Page 35 of Bounty Hunter

“Give me a minute, then we’ll go so you don’t have to sleep by the carcass,” he says when he hears me come up behind him. His voice sounds strained.

“Stay still,” I command in a firm tone, as I come up behind him.

I assume this won’t hurt as bad as what’s coming, so I kneel behind him, cringing as I wrap my fingers around the claw. He stiffens and jerks his head around to attempt to look over his shoulder.

“I said don’t move.”

“A claw?” He groans and rests his head against his forearm, then curses under his breath.

Look who’s in charge now. But I find no joy in giving the orders in this situation—the man could die.

“Just do it,” he growls.

Swallowing down my lunch from earlier, I grimace once more at the thought of what I’m holding, and then I pull. Harder than I thought I’d have to. A pained shout that turns to a growl comes from deep in his throat before he falls to a knee, one hand still pressed against the tree and a hand in the dirt to steady himself. He curses under his breath again and shakes his head like he’s trying to physically shake it off. I’m impressed… until he collapses on the ground.

I flutter around him in a panic for a full thirty seconds, attempting to weave my scattered thoughts into a plan. Rupi lands atop his shoulder, then hops forward to peck at the exposed earlobe his turned face offers. He offers no reaction, and I’m too flustered to overthink her offered affection and concern.

I think my bounty might be dead. I don’t even know if you still get paid for dead bounties. Then I feel a wallop of guilt for even thinking about pay and hastily press my fingers to his neck. He still has a pulse. I can heal him… but I can’t. The rule book says no. I war with myself as the poison Ikar told me about seeps through his body. Rupi gives me an indignant look as I stand there, doing nothing. I have no idea how long it takes until it will kill him. I pull a hand roughly along my braid in frustration, tugging and pulling on the end. If I heal him,he’ll know. No Originator is also a Healer. It’s unheard of. Add to that, he’s a mercenary. He can easily track me down after I hand him over to the authorities, but would he? I don’t know. Think, think, think. I pace around, my gaze darting back to where Ikar lays unmoving beside the tree. Then a plan forms. It’s not a very solid one, and it has more holes than a crackedstrainer, but it’s a plan, and right now I don’t care how many holes it has.

I remember the vial of fae potion that rolled out of his pack two mornings ago, or three. Doesn’t matter. I hurry to his pack and rip it open, tossing things out haphazardly and completely ignoring how neatly he likes his things kept. We can make it nice and tidy again if he survives.

“If he survives?” I squeak.

When did I start to care so much? What state am I in if I kinda like the guy who I also don’t trust to not kill me next week? I shut the thoughts down. Now is not the time. I spot the vial in one of the pockets and snatch it out. I’ve never used a fae potion. I can’t afford luxuries such as these. I assume you just pour it on.Like water on a plant, I encourage myself,milk over oats. I gulp when I look at his leg, I may have ruined oats for the rest of my life. I hold back a gag. Bloody wounds and I don’t mesh. There’s a reason I would never choose to be a Healer. I glance at the vial in my hand. He told me it was expired, but maybe,hopefully, he was mistaken. If it truly is expired, I move to plan B.

I’m about to uncork it, but then I decide to shake it, because it just seems like something you should do, but I have no idea if it’s necessary. Though I’ve assisted fae potion makers by offering magic tocreatefae healing potions, I’ve never asked how to use one. I pop the cork off with my thumb nail and kneel in the dirt beside him. There’s no way I’m taking his clothes off, so the trousers are staying put. I simply tear the remaining strands of fabric from around the claw marks, but doing so loosens the fabric and reveals a well-healed scar on the side of his leg. It leaves me wondering just how many scars he has. My face heats at the direction of my thoughts, and I quickly shut them down.

My hands shake as I tip the bottle and carefully drip the liquid over each long gash and the deeper wound where the claw had been. I watch closely as the liquid absorbs with a few sparks and a somewhat loud sizzling sound. That’s odd.Maybe this stuff does go bad.I hold the bottle up for a closer inspection, sniff the opening, and then glance at Ikar’s face in worry. What does expired fae potion even do? Doesn’t matter. I toss the bottle to the side. If he finds out I’m a Tulip and comes after me, so be it. But something deep inside me cares, and I’m not letting him die.I’m not a murderer.Criminal or no. I pull cool, white magic through my veins and direct it toward his leg, watching as the flesh and muscle begin to knit back together and trying not to gag. As badly as I’d like to completely heal it, I know I can’t. One bottle ofpotentfae potion wouldn’t heal this severe of an injury. It would take more. I don’t know how many, but several. So, I let it get to a point where I think he’s going to be okay, hoping the poison is gone and he’s able to travel. Then I pull the magic back, wrap the wound in clean bandages, and wait.

Chapter 24

Ikar

When I wake, I find my cloak folded beneath my face. The rest of me lays atop sparse grass and dirt. I feel as if I’m recovering from an illness that includes a heavy dose of brain fog. I groan and push myself up, wincing at the tug in my leg.

Painfully, slowly, I stand, gritting my teeth. Vera’s taking a clean, dry shirt off a line, which has me wondering how long we’ve been here.

“What happened?” I ask, my voice rough and my throat dry as the dirt I was lying on.

Her brow pulls together with concern, and I don’t like it. I feel vulnerable and uncomfortable, and I have no idea what happened after I killed the bantha. A cool breeze makes its way between the slashes of my ruined armor, but I’m relieved when I reach back and find my shirt still mostly intact. Mark entirely hidden. But my trousers are another story. Torn irreparably and baring my bandaged thigh. I touch the bandages, confused. I immediately head to my pack, but my body feels stiff and off,and my leg aches, causing a hitch in my stride that further irritates me. I resist the wince that tugs with every step.

“I had the great privilege of yanking a bantha claw from your leg yesterday,” she says tartly from behind me.

I whip my head around too fast, and everything blurs together. Between the disbelief, dizziness, and the headache at the base of my skull, I find myself scowling at her. I remember the fight, but I know no possible way I’m still alive without a Healer nearby. My mood darkens further. If anyone has a reason not to trust, it’s me.What did she do?

She picks an off-white, dirty, blood-covered object off the ground and holds it out to me between two pinched fingers, her nose wrinkled in disgust. “I thought you might want it as a trophy… of sorts. Seems like something a mercenary criminal would do.” She shrugs.

This situation is so strange and unbelievable that I simply stare at it.

“I’m not a mercenaryora criminal,” I growl. Though at this point, I probably look like both, and it’s not helping.

“That’s yet to be proven.” She quirks a brow. A muscle ticks in my jaw as I return to the difficult job of reaching my pack. I rifle through it, further irritated at how messy it is, until I find what I’m looking for, then turn with clean trousers in hand toward the forest. From behind me, I hear the claw drop into my pack with a soft thud as she follows me.

“Do you need help?”

“No,” I say curtly. “Unless I’m dead, I won’t need help dressing.”

“You make a very ornery patient,” she mumbles under her breath, so low I know it wasn’t intended for my ears. She doesn’t realize how good my hearing is, even if she has blocked my magic.

---