Page 114 of Silver Claws, Crimson Tears
“Bad enough that you’ll thank me for this,” Sandtide says, cleaning blood from around the wound with a damp cloth. “Hold still.”
Kaela approaches with a syringe containing cloudy liquid. I instinctively pull back.
“It’s just a local analgesic,” she says. “Trust me, you want this before we start digging around in there.”
“Fine.” I resign myself. “Just do it quickly.”
The needle stings, but it’s nothing compared to the Screechclaws’ talons. Within moments, a curious heaviness spreads through my shoulder. The sharp edges of pain begin to blur and soften.
“There we go,” Sandtide murmurs, continuing to clean blood from my skin. “We’ll give that a minute to work before we start.”
The room tilts slightly as a wave of wooziness washes over me. My thoughts start to swim, slippery and hard to grasp.
“Is it supposed to make me feel drunk?” I ask, my tongue strangely thick in my mouth.
“Yes,” Sandtide says, her voice sounding far away. “Just relax.”
—Let them work on you, Rhealyn,Zephyros chides.
Vaguely, I feel their hands on my shoulder, though the sensation is distant, dreamlike. The numbing agent has turned everything hazy. Through half-lidded eyes, I watch Kaela hovering her palms above my wound. A faint golden glow emanates from her fingertips and dances between her hands and my torn flesh.
“Hold her steady,” Sandtide murmurs. “I need to redirect the blood flow.”
“Her muscle fibers are completely shredded here,” Kaela says, her light intensifying. I know from my training that she’s using her Dune power to manipulate trace minerals in my muscles and smooth the torn fibers over.
I try to lift my head. “Can you fix me?” The question comes out slurred.
“Shut up and lie still,” Sandtide snaps. “We’re literally reweaving your muscle tissue.”
A strange heat pulses through my shoulder, followed by the sensation of something moving beneath my skin—like worms writhing under dirt. I want to scream, to pull away, but my body limbs weigh a ton each.
“Almost done,” Kaela says. “The fibers are aligning.”
The heat grows, then suddenly breaks like a fever. Sandtide wipes sweat from her brow before threading a curved needle.
“Lucky,” she mutters, stitching my skin with quick, practiced movements. “Two inches to the right and those talons would have severed an artery.”
When they’ve repaired my shoulder, they work methodically down my body, checking ribs, testing joints, dabbing antiseptic on a dozen cuts. Each touch sends new waves of dizziness through me.
“No broken bones,” Sandtide announces. “Just thisshoulder and surface wounds. Stupid girl. Facing three Screechclaws alone.”
I try to form a cutting reply, but I think my tongue has turned into a fat, useless sausage.
RHEA
My eyesflicker open to the warm glow of candles. Night has fallen while I’ve been unconscious. As my vision clears, I notice two figures beside my bed—Phoebe’s slight form and Vaylen’s broader silhouette.
I push myself up, wincing at the dull throb in my shoulder. It’s nothing compared to the searing pain from before, but still enough to remind me I nearly became harpy food.
“You’re awake,” Phoebe says, her smile genuine with relief. She reaches for a water cup and passes it to me.
Vaylen stands with arms crossed, expression hardened. His face is all stern lines and rigid control, but his eyes betray him. The concern there is unmistakable.
“So did they figure out how the Screechclaws got past the patrol?” I ask, then down the water in greedy gulps.
Vaylen’s expression darkens. “We think they followed a lightning dragon returning alone from patrol and used the electrical disruption to mask their approach.”
“Clever.” I hate admitting it.
