Page 86 of Alpha Exile

Coming from Finn's mouth.

I turn in time to see his wolf fly through the air, blood splattering the sand, his fur and flesh torn open from neck to belly. He lands in the arena sand on his side, deathly still and silent.

Delphine spins on her heel, facing me with rage in her expression. She holds a long three-pronged whip made of black energy in her right hand, and smiles at me smugly.

"I used weaving skills to make it." Whipping her hand out, she twines the whip's end around my flaming sword and snags it from my grip, turning it to useless steam. "I got the idea from you. Doesn't it make a pretty wound?"

Ignoring her words, I race past her, dodging the second flick of her whip. She snarls and flicks it out again, so I reach up and snatch it from the air, jerking it from her and crooking my fingers out to unwind the weave that bound it. She scrambles back from me, her eyes widening as she throws up a shield of black magic, clearly afraid I'll come at her now. The thought is tempting, but I have greater priorities, so I turn back to Finn's prone body.

His unmoving, blood-splattered body.

Bastian and Lance reach Finn before I can. Whimpering, Bastian presses his nose against Finn's neck. I dive for him, sliding across the arena sand on my knees and reaching clumsy hands out towards his neck.

"C'mon, c'mon." I can feel the thin threads of our mate bond, can sense his heart beating beneath my fingers, its beat far too fast. "Get up, buddy. Someone has to keep this group light."

Lance stands between us and Delphine as we gather around Finn's body. I carefully roll him onto his back, wincing at the lack of sound he makes, even as his wounds stretch and flop open.

She flayed him from neck to navel, opening three long gouges in his middle that expose his insides and aren't healing at all.

"I can't move him like this." Looking up into Roarke' gaze, I tell him grimly, "I'm going to make him shift back. Help me carry him to safety.”

He shifts to his human form and puts a steady hand on my shoulder. "Of course."

Delphine is stalking our way, so I have to spare one of the precious few moments I have to throw up a shield. Though Bastian, Lance, and Kieran are all tense and ready, I don't want her attacking any one of them. So I weave together something clumsy and simple enough to fend off Delphine's black magic attacks, knowing she won't get too close to us, because she fears Gregor's dagger.

All her attacks so far have been from a distance. That's no coincidence. She's a coward who doesn't want to die—a fear I'll make sure to give to her as soon as I've healed my mate.

Beneath my gentle fingers, Finn slowly shifts back to his human form, a pained sound leaving his lips. Roarke and I gather him up and drag him through the sands, bringing him towards one of the dark tunnels that leads up to the stands.

Bastian, Lance, and Kieran retreat with us, forming a protective wall of fur at the tunnel's entrance.

"That's it." Finn groans as we set him down, and I put my hand on his forehead, feeling the heat of his body. "Now, let me just..."

Sparing a glance out into the sand—Delphine has returned to the pedestal and is doing something with the gemstones there—I draw threads of power and energy into my fingers, and weave them together over Finn's wound, knitting it up inch by precious inch.

All the while, I can feel the blood and life force drain from him.

His pulse is racing so fast, his heart desperately trying to keep him alive.

I hurry as fast as I dare, my movements clumsy, the healing wefts I learned from Kerry barely imprinted in my memory.

Finn draws shallow, rapid breaths, his face pale and clammy, his sides heaving in pain.

Then his heart stops beating.

Thirty-Five

Lance

Ihold my breath, sensing the others are as well, as Roarke puts his hands on Finn's chest and pumps his arms. Delilah frantically continues to weave his wounds closed, the threads of fire and life sinking into his tanned brown skin.

For a tortured moment, I consider the idea that this might be it. He might simply be dead—gone, forever, from our lives.

No more ridiculously sexual taunts, quick asides, or raised brows. There won't be someone around to lean towards Delilah, press his mouth to her ear, and make her laugh so hard that she snorts on the inhale. No cursing at him through gritted teeth as he makes one innuendo too many.

Then he gasps, suddenly coming to life between each of their hands, his chest heaving beneath Delilah's fingers. She sighs, leaning forward and tangling her fingers together as she grimly continues to work.

And I breathe again, glad I'll get to tell him off another time, another day.

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