"Hold still."

Marina pressed her palm flat against the wound on Silvain's side and felt him flinch beneath her touch. The gash ran deep, almost to the ribs. She could see the muscle moving when he breathed.

"I said hold still."

"I heard you." His voice was gravel and ash. He stared at the broken wall ahead of them, jaw locked, refusing to look at her.

Around them, what remained of the Bloodfang den was rubble. Beams had collapsed through the roof. Smoke still curled from the eastern corridor. The floor was wet with things Marina refused to name.

She worked fast. Her fingers knew the herbs by touch now,...