Page 16 of For Her, He Falls

"Did my cousin do this to you?" I ask, moving to kneel beside the cot and take her free hand.

"Don't be daft. That brute was not your cousin. Viktor was not your uncle. I don't care about genetics and ancestry; those people were not your family, and you are not connected to them or responsible for anything that they did. Do you understand?" she asks, her gaze pouring into me.

Her left eye is swollen shut, and even with the magic of werewolf healing, I doubt it will ever properly open again, but the other one remains bright and sharp, staring into my own. I nod slowly, accepting the absolution she seemed determined to drill into me with her stare.

Beside me, someone huffs, and I turn to find Helena standing with her arms folded over her chest. She must have helped tend to Amara's cuts, resuming her duties as a healer once her work as a soldier was done.

"If you think that's bad," Helena says, nodding toward the claw marks on my friend's face, "You should've seen what she did to him." There is a trace of approval in her voice, something ancient and proud, recognizing a similar kind of wisdom and strength in Amara.

Amara returns the nightwalker's smile, and this time when her lips curl and tug at the torn skin from her face, she does not flinch.

One warrior acknowledging the other.

Mark and Tristan exchange a look as well, something dark and deadly passing between them. There is no trace of a smile among them, no hint of anything soft and kind. For a moment, the sheer wrath they seem to share chills me, but then I think of what I would feel if the roles were reversed.

Tristan and I aren't even properly mated, but I cannot imagine the things I would do to a man if he hurt Tristan the way Oscar had hurt me.

Whatever Amara did to Oscar, I get the sense that it was a mercy compared to what Tristan or Mark would have done if either one of them had gotten their hands on the monster who'd harmed their mates.

"Settle down, you psychos," Lucy says, shaking her head in exasperation and breaking the tension in the air. "The time for violence is over."

They were my psychos, my misfit, outcast, and weirdos. My pack.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Nico chimes in with a mischievous smirk. "You're actually a really violent nurse, Lucy. Awful bedside manner."

After so much intensity, seeing the Rovers bicker playfully among themselves feels like a breath of fresh air, and I can't help but smile. It feels like home. Blood, guts, and all.

"I had to clean and sew the cut to save you from losing your leg, so you'll have to forgive me if it stung. Besides, I wouldn't have to be forceful with you if you didn't squirm so much, you big baby," Lucy retorts.

She moves to smack him on the shoulder, but Nico is faster, catching her by the wrist before she can strike him. They hold each other's eyes for a moment, the friendly bickering sizzling out and turning into affection as Nico lowers her arm and lets his fingers slide further down to grasp her hand.

"Ugh, get a room," Mark groans. "I thought Nico's pinning was bad, but now I have to watch my own sister make heart eyes back at the little twerp."

Nico grabs a balled-up bandage from beside the bench where he's sitting with his leg propped up and chucks it at Mark's head.

"You little-"

"Be nice, darling," Arama scolds, patting her mate's hand gently to settle his temper.

Helena arches a brow at the entire exchange, looking at me with a hint of amusement. "Are all wolves like this? I'm going to have my work cut out trying to help heal this lot if they keep trying to hit each other."

"No, not all wolves," I explain with a smile. We're all drained and exhausted from the fight, but I think the familiar banter among the Rovers is almost like a coping mechanism. It's a way of expressing relief and trying to get some semblance of normalcy after so much change.

"These guys just have an odd way of expressing affection," I add with a shrug. "It's like throwing things is their way of saying I care about you. You get used to it."

"Hey! Rude," Lucy says, flicking my arm almost as if to prove my point. At the same time, Nico hurls a small roll of medical tape at me, and Mark tosses the balled-up bandages as well.

I'll take that as a compliment.

Tristan catches the little roll of tape before it can hit me, and I duck out of the way of the bandages with a laugh.

"Careful," Tristan warns, his voice equally protective and playful. "You wouldn't want to hit the Queen, would you?"

I resist the urge to make a sour face at the title. I want to stay in this little bubble of teasing and kinship with them, avoiding reality for just a while longer. Here it is awkward, odd, simple, and safe. This strange moment is a small reminder that there are traces of joy to be found even in times of hardship.

But there is a battlefield to clean up, bodies to burn, a kingdom to put back together, and the politics of five dead Alphas to attend to.

"Don't call me that," I protest timidly. "I'm not, I mean, I can't be... I-I don't even know what to call myself."

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