like that had been enough to knock her out. The light of his blade had shown him that she’d suffered moderate blood loss, true, but much of that had taken place after she’d fallen unconscious, while the wound had been left to bleed unchecked. She was a young, strong, healthy wolf; that wound shouldn’t have been enough on its own to take her down like this. Unless there was some underlying problem he was missing?

Frowning, he studied her prone form, eyes tracing over the white shirt she was wearing. There’d been no sign of blood on it, which had been enough to assure him that any major injuries lay elsewhere, but he pulled his ceremonial blade out of its sheath again anyway, drawing on his dwindling reserves of energy to illuminate her skin. Her ribs were all intact, her lungs and heart working perfectly…he passed the light lower, wondering if there was some hidden bleeding in her internal organs.

Then he froze, staring down at what his light had illuminated. It felt curiously as though his mind was simultaneously utterly still and churning faster than it ever had. There was no doubting what he was looking at, no way that he’d been mistaken about what he’d seen…but even then, some stubborn part of him refused to accept it. The light of his blade faded and winked out as his mind snuffed out the connection to his magic, and the dagger fell from his unprotesting fingers to thud harmlessly into the grass.

Well, he thought faintly, when at last some small fragment of his mind returned to his conscious control. He’d had a feeling that she’d been preoccupied about something lately, hadn’t he? His mistake had been in assuming that it was him she was thinking about, and not the faint flicker of another life, nestled safe and sound inside her.

Feeling like something other than himself was controlling his movements, Laurent scooped Rhietta’s body into his arms, not letting himself think about how it felt to hold her body against his like this. He carried her to the hospital tent, where a harried-looking Dasha gave the patient a quick, searching look, then pointed him towards an empty cot in the far corner. He made sure she was settled comfortably on the cot, one pillow carefully cushioning her head, a second propped beneath her bandaged leg. And then, satisfied that she was in the safety of Dasha’s care, he turned without a word and walked out into the chilly pre-dawn air.

And even though he knew it would be the last time he saw her, he didn’t look back.

Chapter 15 - Rhietta

Rhietta woke with a start, her hand flying automatically to the hilt of a sword that was no longer at her hip. Disorientation quickly taking the place of panic, she looked left and right, realizing with another jolt of confusion that the battlefield was gone. So was the night, it seemed. She was lying in the far corner of the hospital tent, and judging by the warmth of the sunlight streaming onto the canvas floor, it was well past midday. She lay back against the pillow, reasoning that if she’d been brought here, it was for good reason—Dasha would never waste a bed on someone who didn’t need it, especially with space at such a premium. She could see a few sleeping wolves around her, their own wounds bandaged…and slowly, the events of the previous night came trickling back to her.

Damnit, she’d been enjoying herself. She could remember the giddy rush of battle, how joyous it had felt to hurl herself into the simple, animalistic fury of stab, slash, parry with her sword in her hand…where had they put it? Had someone at least thought to clean off the demon blood? If the metal was corroded, she was going to have sharp words with whoever had brought her in…but all that had been cut short, hadn’t it? She’d been having a grand old time fighting demons with Silea at her side, and she’d let herself get a little bit cocky, and then she’d felt a searing, stabbing pain in her leg. Nothing she couldn’t have handled, ordinarily; she’d already been planning to fall back for a short time, bandage it up nice and tight, then rejoin the battle. But then she’d felt darkness crowding in around the edges of her vision, felt a horrible, lurching weakness rush through her limbs, and before she knew it, the ground had been rushing up to meet her.

And that was it. She’d survived, at least—that much was clear. And an experimental flex of her leg told her the wound had been dressed. Dasha, no doubt; the old healer must have been busy last night. Something strange about the way she’d fainted, though. Could it have had something to do with her pregnancy? She felt a momentary surge of panic as she wondered if her fall could have harmed the baby, but when she pressed a worried hand against her belly, she felt a strong, reassuring little flutter, for all the world like a direct answer to her question. Rhietta exhaled with relief. Safe and sound.

“You were lucky,” came a sharp, familiar voice, and she winced. She should have known better than to imagine a patient of Dasha’s could so much as turn over in their sleep without the old woman sensing it. The healer looked a little weary as she settled in at Rhietta’s bedside, but her eyes were as sharp as they ever were. Rhietta had a feeling that Dasha would be every bit as measured and steady as ever even if she’d been deprived of sleep for a month straight. Where pure willpower met decades of experience, magic happened.

“The battle,” Rhietta said, sitting up cautiously to avoid invoking more of Dasha’s wrath. “How bad was it?”

“Bad enough.” Dasha’s answer to that question was always the same—Rhietta had learned to wait patiently for her to elaborate. “A dozen wounded, seven bad enough to stay here. Yourself included,” she added, narrowing her eyes.

Rhietta grimaced. “Am I alright? Is…” She glanced around, but from what she could tell, the other patients were fast asleep. “Is the baby?”

Dasha made her wait for an answer longer than she was strictly comfortable with, then lifted her shoulders in a huffy little shrug that made Rhietta exhale with relief. “This time,” the old healer said sharply. “Sheer luck. We’d be having a different conversation altogether if that demon’s claw had struck your belly, or if you’d fallen any harder, or—”

She winced, hand raising instinctively as if to protect her belly from what Dasha was describing. “I get it. I get it. I’m being reckless for two, now.”

The old healer nodded, and though her expression didn’t shift much, Rhietta knew her well enough to sense that she was mollified. “It’s not all about the baby, either,” she pointed out, her voice slightly softer. “I’m far more interested in your safety than I am in the baby’s. It’s no small feat, growing a child from scratch. You may not feel it, but there’s more power being diverted from your usual reserves than you think.”

She bit her lip, remembering the sudden dizziness that had struck her, the faint confusion she’d felt at the impact of the injury she’d sustained. “Point taken, Dasha. Really. Thank you.” She glanced down at her well-wrapped leg, frowning a little. “What’s the damage here? I never actually saw the wound.”

But Dasha only shrugged. “Neither did I. It was already stitched and tended when the other Alpha brought you in, and I was too busy to worry about double-checking his work for him. I did clean those for you later,” she added, nodding to Rhietta’s arms, both adorned with their share of minor wounds, already healing.

“Laurent?” Why did a sudden shock of nameless dread run through her? Laurent had lorekeeper training, he’d have been more than capable of dressing even a nasty wound, but her injury wasn’t what was bothering her.

Dasha was looking at her closely. “He seemed in quite a state when he left,” she said carefully. “Anything I ought to worry about? Should I prepare for war? Only I’m running terribly low on bandages.”

Rhietta couldn’t quite muster a laugh, though she gave Dasha her best pained smile, which seemed to satisfy the old healer well enough. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and tried a few cautious, limping steps, not liking the sharp pain that went through her well-bandaged leg when she tried it. Dasha’s wordless judgment from the other side of the room frightened her right back down into a prone position on the bed. She had to admit, it felt much better to lie down. It had been a long night, and the healer had been right—she’d pushed herself harder than she should have. A little more rest ought to see to the leg. Then she could go and find Laurent and work out why she was feeling so uneasy about the idea that he’d been examining her while she was unconscious. Maybe she’d even wake to a visit from him. That would be nice.

But when she woke, bleary-eyed and disoriented, night had fallen, and it wasn’t Laurent’s gentle hand squeezing her shoulder—it was Silea. Her friend looked worried but glad to see her awake, and she’d brought an absurdly large double helping of dinner, which Rhietta did her level best to put a dent in as her lieutenant filled her in on the outcome of the battle. As Dasha had said, there’d been quite a few nasty injuries, but the demons had been turned back successfully a little after dawn, and that had been that.

“We even finished the cleanup without Laurent breathing down our necks about the correct way to hold a broom,” Silea said, affecting a tone of sarcastically exaggerated surprise. She’d been the most vocal critic of Laurent’s ‘helpful suggestions’ on the construction project, and even now was reluctant to acknowledge that any of his help had been valuable. Rhietta chuckled, but her heart wasn’t in it. Silea noticed, of course. “What’s wrong?”

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