The Lost Elixir

Chapter Eighteen

Jarrah's arms shook with the weight of Rayne's large wolf after catching her mid-faint.

Dark blood—darker than he thought possible—oozed from the wound in Rayne's side. His fingers trembled into her fur as he gripped her tighter to his chest with a protective urgency that too closely resembled a scene that tore him apart.

He shook his head against the onslaught of memories that threatened to overtake him. Metallic blood. Life slipping away between his clenching fingertips. A still body. Someone's fault. His fault for never being fast enough. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty.

Stop. Jarrah needed to stop if he wanted to help Rayne.

"Rayne," he croaked, voice raw. Gentle and swift, he laid her body down onto the grass. He called her name again, more urgent that time.

Rayne's wolf's breathing grew more staggered, and a whine fell past her unconscious muzzle. Her body convulsed and flinched with the pain of each agonized breath; a direct result of the enchantment constructed to enhance pain. Immobilization had seemed so important at the time.

His chest squeezed at the pitiful sound and he pressed his fingers to the side of her face. "Rayne, I need you to wake up."

He couldn't take the arrow out and risk her wolf waking up and attacking him on instinct. Until the arrow was safely out of her body, he needed her to fight through the haze of pain and focus on him. It didn't help that everything he was doing tortured him with images that scattered across his memory like leaves during the Harvest.

Jarrah swallowed and shook her furry shoulder one more time, using the commanding voice he usually reserved for the royal guard when training the young ones. It didn't feel right using it on her, but he was desperate. "Wake. Up."

Rayne's wolf stirred.

He held his breath—waiting. Hoping. Still panicking.

She blinked open her big, silvery blue eyes after a breath of silence. She drowsily swiveled her gaze to look at him from out the side of her vision and whined again. He breathed out an anxious sigh of relief. 

"There you go, wolf," he murmured, running his fingers along the side of her neck. "I need you to stay awake, okay? I have to get this arrow out of you, and then I'll need you to shift so I can tend to your wound. Can you do that for me?"

Rayne's confirmation came in the form of a whine, followed by the movement of her head. A nod.

Jarrah moved his hands down to the arrow sticking out of her side. His eyes roamed over the red area and assessed how deep the arrowhead was in. Perhaps a little more than an inch after the crescent-shaped weapon, which wasn't ideal, but it wasn't terrible either. The difficult part of the entire procedure would be making sure the arrowhead didn't snag on anything vital.

He wrapped a hand around the outside of the wound and she flinched, her chest rumbling. "I'm not pulling yet. But I have to cut some of the area around the arrow."

She bristled. He warned her not to move as he got up and hurriedly grabbed her backpack where there was a knife, a bandage, and a small bottle of alcohol her mother had packed for them in case of an emergency. He remembered scoffing at the woman at the time for the absurd assortment. But now, he was more than grateful for her quick first aid thinking.

Jarrah poured some of the alcohol over the length of the sharp blade. Rayne eyed him warily, but didn't try and move away from his touch when he positioned the knife over her flesh. He held the side of her belly with a taunt grip and shot her a look. "Just breathe, alright? I'll make it quick, but try not to move."