Page 90 of Ruled By The Alpha

“Hensta!” I whimper. My breath hangs in a fog in front of my face, and my hands and feet are chilled. It was a cloudless day, but now the warmth has leached from the earth and the night is cold.

The great cat swings its head my way, and its beady eyes glint in the firelight as it stares at me.

“Hoo!” Hensta yells. “Hey, cat! This way!” He waves his arms over his head, trying to draw the cat’s attention back to himself.

I gulp as those murderous eyes leave me, but my relief is short-lived as the beast swipes a giant, clawed paw at Hensta.

He jumps away.

I want to close my eyes. I don’t want to see what comes next. But I can't. I am too frightened to even move my eyelids, my heart hammering against my ribs, my breath caught in my throat, my hands shaking.

Hensta skips from side to side, taunting the beast as it lashes out a second and third time, its tail swishing angrily behind it.

I try to shake off my nerves, to move, to help, but before I have a chance, Hensta darts forward and sinks his spear deep into the cat’s shoulder. He was aiming for its jugular, but he missed. My breath hitches as I wait to see what will happen next.

The cat howls in pain, spinning its head to snap at the spear lodged in its body. Hensta steps back, now weaponless. And my heart hammers so loud in my ears I think it might burst.

The cat does not attack again, and with one last hiss, it turns and scampers into the brush.

I stand there, still frozen, glaring into the darkness, wanting to be sure it's really gone. Then I hear Hensta slump and I finally spring to his aid, rushing around the fire.

“Are you okay?” He doesn’t look at me, simply stares at the ground, his ribcage heaving as he catches his breath. And then I see it: three slices across his shoulder, blood seeping from the wounds. “You’re hurt.”

Slowly, he lifts his eyes to find mine. “I am fine.”

I take his arm and tug him closer to the firelight. “You are not.” Blood courses down his back and blackens the hide at his waist. I snatch the flask from his belt and trickle a little water over the wound. He flinches and pulls away. “It hurts?”

He shakes his head, but I know he is lying. The men think it shows weakness to admit their pain. It is nothing but stupid. We have lost too many good men because they did not seek the healers’ help. My mother is one, and I know a little from helping her.

Hensta sits silently as I poke at the fire and bring it back to life. Then I light a branch and go to look in the undergrowth for the plant with the fine green leaves.

Hensta protests, warning me not to go far, but I am less afraid with the hot flames and bright light in my hands.

Eventually I find the plant and pick a handful of the leaves, popping them into my mouth and chewing until they make a fine paste. Then, wiping the blood from his flesh with my own hide skirt, I spread the wet leaves over the wound, trying to bind the sliced skin together and stem the bleeding. He curses, sucking in air through his teeth. Yet he doesn’t stop me, holding perfectly still as I work, as if he thinks any sudden movement might scare me away.

“There,” I say when I’m done, my fingers lingering on his broad shoulders. “That should help.”

“Thank you, Nafia.”

I stare down at his large frame, the firelight dyeing his skin orange, his soft dark hair falling down his back. Then I return to my position by the fire.

“Thank you,” I say.

“For what?” His elbows rest on his knees and his dark eyes find me as they always seem to.

“For saving me… us… I should’ve helped… I—”

“It is okay, Nafia,” he says.

I chew my lip, not so sure. What kind of hunter freezes when her people need her? Her friend? Shame swims through my body and I hang my head.

“You should rest,'' I tell him. “You need your strength if your wound is to heal.”

“No.”

“No?” My eyes dart back to his.

“I will not sleep. The cat may come back.”

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