Page 43 of Howl For A Kiss
Damon felt the rebel safehouse's healer—a middle-aged woman with steady hands—join Elena beside the makeshift table where they'd placed him. Together, they worked with practiced efficiency to assess the damage.
"The arrow missed major organs," the healer murmured, "but it's gone deep into muscle. This is going to hurt."
"Just do it," Elena said before Damon could respond. "Just save him."
The last thing Damon saw before darkness claimed him was Elena's face hovering above his, her expression fierce with protective love and unwavering determination.His mate. His everything.
Then consciousness slipped away like smoke, but not before his wolf whispered with absolute certainty:She will keep us safe.
NINETEEN
ELENA
Elena's hands pressed against the wound around the arrow protruding from Damon's abdomen, his powerful body already burning with fever beneath her palms. Blood seeped between her fingers despite her efforts to staunch the flow, and she could feel his life force ebbing through their growing mate bond like a tide pulling away from shore.
The rebel safehouse's healer—a middle-aged woman named Jenna with calloused hands and kind eyes—stood beside the makeshift table where they'd placed Damon. Her weathered face was grim as she assessed the damage.
Elena could sense Damon's pain like barbed wire dragging through her own flesh, but underneath it flowed something that made her throat tighten—his unwavering love and fierce protectiveness even as darkness pulled at him. He'd taken that arrow meant for her heart, just like Tyler had thrown himself in front of that bullet. She couldn't lose another person who loved her that much. She wouldn't survive it.
Not him. Anyone but him.
Patrick burst through the doorway carrying an armload of supplies—fresh clothes for Elena, hot towels, a thick blanket, amedical kit bristling with sterilizing equipment, and a bottle of clear alcohol that reeked of potency even from across the room.
"Elena, you need to warm up. Put on these clothes," Patrick said gently, extending a thermal shirt and cargo pants toward her.
She shook her head fiercely. "After. I'm not leaving his side until this arrow is out."
Jenna's hands moved with surgical precision as she gripped the arrow shaft. "On three. One... two..."
She pulled cleanly on two, the iron tip sliding free with a wet sound that made Elena's stomach lurch. Damon's back arched off the table, a low growl rumbling from his throat. Then his powerful frame went completely limp.
"He's out cold," Jenna announced. "Better for him. Now we stop the bleeding."
Elena's hands flew to assist as fresh blood welled from the wound. Her survival training kicked into high gear, muscle memory guiding her movements even as her heart hammered in her chest. Together, she and Jenna worked with deadly efficiency—cleaning, sterilizing, and stitching with thread that would hold against a shifter's supernatural strength.
Patrick pressed cool cloths to Damon's burning forehead, trickling herbal remedies between his lips to combat the fever that had his skin flushed and slick with perspiration. The sight of Damon—this dominant, powerful Beta who commanded respect through sheer presence—laid low and vulnerable made something primal twist in Elena's chest.
Mine to protect now. Just as he protected me.
"His fever's breaking," Patrick announced after what felt like hours but had probably been thirty minutes.
The wound was stitched and dressed, angry red but no longer bleeding. Elena finally accepted the clothes Patrick offered, pulling on the thermal shirt and cargo pants without taking hereyes off Damon's face. His breathing had steadied, and color was slowly returning to his angular features.
She settled into a chair beside the makeshift table and took his large hand in both of hers. The calluses on his palm spoke of years wielding weapons and making impossible decisions. Through their bond, she felt his wolf stirring, beginning the supernatural healing process that would knit muscle and bone back together.
Hours passed. Elena refused offers of food, water, and rest. She simply sat vigil, memorizing every line of Damon's face and listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing. This man had upended her entire world in less than a week—first as her mysterious savior, then as her lying enemy, and finally as her fated mate who would die before letting harm touch her.
I can't lose him. I won't.
When Damon's green eyes finally fluttered open, focusing on her face with that familiar intensity, Elena's carefully constructed composure shattered completely. Tears she hadn't realized she'd been holding back for hours spilled down her cheeks in hot streams.
"Hey, beautiful," he said, his voice rough but warm. That soft smile she'd come to treasure curved his lips despite the lingering pain she could feel through their bond. "Why are you crying?"
His hand rose to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing away her tears with infinite tenderness. The simple gesture undid her completely.
"Because I thought I'd lost you," she whispered, leaning into his touch like a flower turning toward sunlight. "That arrow was meant for me, and you?—"
"Would take a thousand arrows before letting one touch you," Damon finished firmly. His green eyes blazed with something fierce and possessive. "But I don't plan on going anywhere, Elena. Like I said, you are stuck with me now."
