Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 85616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
I had to focus. Keep my head cool even though I just wanted to scream for help.
I rolled Emmy onto his back. Ripped open his shirt and took mine off. I pressed my bundled-up shirt against the gunshot wound. It seemed to have missed his heart—thank fuck. It means there might still be a chance to save him. The silver from the bullet would stop his body from healing itself wherever it had touched, but if the damage wasn’t fatal then maybe we could get him to a healer.
I looked to Dylan, who had picked up the gun and held it as if it were seconds from exploding. “Call the warders. Explain what’s happened,” I said in a simple, stern command. I had to keep my tone calm so I could cut through the chaos.
“Right. On it.” Dylan hurried to my side where he placed the gun down and replaced it with his phone. He called the number meant for us shifters to reach out to when there were issues like this. They’d send EMS workers who were trained in and aware of shifter existence. They’d take us to a small but well-equipped medical facility where a druid surgeon could help Emmy in ways any human doctor simply couldn’t.
They would also inform The Druidic Council about Macie. I wouldn’t be surprised if they sent jailers along with the emergency healers.
Emmy coughed up blood. His eyes were having difficulty staying open. I leaned down and continued to apply pressure to the wound. I tried to detach from the fact that this was my best friend who I was trying so desperately to keep alive. “Hey, it’s all right, you’re good. I’ve got you, Em. Help is coming. It’s okay.”
“My sister…”
I didn’t know what else he was going to say after that. He started to convulse. I quickly slid a hand under the back of his head so he wouldn’t slam himself into the floor. Blood had soaked through my bundled-up shirt, spreading outward on his chest. I couldn’t lose him. I couldn’t watch him die. Please, no. No, Em, please. Don’t do this.
“They’ll be here in a few minutes.” Dylan’s voice cracked.
“I’m so sorry. Oh no. Let me try and make this better.” Macie had a large shard of broken glass in her hand. She pressed it against her wrist. “I might know a spell. It just needs a small sacrifice. It can have me. It can have me.”
“Macie, drop the glass right fucking now.” I couldn’t even feel anger toward her. Just a cold and empty bewilderment as to how the hell we even got here.
She shook her head. Her eyes were frantic. She pushed the glass down against her wrist. Crimson red beaded around the vicious edge. She started to speak but I couldn’t understand the words. Black veins crept into the whites of her eyes.
I had half a mind to let her do it. If it meant saving Emmy, then so fucking be it. Reach to the pits of hell, if the answer were tucked away underneath fire and brimstone.
She didn’t have the chance to do anything. Two jailers burst into the room, followed by two healers close behind them. The jailers immediately spotted Macie, recognized what she was about to do, and sent out two bolts of verdant green energy directed at her. They smacked into her chest and launched her backward. She hit the wall and the green energy spread outward, like ivy, attaching her to the wall so she couldn’t move or speak.
I moved aside so the healers could work to stabilize Emmy. One of them removed the blood-soaked shirt and hovered his hand over the wound, which now only spurted out blood whenever his pulse would beat.
I stood up and gave them some space. Dylan was speechless although he didn’t need any words to express how terrified he was. I took him in my arms and hugged him, holding him tight. “He’s going to be all right,” I reassured him, although I wasn’t entirely sure if it was more for him or for myself.
The jailers removed Macie from the wall, vines remaining around her wrists like handcuffs. She didn’t struggle. It seemed like she’d given up any kind of fight she had in her. Just kept apologizing, even as they took her outside. She didn’t plead or fight. She didn’t even look at me, her head down and her hair covering her face. Meanwhile, the druidic healers were moving Emmy onto a stretcher. The man continued to hold his hand over Emmy’s wound. It appeared as if his skin was being stitched together by the roots of an invisible plant, except it didn’t seem to hold. The bullet hole wouldn’t close.
“We’ll take him to the Ivory Clinic, over on Brentwood. You can follow us there,” he said, stopping his work at his chest to go and grab one end of the stretcher. Emmy’s chest rose and fell but at an unsettlingly slow rate.