KAEL'S POV
The tent smelled of blood and moonflower root and the sour sweat of a man who had danced with death and lost the rhythm. I sat on the low stool beside Jax's furs, elbows on my knees, watching the shallow rise and fall of his chest. The counter-potion had done its work, his color was back, the pale blue lips were fading—but the wolfsbane had carved deep. His face was gaunt, cheekbones sharp as blades, the fresh stitches above his brow livid against pale skin. He looked like a man who had been hollowed out and then stitched back together with the wrong thread.
I have been waiting here since Eira told me he was about to wake upi wanted to be he first person to see him wakeup.
His lashes fluttered. Once. Twice. Then his eyes opened, stormy-gray like mine, but bloodshot,his pupils blew wide with the last dregs of poison and pain. He blinked at the canvas ceiling, confused, then his gaze slid sideways and found me.
I smiled. Slowlh.
