Page 11 of Wounded Mate
True to his word, they’re quick about it. I’m lying on the bright red velvet, so at least the fresh blood will match. Corded lines of rope are lumpy under my back.
My mate returns to my side as the other two daisy-chain the rope, starting at my legs and working their way up.
“Your name is Bela?” he asks.
I nod. “What’s yours?”
“Valius.” He grips my hand again. His is so soft. “It’s nice to meet you. Sorry, you’re so…bloody.”
I’d laugh if I had the energy, but as it is, I can hardly breathe.
The ropes are tight around my hips, but Leonas keeps them loose as they approach my injury. Hopefully, the trip to wherever we’re going isn’t too far. I hate for others to have to carry me, and I’m dreading a long bumpy walk.
Though after thinking I was going to die alone in the middle of the woods, being rescued by a cat who brought me my mate is one hell of a mental turnaround. It’s hard to believe I’m going to live after all.
“Jeno and I will take the first shift,” says Leonas, directing the other man toward the handles at my feet. “As sunrise is upon us, we’ll send Jeno ahead, and you can take over for him.”
Valius agrees.
I like this plan because it means he won’t have to let go of my hand for a while.
“On three.” Leonas and Jeno prepare to lift.
Valius leans over me. “You’re safe now.”
I believe him.
Chapter Seven
Valius
We makeit back to Pest just after dawn. Jeno has gone ahead and will let Rizpah know we’re almost there.
Though two men carrying a wounded man on a stretcher is conspicuous, it’s not unheard of. The red velvet probably wasn’t the best choice, but what can you do when you live in a brothel and all the available fabric is ridiculously decadent?
At least Bela is covered, cocooned in his cot of twisted ropes, fabric, and broomsticks. Only his face and tufted, furry ears poke out, but so long as no one looks closely, we should be fine.
I doubt Leonas will let anyone get within spitting distance anyway. One glare from the cat, when he’s cranky, will send an intelligent man straight in the other direction. And after carrying this werewolf a couple of miles, I guarantee, he’s cranky.
Roosters crow in the distance as the town wakes, and we hurry through the side streets to our little home at The Twig. Not many people out and about. Workers headed to the docks, mostly happy to ignore us and go about their business.
By the time we make it to the staircase leading below ground, my hands and back are straining. Bela stiffens as his cot tilts. I want to reach out and comfort him, but I’ll settle for getting this part over with as quickly as possible.
“Almost there.” I keep my voice low. Most of The Twig’s occupants will still be fast asleep. “Just a little ways to go.”
Rizpah greets us in the first antechamber, her expressive face full of concern. She’s our friend here at The Twig and runs the place alongside Annais. She’s our cook, our maid, and most importantly, our voice of wisdom and reason.
Today she’ll be our doctor as well.
“Oh, dear.” She steps in and peers at Bela’s ashen face. He blinks up at her. “We’re going to take good care of you. Don’t fret, young one.”
Her voice is a comfort to me. Hopefully, it’s also a comfort to Bela. He’s been brave throughout our short journey, and though the jostling must have been painful, he hasn’t complained a whit.
We head through the parlors where clients gather, empty now, then down the hall and to another set of stairs to the kitchen on the lowest level. Jeno tends to the boiling water. The table has been cleared, and a white sheet spread on top.
It won’t stay white for long.
We carefully maneuver Bela onto it, and Leonas directs me on how to undo the daisy-chained ropes. As the loops come undone one row at a time and the velvet fabric unfolds, the scent of blood blooms thick in the air. A fresh layer of red has seeped through, sending a bolt of worry coursing up my spine.
