Heart's Desire

Chapter 38 - Kit

I lie at the bottom of a deep well. Voices drift down to me from above. At first, all I hear are sounds, muffled and meaningless, but gradually the sounds resolve themselves into words, and the voices conjure faces and names: Martin's, quiet and anxious, and Julian's, tense and low.

"Is he alright?" Martin asks.

"The fuck should I know?" Julian replies. "You're the one mated to a doctor."

"I thought the Fae were good at healing?"

"Just because I have Fae ancestry doesn't mean I automatically possess all Fae knowledge and abilities, Martin. I was raised human."

"Sorry."

Julian sighs.

"No, I'm sorry. I can't even think right now. Fuck."

"He stopped bleeding. That's good, isn't it?"

"I guess. He's bound to have a concussion, though. I hope kitsune heal as fast as—"

A distant scream cuts off Julian's words. It ceases just as abruptly as it began, and silence settles again.

"Shit. I bet that was the guy who hit Kit," Julian says. "Ferrault was pissed."

"You don't think they... killed him, do you?" Martin whispers.

"Do I care? Hey — I think he's coming 'round."

As I had listened, the voices lifted me from the depths and towards the light, until at last I awaken fully, and open my eyes.

Everything is a little fuzzy, and a little too bright, and my head aches with a dull, throbbing pain.

Someone leans over me, and I can tell from the general coloring — pale skin and dark hair — that it's Julian.

"Hey, Kit." He dabs the side of my face with something cold and damp. "How many fingers?"

My vision clears a little, and I see he's holding up his other hand with his fingers splayed wide, but I'm not sure what he's asking.

"Tha's okay," I mumble. "You can keep them."

He frowns over his shoulder. Behind him, Martin stands, hugging himself and chewing his nails.

"What else do you ask someone with a concussion?"

"Um... If they remember what happened, I think," Martin says.

Julian refocuses on me. "Kit, do you remember what happened?"

I do; and with memory, my senses return in full, like an image snapping into focus. I bolt upright, my Mate's name on my lips, but Julian restrains me gently.

"Whoa – take it easy. You're hurt."

I see he holds a bowl of pinkish-red water in his lap, and a damp cloth stained with blood. I'm lying on a dusty, moth-eaten sofa in a corner of the same large room where I'd seen Ferrault, though it's empty now except for the three of us and a pair of men who guard the doors.

"Where is everyone?" I ask. "Where are the twins?"

"Outside," Julian answers grimly. "Ferrault's punishing the guy who hit you, by the sounds of it. Guess he didn't get the memo you're supposed to be in top condition for the Hunt. Elena has the twins," he adds, a sickly pallor draining the color from his face. "I swear to the unholy god of murder, if she so much as plucks a hair from their heads, I'll..."

He takes a sharp breath and covers his mouth.

"I won't stop you," Martin says quietly, touching his shoulder. "She's no longer my mate. Our bond was weak to begin with, I guess. Like me. Anyway, it's broken now."