Ignoring the pull to track Zio, Devan followed the combined scent until he came to an abandoned power plant, where it was clear the two units had, as planned, split up—Gale’s crew flanking Zio’s as they moved in to set explosives around the enemy camp.
Devan was still far enough away that he’d yet to pick up the scent of the southern packs, but he sensed their presence, and his hackles rose. He’d never been around wolves in such numbers, but somehow his shifter soul was already distinguishing between friend and foe. Between pack and the enemy.
Caught at a crossroads, Devan climbed a set of crumbling stairs to look out over the site. A flash of light caught his attention, gone so fast he thought he’d imagined it. Then an explosion rocked the earth, tearing through the quiet of the night, shaking the already fractured landscape.
A silence took hold, fleeting and deadly, and then screams. The injured and dying called to Devan in ways he couldn’t explain, his healer instincts so strong he moved to leap through the glassless window, to advance on the explosion site and do all he could for any soul who needed him.
But as he leaned out into the night, another burst of pain hit him, stronger than any other, claws that hooked into him, yanking him back from the window.
Devan whirled around and sprinted out of the building. He ran towards the ever-growing scent of wolf blood, reaching out with his mind, filtering out the influx of distress to find the only one who truly mattered. He already knew it wasn’t Zio who was hurt, but it was someone he cared about. It waspack.
Bonds solidified as supernatural power shimmered through Devan. The urge to shift was stronger than ever, but even in his human form, he was fast. It seemed as though no time at all had passed when he came across Bomber on his knees by a contaminated canal, his arm mangled, bones sticking out in every direction as blood poured from gaping wounds.
Devan dropped beside him. “What happened?”
“Grenade went off in my hand,” Bomber ground out. “It’ll heal, right?”
His vulnerability hurt Devan’s heart. He examined the injury. “It’s already knitting together, but not fast enough for you to not pass out from blood loss. I can help if you’ll let me?”
Bomber hesitated, and Devan understood. Zio aside, of all the young wolves, Bomber had been among the most suspicious of his presence. The most hostile to an outsider in their midst. Allowing Devan to heal him would give Devan access to his emotions, more so than he had already as his links to the pack strengthened. A frightening prospect when you weren’t sure of a stranger’s intentions.
“Put it this way,” Devan said. “This place is gonna be swarming with humans any minute now. You want them to find you unconscious and pick you up?”
“You’d leave me here alone?”
“Not if I can help it, but someone else might need me.”
Bomber shuddered, face tight with pain. “Do it. Heal me, but don’t be doing no voodoo shit with my brain after, you feel me?”
His vernacular gave away his age, in human terms, at least. Devan laid his hands on Bomber and pondered his backstory. Bowing to Zio’s unit’s aloofness, he hadn’t done much more than skim the notes Emma had left behind. As his power flowed through his fingers and into Bomber, he wished he’d read them more thoroughly. There was nothing worse than not understanding the soul he wished to fix.
“Whoa.” Bomber’s low whistle broke into Devan’s healing daze. “That shit is fast.”
Devan’s vision cleared, and he studied Bomber’s injured arm. Bones had knit together, blood had clotted, and his skin was starting to close over the wounds. “How’s your pain?”
“It’s gone.”
Bomber gazed at him, apparently awestruck, but they didn’t have time for conversation. Sirens were already sounding in the distance, and they needed to move out.
Devan hauled Bomber to his feet. “Can you run?”
“Yes.”
“On two legs? The humans are going to have helicopters up. You don’t want to be caught in your wolf form.”
Bomber snorted but didn’t argue. “Varian still on the bridge?”
“Yes.”
“Are you coming with me?”
It was Devan’s turn to hesitate. In the time it had taken him to tend to Bomber, no further distress calls had reached him, but the notion of leaving Zio—of leavingpack—was inconceivable. “I’ll be right behind you.”
“Is Zio okay?”
“What? Why are you asking that? Is he hurt?”
Bomber frowned. “He wasn’t when I last saw him, but I can smell him all over you, so I figured you’d seen him since.”