Chapter 137

Chapter 137 Ella My grief keeps me awake far longer than I’m sure I could have managed otherwise. I’m alone, so I don’t bother trying to quiet my keening, wailing my despair into the night air. I’m not sure how long it will take for the shift to take hold, but I pray that the violent transformation will generate enough heat and energy to allow me to survive.

The possibility that it might fail seeps into my mind and suddenly I wonder if I should have just let myself fall asleep, rather than meeting my end in agony.

Oh Goddess, I should have taken the herb hours ago. I think woefully. Now it’s probably too late.

This thought only makes me cry harder, but there’s also a growing kernel of warmth in my belly, pulsing inside me and radiating the strangest sensations through my body. Suddenly the entire forest explodes into a cacophony of sound – chirping crickets, croaking frogs, the low hoot of an owl, and other things I can scarcely recognize. I can hear small animals scurrying below the snowpack, and the sound of the wind rustling through the trees for miles away. It’s too -overwhelming, and I’m amazed by the images that appear in my mind, explaining each sound with a clarity I couldn’t have possibly imagined. It’s almost as though I can see sound.. and I realize this must be how it is for wolves all the time. The herb is working.

Then I hear something else, pounding footprints crunching through the snow. “No! No, no, no.” I moan desperately, my mind slowly piecing together the puzzle of information. If I hear footsteps it means... it means either Sinclair or the Prince has finally caught up with me. Either way...

I’m going to be found imminently, which means didn’t have to take the herb after all. I find the strength to push my body up on my hands and knees, sticking my fingers down my throat and trying to make myself vomit.. to undo the horrible.

That’s how Sinclair found me a few minutes later, sobbing and gagging, begging the Goddess to take back my rash actions.

“Ella!” He shouts, racing towards me. “Oh thank the stars.” His voice pierces my skull at a terrifying volume, and I clamp my hands over my ears, crying out.

“Ella, it’s okay, I’m here.” Sinclair assures me, misunderstanding my pain. His voice is still too loud, but the pain in my heart is even more excruciating than the pain in my head.

“No,” I cry again, my chest heaving. “No, you..

You’re t-too la -late.”

Sinclair crashes onto his knees in the snow beside me, wearing head to toe tactical gear that no doubt kept him perfectly warm through his own alpine trek. His arms reach for me, but I jerk away from him, my adrenaline spiking again now that my baby’s life is in unnecessary danger. I’m crying so hard I can’t catch my breath, but I still can’t make myself vomit. The surreal power swirling in my stomach only grows stronger, and I know there’s no reversing this. I jerk my head to Sinclair, and he reels back when he sees my wide, glowing eyes.

“I thought... I thought I was dying” I try to explain, my words coming out babbled and slurred. “I didn’t th-think... I had.. a ch-

choice.”

Understanding makes Sinclair’s brilliant green eyes go wide with alarm and pain. He swears under his breath, looking over his shoulder at his second in command. “We need an extraction right now. Call for a chopper.” I hear the man pulling out his phone and the dial tone is as loud as a blaring fog horn.

I’m shaking my head as Sinclair reaches for me again, my words unintelligible in the height of my “anguish. “It’s okay, baby. It’s gonna be okay.”

Sinclair croons, dragging me into his embrace even though I fight tooth and nail. “Come on, let’s get you warm.” He unzips his coat and pulls me against his overheated body before zipping it up again.

The man on the phone is speaking now, giving our location, and I’m amazed to discover I can detect the pilot’s voice just as easily. Sinclair’s heart beat is pounding against my ear, and the sounds of his men’s hearts and breath fill my head as well. “Too lóud.” I whimper, “It’s too loud.”

“I know, baby.” Sinclair whispers, but it sounds like a yell. He chafes my body with his hands, generating heat through his thick jacket. “We don’t have much time.” He says then, clearly talking to his men. “She’s about to enter her first shift.”

“Her first -” One of the men starts to question, clearly not in on the secret of my suppressed wolf.

Sinclair cuts him off, “I’ll explain later, we need to get out of the woods.”

He stands, cradling me in his arms, and I sob into his neck. “Th-the p-pup.” I moan. “I-I’ve k-killed him.”

“Shh, little one.” Sinclair, purrs, but I can hear the “grief in his own voice. “Let’s just get you someplace safe. Fuck, you’re frozen solid.” He takes off at a run, and suddenly I understand how he reached me so fast. Even carrying me on two legs, he and his men are five times as fast as a human, and probably ten times faster than I’d be stumbling and falling through the deep snow in my exhaustion.

The world starts to go fuzzy then, and I feel as though I’ve swallowed a glowing ball of light. Other senses are starting to sharpen – my eyes are tightly shut and blurred with tears, but my nose is suddenly every bit as overwhelmed as my ears.

Sinclair’s familiar aroma has been magnified by a thousand, deepened and more complex than I’ve ever experienced before. It’s so strong I almost feel intoxicated with it, but I can smell other things too, things I never imagined having scents – like the sweat of the men surrounding us, and my mate’s fear for my well being. Bad things too, like the decay of dead animals trapped in the ice, or the scat of a lynx somewhere off in the distance.

It seems as though I’ve been moving through the world in a bubble my entire life, and now that protective, insulating barrier has finally popped and everything is coming into severe focus reminds me of birth, of a child existing in its dark, -fluid filled sac until it’s abruptly introduced into the harsh world with no warning. I suppose this is a rebirth for me, but the comparison sends my spiraling emotions even further out of control. The cost of my own reincarnation is depriving my pup of his own life... he will never have the chance to experience life outside of my womb.

My shivers only worsen with my grief, and though Sinclair’s scorching skin is buffering my icy limbs, I can’t get warm. We’re out of the forest in an instant, and then a horrible, violent whump whump whump, fills my ears. I scream in response to the noise of the helicopter, more painful than anything I’ve yet experienced.

Sinclair attempts to help by pressing one of his hands over my own. “Just hold on, Ella.” He encourages. “I’ve got you.”

He leaps into the back of the aircraft, taking me into a far corner and strapping himself in. I’m trying to plug my ears again, but it won’t work. His men clamber into the chopper with us, and then we’re leaving the ground, gaining altitude and rising up into the heavens. The motion makes me feel sick to my stomach, but my body seems incapable of rejecting the contents of my stomach, as if the herb congealed my insides and formed an immovable rock to ensure the metamorphosis takes hold.

“Let me see your hands, baby.” Sinclair requests, dragging one of my palms from my ears to examine my fingers. He curses again, and I realize it’s because my extremities have turned blue with frostbite. He does the same with my feet, and I can’t even bring myself to care that I might lose my fingers and toes. I would gladly trade them for my baby. Sinclair tucks my frosty fingers under his arms and grips my toes in his hands, trying to radiate his own warmth into my system. “Im sorry,” He murmurs as quietly as he can, his voice thick with emotion. I smell salt unlike my own tears or the others’ sweat, and I realize they’re Sinclair’s tears. “Im sorry it took me so long to reach you.”

I’ve been keeping my eyes tightly shut, terrified of adding more sensory stimulation to my already overloaded system, but I force myself to look up at him. It’s dark in the helicopter, which is a true blessing. I can see Sinclair as clearly as I normally would have in the light, his features are strained with the weight of his quilt and sadness. I can’t stand it, this isn’t his fault and I know he’s going to torture himself for my rash decision. “I sh-should have waited... been stronger.”

Sinclair’s face crumples with pain. He starts to purr then stops, remembering my sensitivity to noise. He opens his mouth to respond to my statement, but before he can get a word out something explodes inside of me, and I scream at the top of my lungs.

Sinclair grips me tighter, ordering the pilots to hurry up. “Faster! Her shift is beginning.”