Page 11 of Their Mate
Edward’s voice rasped weakly, and his eyes started to lose focus. “The mercenary is right. Yorke… take your friends, go. This isn’t your problem.”
Logan flinched visibly, his jaw tightening. “I’m not leaving you here.” He glanced up at us. “And they’re not my friends.”
“Don’t be a fool,” Edward muttered. “You don’t owe me anything.”
The tension stretched between them. It was more than animosity; it was bitterness and maybe resentment.
Edward’s breathing grew shallow, skin slick with sweat as his head lolled back slightly. “Just… let it be,” he rasped softly, voice fading.
Logan shook his head, pressing harder on Edward’s wound, desperation clear in his tense expression. “Stay awake, damn you,” he said roughly. “I’m not leaving you. You’re going to be okay.”
Declan exchanged a tight glance with me, concern darkening his eyes. “Aidan,” he said quietly. “He won’t last much longer. Not like this.”
My chest tightened, heart racing as I assessed the wound again. Edward was slipping, his pulse faint beneath my fingertips.
“There’s only one way we can save him,” I murmured firmly. I met Logan’s wary gaze. He knew exactly what I was suggesting.
“We bite him or leave him for dead.”
CHAPTER 5
Two months ago…
Edward Fairchild
I could feel the blood seeping out of me, hot, sticky, pulsing in rhythm with my weakening heartbeat. The pain had started to fade into a deeper sort of ache, and I grew quite a bit colder as numbness crept into my limbs. I lay flat against the cold sand, staring up at the blurred sky, feeling the life slowly drain from my veins. It was a strange feeling, knowing you were dying. It wasn’t exactly pleasant, but it didn’t bother me as much as I thought it might.
I’d always expected my end to come like this. Violent, bloody, somehow, in some way, doing my damned job. I sucked in a shallow breath, my vision swimming. Logan knelt next to me, his dark gaze intense, conflicted.
“Edward,” Logan snapped, his eyes blazing with anger, frustration, maybe even fear. “Stay with me. You’re not going out like this.”
I managed a weak snort. “Don’t flatter yourself, Yorke. Like I’d choose to stick around just to listen to more of your bloody moaning.”
He gritted his teeth, eyes narrowing. “We need to help you.”
“I don’t need your help,” I rasped, coughing up blood and tasting copper. “Especially not from your lot.”
He flinched slightly at the venom in my voice, but his expression hardened. “You took that bite protecting me. Why? You’re always going on about how dangerous wolves are.”
I glared back, breathing shallowly, ignoring the ache of my wound. “It wasn’t about protecting you, Yorke. It was about finishing my fucking job.”
Behind Logan, Jamie stepped forward, eyebrows raised. “A stubborn one, eh?”
I coughed bitterly. “Not stubborn. Just… dedicated.”
My vision blurred, shadows dancing around the edges of my sight as the relentless rush of blood flowed from the ragged gash in my chest. Pain seared through my every breath, radiating outward with agonizing clarity. My pulse hammered frantically, and each beat felt weaker than the last.
Two men I didn’t recognize hovered over me, their gazes etched with urgency and worry. One knelt close, studying my wound with an intensity that felt oddly comforting, despite my lifelong aversion to trusting any wolves, especially ones I’d never met.
The bigger man leaned in, his green eyes piercing as he assessed the severity of my wound. “He’s losing too much blood. We’ve got to make a choice now, or we’ll lose him.”
The other man knelt carefully, his voice quiet, but authoritative. “The bite’s too deep. There’s no stopping the bleeding.”
Their faces blurred slightly, and frustration surged within me, tangled with a lifetime’s worth of stubborn defiance. I’d fought shifters my whole career, soldiered for the Regency with steely discipline. Wolves were the enemy, dangerous beasts to be controlled, managed, and delivered neatly to distant shores like unwanted cargo. The idea of becoming one of those monsters myself churned nausea in my gut.
The man who’d first assessed my wound—broad shoulders, quiet strength, a natural authority in his presence—spoke again, his voice heavy with reluctant certainty. “We either bite him, or we leave him here for dead.”
Logan bristled sharply beside me, shaking his head, voice tight. “You can’t make that decision for him. He deserves a say.”
