Pack of Wolves - Maggie Claire (most popular novels of all time .TXT) 📗

He searches the deeper recesses of the wound until the scarred bone finally appears. “Bittern! Grouse! I need you,” Fox shouts as he reaches for his scalpel. The two former members of the House of Vultures approach, both speechless as they stare at their former leader. “We have to operate on his shoulder right now, and I need you two to assist. One of you will hold his head. If he wakes, force him to drink some of our whisky. The other will be my second in the surgery.”

“Condor? Is it really him?” Grouse whispers as she brushes her fingers along the Dadeni lines on his hands. “How altered he is!”

“What is Wolf doing to him?” Bittern wonders as she begins laying out instruments on a clean cloth. “How long has he been here?”

Grouse wails as she notices the bamboo shooting out of his chest. “Fox, I don’t care what his past mistakes are, this is cruel! We cannot allow it to continue.”

“We don’t have a choice!” Fox growls as he split’s the skin around Cyrus’s wound wider. “Right now, we just have to fix him.”

“What? Patch him up and send him back to die?” Bittern exclaims, hatred building in her at the thought. “Despite our house’s reputation, we were never as heartless as your Wolf!”

“I don’t particularly like it either. Wolf will probably try to kill me when he discovers that I’ve brought you into this. He doesn’t want Cyrus to be attended by anyone else, but I need extra sets of hands for this task,” Fox admits as he waits for Bittern to wipe away the excess blood seeping out of the gash. “Hold the skin open as wide as you can stretch it without tearing. Grouse, hold him still. This is going to hurt, and he’ll probably wake up briefly from the pain.”

Cyrus’s eyes fly open the minute the tweezers scrape on the iron tip of the arrow. His chest heaves and his arms struggle in Grouse’s vicelike grip. The tweezers clink as they skitter along the bone, and even Bittern’s strong stomach turns at the unnatural sound.

“Oh, it’s lodged in there good,” Fox mumbles as he attempts to pull it free. “I’m going to have to wiggle it loose.”

“Bloody butcher!” Bittern hisses, tears welling in her eyes. “Why patch him up if you know what Wolf intends to do with him?”

“My job is to heal and save,” Fox snaps, his hands freezing as he glares at the furious woman. “So, I will do my damnedest to help him.” Lowering his voice, Fox adds, “And when I can figure out a way to free us all from Wolf’s tyranny, I will. Now keep him still!”

Cyrus moans as Fox shakes the tweezers. “It burns,” he screams as he strains against Grouse. “It’s burning me alive! Quick, make it stop! Please!”

“Drink this,” Grouse demands, pressing a bottle of homemade whisky to his lips. “Come on, take it all,” she pushes when Cyrus attempts to turn away.

Using one hand to pull the skin, Bittern frees her other one to comfort Cyrus. “Hush now,” Bittern whispers into Cyrus’s ear, her voice growing soft and gentle as she strokes his hair with her bloody fingers. “It’s almost over. You’re going to be fine. Just keep breathing,” she coos, her eyes clouding as the ghosts of her lost family dance in her memory.

“Got it!” Fox rejoices triumphantly, holding the metal arrow up for inspection. “The worst is over now, son. We’ll stitch you up, and you’ll be better in no time.”

“I knew you could do it,” Wolf praises from his hiding place up an obliging tree. He hops to the ground, stalking closer to Cyrus’s body. “I see that you’re disobeying my orders too. Why include these two in your work?”

“I needed assistants, and I figured that Cyrus would trust these two more than anyone else in the pack. You wanted him alive, and he is, for now. Just say thank you and move on,” Fox snarls as he presses bandages into the wounds.

Wolf towers over the aging healer, his voice turning bitterly cold. “But if you ever threaten me again—”

“Whatever you’re about to say, Wolf, just don’t,” Fox snaps as he wipes his instruments on the white cloth, staining it crimson. “I’m too old to care about death threats, and I’m too useful for you to actually carry them out. I won’t cower in the face of your false bravado.”

Wolf stares at the healer, astonished by his words. His jaw clenches with the depths of his fury, but no other words fall from his lips. His stare is maniacal, as though Wolf imagines a thousand ways to torture and kill Fox for his insolence.

Bittern rises, her arms crossed as she puts herself between them. “You won’t hurt him anymore,” she insists, her voice full of false authority. “Condor is to be left alone.”

“You do not make the rules,” Wolf challenges, calmly moving her aside. “I will do what I please, and you will keep your mouths shut.”

“Then let us nurse him,” Grouse interrupts, holding Bittern’s arm before she can do anything foolish. “Look, Condor is going to need ‘round the clock care, and Fox is already overwhelmed as it is. We’re already a part of this. Let us help you keep him alive.”

Wolf assesses her intently before responding, “Fine. Sneak his body back onto the first wagon in the caravan, and ride with him.” He turns away and barks orders to the rest of his people.

“I’ll pay for that one day,” Fox whispers to himself, his hands shaking as he reaches for a lidded jar that will hold his dirtied instruments until they can be sterilized. “Wolf never forgets when someone challenges him. He might not have attacked me today, but he’ll hold a grudge. When I least expect it, Wolf will pounce.”

However, Bittern and Grouse are too busy arguing amongst themselves to hear Fox’s worries. “So now we’re playing nursemaids to a tortured man? What good does that do, Grouse?”