Page 20 of Alpha Exile

"Here." Niall hands me a cold beer he procured out of nowhere. "I know we have a mission to go on, but you could use a drink."

I could, and the beer is cold, quenching my thirst. The tournament has at least cheered everyone up. As the penultimate round is finished, seeing Ian and Kayla the sole survivors, I can feel the buzz of energy in the air.

And we haven't, technically, run over time just yet. The sun hasn't set, and I want to head out on patrol once darkness has surrounded us. I have the feeling that we'll find more in the quiet of the night. Delphine attacked us when the sun was down for a reason; some instinctual part of me is certain that we'll be able to find her only in the cover of darkness.

There are things that are revealed in the dark, after all, and by moonlight. Just like fire created the energy that hums and buzzes within me, born through the fire flowers, darkness creates things as well.

"You scared?" Kayla taunts as she prowls into the town square against Ian.

"No, but you should be."

They save the rest of their taunts for later. Kayla rushes Ian, making himhuffout air as she hits his midsection and locks her hands behind his back. He switches up his weight, throwing her off balance, and throws her down to the ground. She lands on one hip, spins around, and flips her weight onto her hands so she can kick him.

I wince as I drink my beer.

In the end it's a brutal match, each warrior young, strong, and desperate to prove themselves. The final moment comes when Ian punches Kayla in the side of her ribs and she pales all over. As she goes down, though, he doesn't celebrate. Instead he scrambles to her side and grabs her shirt, wrenching it up to reveal a purple bruise and still-healing scars.

"Sorry, sorry." He shoots an apologetic look at her, even as those who bet on him celebrate a win. "I didn't mean to."

"That's okay." She shoots him a grin and lets him help her to her feet, favoring the side that wasn't injured. "I thought it was all better once that witch said the infection was gone. Guess I have a bit of healing left to do."

As she limps to the sidelines, and Ian goes into the celebratory arms of his mate Josie, I wince at the sight of her. Tapping Niall's shoulder, I slip through the crowd to catch up to her, while he takes over and claps Ian on the back.

"You shouldn't go on patrol if you're not better," I tell Kayla, frowning at the way she flinches back from me, as if afraid of punishment. "All the warriors are meant to be rested and healed before we head out on patrol. I don't want anyone to slow us down or set us back. No offense."

She winces further, hanging her head. "I really thought I was better. Maybe I went too hard with Taryn." Raising her shirt, she probes her skin with hesitant fingers. "It looks worse than it is, I swear."

I don't have to tap into the pack bond to know she's lying, but I do anyway. Her pain is like a high-pitched, discordant note ringing through the melody of the pack's jubilation. It's worse than it looks, and it looks pretty damn bad.

"Kerry must not have been able to get rid of all the infection. Can I see?"

She nods. Stepping forward, I brush my fingers against the wound and peer at it with my witch sight. Now that the sun is setting, my regular eyesight can only make out the darkest of the bruises, but my other sight spots more. The wound stretches far below the surface and radiates out towards her back—as does the infection.

It's a sign of her strength that she fought in the tournament at all.

Which means it's worth keeping her around tonight for patrol, if I can.

"Let me try something. Do you trust me?"

"Of course," she says swiftly, her eyes wide and shining as she stares at me. I catch the scent of reverence from her, and realize with an odd sort of feeling that she looks up to me, even fears me a little. "Whatever you need to do, do it. Especially if it gets me out on patrol."

The crowd is waiting, and I don't want to delay the show. I can sense that they're getting restless, even with Niall to keep them under control and Ian's celebration to distract them. It would take too long to get Aunt Kerry here and heal this, which leaves it up to me—but I think I know what to do.

I can spot the purple and grey threads of infection and pain that stretch beneath Kayla's skin and drip down her stomach towards the ground. So I reach inside myself, feel for the bond to the fire flowers, and pull on their strength. They give easily, rejuvenated after a day in the sun, eager and willing to help.

"Close your eyes and don't move," I warn Kayla as the energy drops into my palm. "You won't want to see this."

She does what I tell her to—for the most part. I don't miss the sliver of light hitting her eyelids as I form the fire knife in my hand and clutch its grip. Taking a steadying breath, I tug on the threads of her wound, brushing against her skin and drawing a hiss of pain from her. Then I bring them together, pull them a mere inch away from her skin—as far as they'll go—and position the knife against them.

There's no time to think, no second guessing. As soon as the fire knife hits the first thread, I force myself to act quick. The first thread severs with the barest movement of my fingers, and the rest go as I flick my wrist and draw the knife through them.

Kayla hisses in pain, but doesn't twitch or cry out, bless her. The instant the threads are severed, her wound contracts, the infection fleeing. I let go of the knife and press my fingers against it, sensing the flesh healing, slowly but surely.

"Wow." Kayla's eyes widen, and she stares at me in shock. "How did you do that?"

"Magic." I grin at her, because it's true. "Just make sure you don't let Ian punch you again, and you should be able to head out onto patrol. Stick around here until then—you don't want to miss the show."

She doesn't ask me what show, and I don't stick around to answer. Stalking back towards the town square, I eye the last sliver of the sun's light and smile in anticipation. What I'm about to do will be far more impressive in the darkness.

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