Page 32 of His Mark

Sorin gave a slow nod, but her gaze flickered past me, toward my cabin.

“Your girl,” she murmured. “She fought well.”

“She did, didn’t she?” I replied softly, before bowing my head slightly to indicate that I was taking my leave. I turned on my heel and strode toward the pack’s medical tent. Jax was waiting for me near the entrance, his arm wrapped in a makeshift sling, blood still drying along his temple.

“Most of our wounded will heal fast,” he said, gesturing to the wolves behind him. “A few broken bones, some deep wounds, but nothing that won’t mend. Two of ours didn’t make it, though.”

“And the humans?” I asked.

Jax’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Worse. Some of them took bad hits. I told Sorin we don’t have enough supplies to patch up everyone.”

I rolled my shoulders, tension coiling deep in my gut. “We’ll figure it out somehow. We’ve got to do all we can for them. They fought bravely, on our side.” Jax cast his eyes to the ground and nodded.

With a deep breath, I made my way inside. The tent was cramped, filled with wounded from both the pack and the Resistance. Some lay on cots, others sat on the ground, pressing bloody rags to deep wounds.

Kara, one of my wolves, was hunched over a young pack mate, pressing a needle through his torn flesh, stitching him up with steady hands. She barely glanced up as I approached.

“You’re late,” she muttered, tying a knot before cutting off the end of the thread with a small knife. “Could’ve used an extra set of hands a half hour ago.”

I ignored the jab. “Who’s the worst?”

She nodded toward the corner of the tent.

I turned and spotted Darren, one of the younger wolves, propped against a pile of blankets. His leg was mangled, claw marks running deep from thigh to knee. He looked pale, sweat slicking his forehead, his breath coming in shallow pants.

I crouched beside him. “How bad?”

His lips twisted into something that almost resembled a grin. “Could be worse. Could be dead.”

I huffed, but there was no humor in it. “Give it time.”

Kara knelt beside me, pressing a damp cloth to his forehead. “The bleeding has mostly stopped, but he lost a lot. If he were human, he’d be dead already.”

I nodded, exhaling through my nose. “He needs rest. Heat. Make sure he drinks. Eats.”

Darren’s eyes shifted toward me, the usual cocky light in them dimmed by pain. “Did we win?”

I hesitated.

“For now,” I finally whispered and his eyes flashed. He didn’t ask for more. He just nodded once, let his head fall back against the blankets, and closed his eyes.

I stood and moved to the next cot, a human this time. He was a Resistance fighter, maybe early twenties, his arm wrapped tight in bloody bandages. He flinched when I approached, his body tensing.

His reaction wasn’t surprising. The humans still didn’t trust us, didn’t trustme.

I met his gaze. “You fought hard. We’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you make it.”

He swallowed hard and nodded.

I turned, scanning the tent. More wounded, more pain, but at least they were still alive. With a sigh, I continued moving through the makeshift hospital, stopping at each cot and assessing the wounded. I spent an hour or two gathering supplies and helping those tending to the injured.

It was hard to see the aftermath, but my pack needed me. We had won the fight, but the cost was heavy. Too many dead, too many wounded, and the knowledge that the enemy knewexactlywhere to find us. I couldn’t deal with that problem right now. Their wolves would need to take a step back and regroup. They wouldn’t attack again right away, not tonight at least.

For now, I needed sleep.

By the time I made it back to my cabin, exhaustion was beginning to drag at my limbs, but my mind was still wired, running through everything that needed to be done.

I pushed open the cabin door, stepping inside. The warmth hit me first, a welcome contrast to the freezing night air. The fire had burned down, but it was still toasty inside. I glanced at the bed to find it empty, then turned toward the back of the cabin, to the small bathroom, and stopped.