Mated to the Warrior Beast

He’d rushed to her side, tearing at the bonds that tied her arms behind her lower back, and her stomach to the tree. But when he removed them, she only rolled forward, face-planting in the dirt.

“Harth!”

Blood seeped in a huge patch down her back and side, making her linen shirt stick to her skin in horrific, almost black ripples, while her face was so pale. A quick check confirmed she was still breathing, but her heartbeat was light and too fast. Shit.

No.

NO.

“Harth!” He was frantic, but didn’t allow himself to think, only react.

He was a soldier. He knew how to staunch a wound. But the positioning of this one didn’t lend itself to a tourniquet, so he laid her out on the ground on her left side, thankful that the arrow had entered her right shoulder. Positioning her arms and leg so that she wouldn’t roll, he ripped off her shirt and balled it up to press to the wound, using pressure from his other hand to give resistance on the other side.

.....

“Get a healer here! NOW!” he roared, his voice echoing up the mountain.

“Tark.” The voice was quiet and sharp. “Enough announcing to the WildWood where we are. We still don’t know how close the bears are.”

“I don’t give a flying fuck. Get one of the hares back to the healers, fly one up here—whatever it takes—”

He hadn’t even finished the sentence when an owl dropped from the sky, shifting to human form when she was still a few feet from the ground, but landing lightly, running to his side with a small bag.

Tarkyn had shifted so swiftly, he didn’t even have the basics on his belt. He almost wept when the woman dumped the bag at his side. “The healers are already on their way—we’re letting them know that the battle was a decisive victory. They can triage here. One of them gave me this—said the powder will—”

But Tarkyn was already tearing the straps off one of the little leather packets with his teeth, spitting it out and pulling back the balled up shirt only long enough to pour the powder over the wound, praying he was close enough.

“How long?”

“Until what?”

“How long until the healers get her?”

The woman bit her lip. “Ten minutes if they’re flown. Perhaps a few more—we were waiting to make certain—”

‘Stay with me, Harth. Please… please…’ Tarkyn pleaded, pressing with all his strength on her shoulder. It was a prayer and a mantra, reaching for her in his mind, desperate.

He could feel her there, a presence. Like the air shift in a room when someone moved. But she wasn’t responding—not even in pain. And she was so pale. Her hands were cold.

This wasn’t supposed to happen! He was the soldier! He was the fighter! If either of them came out of this day in danger, it was supposed to be him!

His mate was dying. He could feel it. Like the flame on a lamp where the oil grew low, slowly, dimming. So slowly you didn’t notice for a minute or two, but then suddenly…

“What happens to Chimera when their lives are fading—can they shift? Or are their beasts lost to them?”

“I—what?” the woman asked.

“TELL ME! Chimera who are dying—do they shift? Can they shift?”

The woman blinked, then shook her head. “I don’t know… I don’t think so. It takes effort to shift. If we’re weak… no. No, I’ve never seen a dying Chimera shift,” she said, licking her lips, her eyes darting to Harth’s pale face, then back to his. “What can I do to help you?”

“Go through the jars—are any of them a bright, light green?” he asked quickly, ignoring the ping of alarm in his own chest.

Anima didn’t shift when they were close to death. Couldn’t. They lost connection with their beast—who was not themselves in a different form, but another entity somehow connected. It was as if, as the soul began to fade, so did the connection with the beast the Creator had given them.

Tarkyn had always found it comforting, knowing there was no risk he, or anyone he loved, would be lost like a Silent One, stuck in their beast.

But the reality was, their beasts were stronger. Faster at healing. Better at anything physical. If he could force Harth to shift he might help her body survive longer, until the healers could reach her.

Of course, taxing her body might kill her too.

The owl hurried to sift through the little bottles and jars she’d dumped out for him, then picked one up and held it to the light.

“That’s it,” Tarkyn said, his voice a low rasp. “Is there is a measuring spoon?”

The female dug around and came up with one, and Tarkyn was faced with a choice.

The tonic was one that would force the shift. It had been discovered by the wolves and used by them for years before the rest of the Anima learned about it after the war.

But would it work on a Chimera whose shift was different?

And if it did… would it kill her?

“Harth… love… please… I need to know…” he whispered, leaning over her.

“Do you want me to—”

“Just give me a damn second!” he barked, then shook his head. He was losing control. That wasn’t going to help her.

So he closed his eyes and prayed. Prayed for her safety. Prayed for his wisdom. And prayed for forgiveness, because he feared if she died… he wanted to go with her, no matter what the Creator thought.

Shaking off the dark thoughts, he cleared his throat and opened his eyes, staring at her.

What to do?

He didn’t know what to do. And every second he took to make the decision was another second weaker.

He blinked. This was war. Battle.

The fighter won. The stronger will won. Waiting and defending only served the weak.

Taking a deep breath and praying as fervently as he ever had, he gave his instructions to the owl with a shaking voice.

“Turn her head up so that it won’t slide out of her mouth,” he said quickly, his voice flat and emotionless. The woman hurriedly sat, putting her thigh next to Harth’s head so she could rest her cheek against it.

“She needs one large spoonful, but… trickle it into her mouth. Let her swallow naturally as it gathers on her tongue. Don’t put it into her throat, do you understand?”

The woman nodded, her eyes wide.

Tarkyn was suddenly aware of a gathering crowd—wolves mostly, but a few of the others as well, all standing near, watching.

For a moment he wanted to tell them all to leave, to stop watching his mate die! But he knew enough of the wolves to know this was how the pack functioned.

Everything together.

It was part of why Harth had so struggled with being torn from her people.

The woman measured out the spoonful with shaking hands, so slowly that Tarkyn almost shouted at her again, but he kept the pressure on Harth’s wound and waited, teeth gritted, as the woman positioned Harth’s jaw, then began to trickle the tonic onto her tongue.

At first, nothing happened and Tarkyn’s heart sank. Harth’s throat didn’t even bob.

But then suddenly, she swallowed convulsively, then coughed—he thanked the Creator it hadn’t happened the other way around. Harth’s hand flailed up from the ground, connecting with his thigh, then dropping again, to lay on his foot.

“Harth… love…” he whispered. “I’m here. Stay with me, baby. Stay with m—”

She shuddered, then shifted, what was left of her clothing tearing off, her wolf’s paws paddling once, and a high whine piercing the air… then she sighed and just lay still.

For a heart-breaking second, Tarkyn heard nothing. No heartbeat. No breathing. Nothing.

“Harth!” The word was an Alpha command—arrogance at its highest, it demanded that she breathe. That she live.

And then he heard it… the thrub, thrub, thrub of her heart—still weak and pale, but stronger than it had been in her human form.

And her chest began to rise and fall much more steadily than it had seconds earlier.

Thank God. Thank the Creator. Thank Him… Tarkyn leaned over her, curling his arm around her precious face, burying himself in her ruff for a moment.

He still held the bundled shirt to her wolf’s shoulder, he wouldn’t let that pressure off… but his heart… his heart had lightened, just a hair.

And then an eerie, mournful howl rose from behind him—joined immediately by dozens of others.

The wolves were howling for her, calling her back. Offering their strength.

Tarkyn let her fur absorb his tears as he swallowed and swallowed to regain control. And then, while they waited for the healer to show up, he murmured in her head.

He wasn’t sure if she could hear him—she still wasn’t responding. But if she caught any of it, he would make sure she knew.

I love you, beautiful.

You are my heart.

I am yours.

Never leave me. Ever. Stay with me, love. Stay with me, mate. I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

Forever.