Josie
Kiel's hand was warm against mine as we tore down the corridor, the sound of our footsteps pounding against the marble floors echoing through the pack house. My heart was hammering in my chest, dread crawling up my spine like ice. I didn't know what waited for us in the lounge, but the metallic scent in the air told me enough. Blood. Too much of it.
When we burst through the doors, I froze.
Thorne was on the floor—his hand pressed against his side, blood pooling beneath him, seeping between his fingers. My throat closed up. For a moment, all I could do was stare at the crimson slicking his skin.
"Thorne!" I gasped, ripping my hand free from Kiel's and dropping to my knees beside him.
His face was pale, jaw tight, teeth clenched as his healing tried—failed—to keep up with the damage. He'd heal slower under this kind of blood loss. My hands shook as I pressed down over his wound, trying to stop the bleeding, but there was so much—too much.
