Page 121 of Alpha's Rejected Warrior
Then, I’m moving.
I drop to my knees beside Ethan, my sword clattering, forgotten, against the stone. My hands find his face, his throat. I’m pressing my fingers against the pulse point beneath his jaw. His skin is cold and clammy, but his heartbeat pushes back against my touch.
“You did it, Ethan.” I brush dried blood from his cheek. “You reckless, impossible human.”
Xander approaches the small mound of ash and kneels beside what remains of Holden. His expression is unreadable as he reaches down and plucks the crystal charm from the pile, turning it over in his palm.
“Is it over?” Branson’s voice is rough, exhausted.
Xander rises slowly, tucking the charm into his pocket. “Holden is dead. The ritual is broken.” He pauses, his silver-blue eyes sweeping the ruined temple. “But this victory cuts both ways. Stasio will wake to find his son reduced to dust. Haron has lost her brother.” A muscle in his cheek jumps. “And while we may have done our best to prevent war today, our alliance with the Shaman...” He shakes his head.
I gather Ethan into my arms, careful to support his head. Haron’s charm dangles from his wrist, still faintly warm where it brushes against my forearm. His weight settles against my chest, and my wolf finally calms.
Xander arrives at my side. “Is he—”
“He’s going to be okay,” I say. “I can feel it.”
Behind us, Akila crouches over Conan, her hands pressing against the wound in his side. “Conan, we’re going to get you help, okay?” Blood seeps between her fingers and she presses harder. “Stay with me, you idiot. You better stay with me.”
Conan’s eyes flutter open, and they’re glazed over with pain. A weak laugh rattles in his chest. “Hey... Did anyone else...hear the human in their head?” His lips twitch into something resembling a grin. “Or have I finally lost it?”
“Save your breath for breathing,” Branson growls, already moving to lift him up.
I tighten my grip on Ethan.
“We need to get them both to Olcan. Now.”
The infirmary doors crash open under my palms.
“Olcan!”
Branson shoulders through the doors behind me, Conan’s limp form draped across his arms. Akila stays pressed to Conan’s side, her hands crimson and slick where they apply pressureto his wound. Her effort isn’t stopping the flow. Blood wells between her fingers with every step, leaving a trail of dark droplets across the stone floor.
Xander follows last, and my wolf’s hackles rise before I can stop them.
Ethan hangs half-conscious in his grip, his arm looped slack around Xander’s neck, his head lolling against the Alpha’s shoulder.
The scent of Conan and Ethan’s blood slams into me the second they cross the threshold: copper and iron mixed together and thick enough to taste. It cuts through the sharper bite of antiseptic herbs and the stale metallic tang already clinging to the infirmary’s stone walls. Too many bodies crowd the space, radiating heat that makes the blood-smell worse.
But underneath it all, weaving through the air like it knows my lungs are desperate for it, is Ethan’s cinnamon musk. It’s all wrong, though — corrupted by the scent of wounds that shouldn’t belong anywhere near him.
My wolf locks onto Xander like a guided missile and protests.My human is in his arms.
I suppress her with a snarl that nearly escapes my throat.
He is our Alpha, I remind her. Back at the temple, when my hands wouldn’t stop shaking and Ethan wouldn’t wake up, Xander had taken him from me. Not cruelly. Not possessively. Just efficiently.
“I’ve got him,” he’d said, his Alpha voice disallowing argument. “Now lead your team, Commander.”
I didn’t like it. Still don’t. My wolf had almost snapped at him, her teeth bared with something primal and possessive that had nothing to do with rank. But, I obeyed. Because I’m trained to. Because duty can’t bend for the desperate howling in my chest.
Olcan appears from the back room, already moving and assessing. His eyes sweep the scene in a single practiced glance — Conan first, then Ethan.
He reaches Branson and presses two fingers to Conan’s throat and checks his pallor, peeling back Akila’s hands just long enough to see the wound saturation beneath.
“Surgical room. Now.” He turns toward Akila. “Keep maintaining pressure until I say otherwise.”
He turns to Ethan next and checks his responsiveness. Ethan stirs, looking around weakly. Olcan notes the dried blood beneath his nose, the faint shimmer of magic residue clinging to his skin.
