Her Immortal Mate (Brides of the Vrakken #3)

2. Mae

2

MAE

M y legs burn as I scramble up the rock face, fingers searching for purchase on the cold granite. Screams echo through the valley below.

"Keep moving!" I shout to Anna, who's roped in below me. Her blonde hair whips in the wind as she follows my path up the cliff.

The sound hits before I see them - a deep thrumming that vibrates in my chest. Dark shapes slice through the clouds above the Bavarian Alps, blocking out the afternoon sun. My chalk-covered hands shake as I clip into the next anchor point.

"What are those things?" Anna's voice cracks with panic.

I squint upward, my years of emergency room triage kicking in. Stay calm. Assess. Act. "Just keep climbing. We're almost to that ledge."

The shapes descend, picking people off the side of the mountain. Large bat wings carry them away, my climbing mates screaming as they are snatched out of the air.

"Mae!" Anna screams. I turn in time to see a thing…so human-like besides the bat wings pushing off the mountain. In an instant, she's gone, her rope dropping slack.

My heart pounds against my ribs as I climb faster, muscles screaming. The ledge is just ten feet above. If I can just reach it-

One of the creatures comes for me. My body goes rigid, weightless. The cliff face blurs and fades...

I jolt awake with a gasp, sweat soaking through my thin sleeping mat. My hands instinctively reach for climbing holds that aren't there, fingers cramping with phantom exertion. The tent's canvas walls press close in the darkness.

"Shit." I press my palms against my eyes, trying to push away the memory of that day two years ago. Of watching my climbing partners disappear one by one. Of how my experience on search and rescue missions had helped me evade capture longer than most. But in the end, it hadn't mattered.

The vrakken took us all.

The dream always stops at the moment of capture. Maybe my mind is protecting me from what came after — the screaming, the blood, the people Changing or dying. My medical training had helped me survive as I tended to the changelings, helping increase their survival rate.

The nightmare clings to me and I kick away from my bedroll. I roll onto my side, pulling my knees to my chest as I wait for my breathing to slow.

I push off the ground and slip on my boots, tying the laces with practiced efficiency. No point dwelling on nightmares when there's work to be done. During a war, there's always work to be done.

The healing tents have been set up in the middle of the camp, and I work my way there in the dim light. I grab my leather satchel of herbs and supplies, checking my inventory in the dim morning light.

A vrakken guard materializes beside me. "There's three injured this way."

"What happened?" I sort through dried herbs and flowers I don't know the name of, mentally cataloging what I'll need as I follow him toward one of the extra tents set up on the side. Most of the vrakken guards have learned who I am by now.

"Dark elf raid. They attacked why we had a hunting party out." He vanishes as quickly as he appeared, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

I head to the first patient, a female vrakken with wings crumpled against her back. Her ghostly white skin is even paler than usual, dark circles around her eyes more pronounced.

"I can heal myself," she hisses through clenched teeth.

"Your magic is drained." I examine her wing, noting the torn membrane. "Save what little you have left. This needs cleaning and stitching."

She grabs my wrist, her grip painfully tight. "Why should I trust a human?"

"Because I'm still alive." I meet her black eyes steadily. "Which means I'm good at what I do."

She releases me with a sneer but doesn't protest as I clean the wound. I get that a lot, too. Even though we were all at one point human, many vrakken believe that their ability to survive the Change makes them better than me.

I work methodically, mentally noting how the membrane structure differs from bat wings I studied in biology. The tissue is harder to heal without magic, but I can manage it. At least to where they can still fly.

"Hold still," I murmur, threading a needle with gut string. "This will hurt."

"I've endured worse." Her lips curl into a bitter smile.

As I work, a purna enters — one of the magic-wielding human women who serve the vrakken. Her magic flickers weakly as she attempts to heal another injured warrior.

"Save it," I call out. "I've got paste for the bleeding and bark for pain. Rest your magic — they'll need it more when the dark elves return."

The purna nods gratefully, sinking onto a nearby stone bench. I continue my work, each stitch adding to my mental catalog of vrakken physiology. Knowledge is power - and someday, I'll need every advantage I can get.

I finish with my last patient when heavy footsteps approach the tent. A massive vrakken pushes through the entrance, carrying a limp warrior in his arms. Blood drips onto the stone floor.

"Put him here." I clear space on the nearest cot, already reaching for fresh supplies.

The wounded vrakken's chest bears deep gashes - claw marks from what must have been a brutal fight. His breathing comes in wet, ragged gasps.

The tall vrakken who brought him in stays close, his silver eyes tracking my movements as I examine the wounds. His wings, larger than any I've seen before, curl protectively around the injured warrior.

"These need cleaning before infection sets in." I grab my herb bag. "Hold him down. This will hurt."

He nods, pressing strong hands against the warrior's shoulders. As I work, I notice how his touch remains gentle despite his obvious strength.

"You're different from the other healers," he says, voice deep with a slight German accent.

I glance up, surprised by the observation. "How so?"

"You don't hesitate. You know exactly what needs doing." His silver eyes meet mine. "What's your name?"

"Mae." I press a poultice into the deepest wound. The injured vrakken thrashes, but the other's grip holds firm.

"Eike." He adjusts his hold as I work. "You were a healer before?"

"EMT." I thread a needle with practiced efficiency. "Before I decided to study abroad in Munich." His eyebrows raise at that, and I know I was right about picking up on the German lilt in his tone. "Trauma care comes naturally now."

His wings shift, catching the lamplight. The metallic sheen reminds me of brushed steel.

"That explains it." Eike watches as I make the first stitch. "Most humans panic around our kind."

"Hard to be scared when you're trying to keep someone alive." I tie off the suture. "Besides, you're not so different from us. Not really." Not when they used to be us, but they don't tend to like the reminder that they were once one of their own prey.

A ghost of a smile crosses his face. "Perhaps not."

We work in comfortable silence after that, moving in sync as I clean and close each wound. His presence is steady, calming even. It's the first time I've felt truly at ease around one of them.

"He'll heal fast," I say finally, wrapping the last bandage. "But he needs blood."

Eike nods. "I'll see to it." He hesitates. "Thank you, Mae."

The way he says my name sends an unexpected shiver down my spine.

But I force myself away, to see the next injured. And the next. Always drowning out what's going on around me.

When I finally catch a break, I go to clean my hands and instruments in a basin of water, trying to ignore how Eike's presence fills the tent. His wings catch the morning light now streaming in as he moves, and I catch myself staring at the way the metallic membrane shifts like liquid silver.

"You should rest." He steps closer, and I catch a whiff of leather and wood. "You've been working for hours."

"I'm fine." I dry my hands on a cloth, hyper-aware of his proximity. "There might be more wounded-"

"The raids are done for now." His voice drops lower. "Dark elves won't attack again so soon."

I turn to face him, having to crane my neck to meet his gaze. This close, I notice flecks of darker gray in his silver eyes. My heart stutters.

"How can you be sure?"

"Because I know their tactics." A muscle ticks in his jaw. "I've studied them long enough."

"Right." I busy myself organizing my supplies, needing distance from his intensity. "Well, if you're certain..."

"Let me walk you back to your tent." It's not quite a command, but there's an edge of authority in his tone that makes my spine tingle.

"I know the way."

He steps into my path. "Humor me."

We walk in silence through the camp that is now coming to life, shifts exchanging positions with the rise of the sun. I steal glances at him when I think he's not looking, noting how his wings fold against his back with fluid grace.

This is dangerous, I remind myself. These brief moments of connection, the way my skin prickles when he's near - it all needs to stop. I don't know this vrakken and yet he pulls a yearning out of me I don't understand.

But I have a plan. The herbs I've been collecting, the information I've been memorizing, the guard rotations I've tracked... I can't let attraction derail everything.

"Something troubles you." Eike's observation cuts through my thoughts.

"Just tired." The lie tastes bitter on my tongue.

He catches my arm, his touch sending electricity through my veins. "Mae."

My name on his lips does things to my insides that I refuse to acknowledge. I pull away, hating how my body betrays me by wanting to lean into his warmth instead.

"Thank you for the escort." I duck into my tent before he can respond, before I can do something stupid like trace the sharp line of his jaw or ask what his wings feel like.

I press my forehead against the cool stone wall, cursing myself. I can't afford to feel this way. Not about him. Not about any of them.

But as I sink onto my bedroll, his silver eyes haunt me, and I wonder when did I start wanting for a vrakken.