Page 30 of Runt of the Pack
Samara’s fine brows knit together. “Healing you, of course,” she snaps wryly. “I arrived just in time, it seems. That dagger missed your heart by a hair.” Her voice catches slightly. “Good gods, Volodya… we thought we’d lost you in those woods, and now this.”
Shame wells up, bitter as bile. Of course, they would assume me dead. I abandoned my clan to vengeful enemies, wounded beyond any hope. I do not deserve my sister’s gentle attention or the relief in her eyes.
She purses her lips, a glimpse of gloom surfacing in her sweet semblance. “Everyone back home assumed you were dead. But I knew better—it would take more than a mere scratch to end an Alexeev.”
“Volkov...” I rasp weakly in correction. “I left that name behind when I abandoned my mantle.”
Samara makes a derisive noise. “You’re still my brother. Enough with the proud lone wolf act, okay?” Her tone gentles as she grips my hand. “Right now, you just need to focus on healing.”
She’s right. Anya remains in enemy hands while I lay here mending. The thought spurs me upright despite the vicious agony the motion causes. I hiss air through my teeth, hand going instinctively to the fresh bandages swathing my chest.
“Easy, Vlad!” Samara presses me back firmly. Her palm glows rose-gold with healing magic and blessed numbness spreads through my wound. But it cannot touch the deeper pain gnawing at me.
“I have to find Anya,” I grit out. “Before they hurt her...”
Understanding fills Samara’s eyes. “The girl who saved you?”
“My... mate,” I clarify, my voice laced with possessiveness.
Sam readjusts my bandage. The pressure against the tender injury beneath steals a growl from me.
“Hey, now. No biting,” she chides with a playful smirk, then runs her fingers through my hair. “You will find her, once your strength returns. And thanks to my skills, that won’t take long.” A smug wink seals the deal.
Sam’s customary confidence bolsters my flagging spirit. She was always the most gifted among our clan’s witch kin, wielding power beyond her years. With her aid, perhaps I can still wrest Anya from our foes’ clutches and protect what we’ve built together.
Samara helps prop me upright against the bed’s headboard, fussing over my many scars until I wave off her concerns. There is too much still unexplained between us. I must understand how she came to be here when by all accounts I should have faced death alone.
“How the hell did you get here without anyone in the clan knowing?” I blurt out.
My sister’s gaze drops to the ground. She nibbles on her lower lip, clearly stalling for an answer.
“Sam?” I press, my impatience boiling over.
She lets out a heavy sigh. “Oh… alright,” she says. “Officially, I’m supposed to be at my friend Mila’s dacha, taking some time away to clear my head.”
“You shouldn’t have risked yourself finding me, Samara. It was foolishly dangerous for you to leave the clan’s territory.” Even as I scold her recklessness, gratitude swells within me. However she managed it, my sister saved my life with her selfless bravery.
Sam flashes a wry smile. “Finding people is what I do best, if you’ll recall. And you should know better than to think I’d leave my own kin for dead.” Sobriety replaces her playful expression. “We mourn you back home, Vlad. Losing both you and Luciana has devastated us all—especially Gavriil.”
My breath catches painfully. “Gavriil... he still lives?” Cautious hope stirs from the ashes. Perhaps not all is lost, if my wild young brother yet walks this earth.
“I wouldn’t call it living,” Samara says with a sigh, her eyes turning melancholy. “It’s more like surviving. He has changed so much since the loss of his mate... He roams more beast than man now beyond our borders. And when he’s home, I struggle to control his fury.”
I stare at nothing, guilt and remorse churning. My disappearance has clearly inflicted deep wounds upon what remains of my family. But before I can dwell further, Samara grips my arm demandingly.
“Brother, look at me.” When I meet her fierce gaze, she continues. “There is still time to set right what has gone awry. But first, we must save your mate and have you restored as Alpha.” Her gaze drifts towards the hallway, where my newfound pack warily lingers, waiting for news. “This pack needs your steady hand.”
I start to protest that I failed my pack utterly, how can I hope to lead a new one? But Samara talks over me. “Enough! The gods spared you for a reason. There is still work ahead.” She holds my stare challengingly until I concede with a jerky nod.
“Good. It’s settled.” Brisk once more, Samara hands me a small crimson vial. “Drink this. It will help rebuild your strength.” She pauses, her eyes flashing with determination. “We’ve preparations to make before we rescue your love from those good-for-nothing wolves.”
I accept the potion, but hesitation roots me in place. Doubt coils insidiously despite her assurances. The path ahead is treacherous, demanding much blood. And Anya’s life hangs precariously in the balance. What if I falter again when she needs me most?
Sensing my inner turmoil, Sam sighs. She lifts my hand, pressing a kiss to the black bear insignia tattooed on my inner wrist—an oath of allegiance to my Ursa family. “One step at a time, Volodya. Have courage, brother.”
The gentle command bolsters me enough to tip the potion down my raw throat. Fiery energy immediately spreads through my battered body, the first healing tingles of magic. I will need every drop of strength for what is to come. But with my witch-sister’s aid, perhaps we can still win this war.
I keep hold of Samara’s slender hand, meeting her stalwart gaze. To speak my swelling emotions seems inadequate. But she understands the depths of my gratitude, regardless. Of all the unlikely blessings fate could have granted me in this bleak hour, having my wise sister here feels like deliverance.
