Magical Midlife Battle （Leveling Up, #8）(131)

Nessa ran faster now, dread stealing over the coldness in her chest. In the square, most of the cots had occupants at this point, many of them moving or groaning. That was good—it meant they were alive enough to heal. They’d probably get through this.

A gargoyle landed not far away, holding a bloodied, limp wolf. Two pack women ran to them immediately. The gargoyle paused before pushing back into the air, looking over at a cot on the side.

He put his fist to his heart, then took off.

Nessa slowed down to carefully get between the beds without kicking anything on the ground or knocking into a nurse. A guy with an apron, his take on scrubs, noticed her. His face closed down, grim. He pointed in the direction the gargoyle had been looking.

“Oh no,” she breathed, weaving between the beds faster now and then stopping dead when she saw her. “Oh my God.”

There were no other words.

Actually, she had a few choice ones.

“Why is no one helping her?” Nessa demanded, stopping next to the bed and looking down on the mangled female gargoyle. Blood coated her purply-pink or blackened gargoyle hide, crusted in most places. Several close-range wounds from blasters had been sewn together. One wing was bent at an unnatural angle, and the holes in the webbing hadn’t been closed—probably because they weren’t bleeding. Tape was wrapped around her head, holding her jaw in place, and more tape held her leg straight. “Why is no one helping her? ”

“Whoa, whoa.” A garhette stepped up to Nessa’s side, wrapping her arms around her.

Nessa shrugged her off. “I don’t need cuddles. I need answers.”

Indigo sat, her hands on Jessie’s arm. Blood coated her scrubs and was smeared across her cheek.

“I’m keeping her from dying,” she said, her glasses askew. “That is taking all of my power. She has to pull herself back from the brink, and right now, she isn’t making the effort. I’m not sure she has anything left to give.”

Nessa stared at her, wetness pooling in her eyes, her world suddenly paling.

“She has plenty left to give,” she ground out, her voice breaking. “Plenty! She just needs help.

Edgar, come here. We’ve got work to do.”

Kingsley

OVER THREE HOURS after the battle had begun, the battlefield lay quiet. The fallen had dotted the land, but all of the friendlies had already been brought in, the enemies placed in groups. If Momar’s people wanted to come collect their dead, Kingsley would allow them to do it peacefully. He would not deny them the right to grieve.

So many of his men and women had been lost, yet it was far from the total annihilation that would’ve happened if they hadn’t had Austin and Jessie’s help. They’d cleared out all but a portion of the other side. Those who’d run at the first sign of the spell’s failure had gotten away. Anyone who had waited long enough to realize the battle was not going their way had been chased down by the basajaunak or gargoyles. Those creatures did not give quarter.

He kept his posture straight and mannerisms stoic, the rock his people would need right now, as he walked through town. He placed his hand on shoulders and took a moment to share grief with any who needed it. Finally, he made it to the square, to the injured warriors who were still hanging on.

This was what he’d been dreading.

He’d heard what happened. He’d seen his brother sprint back toward town as soon as they knew they were assured a victory. He’d looked like a man breaking.

What he found in the square stopped him short, though.

Gargoyles, shifters, and basajaunak sat in every available space, surrounding the wounded and filling the square. Warriors and civilians alike spilled into the streets and back between shops and buildings. They all held hands, many with eyes closed, softly swaying to a soft hum that rose above them all. Even the flowers had joined in, swaying with the people.

The cots were full with bloodied people, most of them lying still but all looking in the same direction.

“Hey,” Kingsley said, stopping by the first cot.

Eunice, a wolf shifter, shook her head, flicking her eyes to him. “I’m focused on the connection, alpha.”

Confused, Kingsley nodded and moved on to the next bed, where he was told something similar.

“What connection?” he finally asked after receiving the same answer for the third time.

“The connection with Alpha Ironheart,” the wounded shifter said, closing his eyes. “She’s still there. She’ll feel us. She’ll feel our support through the connection.”

He threaded his way to Jessie now, finding his brother sitting at her side, bent over her with his eyes closed, tears dripping freely down his cheeks. Kingsley stopped and let out a breath before composing himself again. Given Austin wasn’t raging, she must still be alive, but Kingsley had no idea how. Not with that extent of damage to her person. She must’ve gone through literal hell to get the job done.

The female mage—Nessa—stood at Jessie’s feet. She swayed and hummed softly, determination on her face. The rest of Jessie’s crew sat just behind her, holding on to one another, even the butler and the puca holding hands with heads bowed, eyes closed.

“If you aren’t helping, you need to find somewhere else to be,” Nessa said without opening her eyes.

Kingsley looked around for whom she might be talking to, finally catching the healer’s gaze.