Page 157 of A Trial of Two Worlds
“Move it. He’s not dying. I refuse to inform Idris that she’s lost a son today.”
“Easy, Z,” a male replied in a comforting tone. “He’ll live. Let the healers work on him. I’ll sit with you until he comes around.”
Zola. I swallowed, hesitating at the level of concern in her voice for the fallen High Fae.Did she already love another?I huffed a laugh as I kicked at the grass beneath my feet.
Of course she did.
“I never asked for this,” Zola told me the night after our bond first appeared.
She didn’t outright refuse me, which gave me hope—but perhaps I was wrong.
Crossing my arms, I leaned against a wooden post near another branch of tents. My eyes scanned the commotion of fae healers tirelessly working to tend to those in need. I should be helping, but I selfishly needed amoment to clear my head. My panther’s roaring demands toward Zola weren’t making things easy.
Off to the side, a healer with dark hair in a braid over her shoulder stumbled with a large bucket of water, losing her footing on a small rock along the path. I surged forward to grasp the handle, helping the High Fae keep the water from spilling over.
“Thanks,” she said, looking me over, her dark eyes shimmering with flecks of gold. “Care to help me bring this inside?”
“Of course,” I answered, easily lifting the load.
“Impressive.” She sighed, wiping her brow with the sleeve of her dress. “Are all shifters this strong?”
“Most are, yes,” I answered, thinking nothing of it.
“I see,” she said, stepping to my side. “Are you injured?” She motioned to the bleeding wound on my shoulder.
“I’ll survive.” It was nothing I hadn’t handled before.
“Perhaps, but not from the infection that will likely set in if you don’t clean it properly,” she scolded, reminding me of Latte back in Solace. “After you carry that in, you’re my next patient. No arguing.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I answered.
She chuckled sweetly and flashed me a smile as she pushed open the canvas to the healer’s tent.
Once inside, I set the cauldron down, and my eyes shot toward the corner. Zola sat next to Finn withGunnar, the fearsome general of Daxton’s armies, splattered with the blood of those he had slain.
I watched as Gunnar tenderly cradled Zola’s hands in his own, focusing her attention on him. “It’s going to be all right, Z.”
My magic flared in response to another male touching her. I knocked over a tray table and fisted the sheet of the bed. My panther roared so loudly inside my head that it made me stop and physically brace myself. I felt the overwhelming instinct to eradicate the male who held my mate’s hands, calling for blood and the right to challenge anyone who dared even look her way.
Calm the fuck down.
Now I understood why Talon was a gods-damned lunatic for months before he was able to claim Rhea.
“You all right?” the healer asked, placing her hand on my chest.
All eyes, including Zola’s and Gunnar’s, darted toward me and the female healer.
Great, I’ve officially made a scene now.
“I’m fine,” I said in a low growl, picking up the side table. “Where do you want me to sit?”
“Over here,” she said, gliding her touch along my uninjured shoulder to lead me toward an open cot on the far side of the tent. And as luck would have it, it was the cot directly opposite Zola.
“Sit here, and I’ll fetch the ointment for your wound.”
“If others need it more than me, please give it to—”
“Did you fight in the battle?” the female cut in.
