Thornhill Academy. Chapter 28

Kael lunged for the satchel the coach tossed him like it was second nature and cupped it in one hand while the other reached for the med-tools. I watched him work with a kind of stupid, furious focus that had nothing to do with my dragon and everything to do with the fact that those hands were on her. My talons twitched, a phantom itch under my skin, but I forced myself to stay still. Every inch of me wanted to close and keep her safe; every inch of me hated the idea of anyone touching what felt like mine. Kael pulled out bandages, vials, a roll of gauze, a small corked bottle glowing a faint turquoise, an enchantment, then. The smell of herbs hit me, sharp and clean. It made my jaw shift. Kael took a breath, glanced up at me with something half-apology, half-command in his eyes. “I’m going to clean her, Ev. Calm yourself.” His tone wasn’t asking.

He ripped at my shirt on her small frame. The motion was almost violent, one hand on the collar, the other tearing the fabric with claws that had never been gentle in combat but moved like surgeons now. The white shreds fell away, exposing the pale expanse of her back and the ragged, angry dark lines of the wounds. Mud clung to them, dark as old bruises. The sight of raw flesh hit me harder than it should have; I felt unreasonably possessive and fiercely protective, like a beast with hot coals behind its ribs. My dragon's instincts flared, and my wings expanded and then curled around the three of us. Privacy.

Kael’s hands were clean; he poured warm water from a small vial over a cloth and gently pressed it to the worst of the grime. He murmured as he worked, soft, steady sounds that weren’t exactly words of comfort but had the same effect. The cloth came away darker, the mud lifting and leaving angry, raw skin behind. The smell of rot and river and ash clung to her hair, memories of whatever terror had happened in those trees, and I swallowed. The dragon in me seethed.

“Hold on, Ally,” Kael said under his breath. He didn’t say her name to me; he said it to her, small and personal. He worked with the steady, quiet patience of someone who’d saved more friends than he’d liked to count. With one hand, he propped her up and with the other, he uncorked the little glowing vial. The salve inside winked like a captured star.

When he touched the salve to the open flesh, it steamed, bright blue mist curling up and licking the air. Tiny runes unfurled across the ointment’s surface as if the jar itself were breathing. I felt the ward’s warmth like a small, kind promise. Flesh that had looked shredded and raw began to knit at the edges as the salve sank in, closing tiny capillaries, turning the wet red to a cleaner, steadier crimson. Kael hummed approval at the shift. My dragon didn’t like it. He rumbled a low, dissatisfied sound that vibrated through my sternum. But something else, something because of Kael sliding a bandage under my fingers and looking up at me, tempered the animal’s hunger. Kael’s face was calm, hard with the kind of concentration I’d come to respect. He didn’t preen for praise. He didn’t gloat. He stitched and bound as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world, and his hands never once faltered.

“Satchel’s got stitching wire,” he said without looking at me. “Wrap tight at the seams but not strangling, right? We don’t want to cut off circulation.” He tacked the gauze down with clean, careful folds, tying knots with fingers that steadied as the world swam. When he finished, he lowered his voice and said something to her that I couldn’t quite hear. I wanted to listen to it, wanted to know the small, private thing he’d said into her ear, but I didn’t deserve that. The dragon’s grip around me loosened a fraction as if Kael’s steadiness had told it something in a language older than speech: she would not be taken, not by force. The dragon settled into watchfulness rather than belligerence. Kael scooped up the remaining kit and rose, wiping his hands on a strip of my shredded shirt. He met my eyes for a long second. “She needs to get warm and stitched properly inside. Help me carry her?” There was no question there, just the expectation that I would do the right thing.

My dragon’s rumble softened, a careful, almost wary sound, like a hunter easing its grip when it realises its prey is already safe in another’s hands. I felt the shift under my skin before I understood it: the talons that had held her tightened once more, then, with the strangest, most humiliating gentleness, nudged her toward Kael. It was a gesture. A push. An admission dressed up as an order. My dragon handed her over. Kael slid into position without hesitation, quickly pulling off his own shirt and placing it over her, as he eased her into a cradle. He took her, like a man taking something precious and fragile, and I realised I’d been holding my breath the whole time. My body took over, doing the rest on autopilot. The shift released me like a leash snapping. Scales gave way to skin, claws to fists, muscles folding back into place and when I hit the grass on two feet, I felt absurdly small. I swallowed past the dry, hollow place in my throat and forced my posture into something hard and watchful, because my dragon had left a mark that didn’t wash off with form.

Kael met my eyes as if to anchor me. No words, just a look that said *go with me.* I fell into step at his shoulder, keeping close enough that my shadow touched her wrapped form. We moved as one slow, deliberate unit; the medics cleared a path, coach falling mute behind us, students scattering like startled birds. I wanted to ask the dragon what *mine* meant. I tried to press claws into my ribs and drag the animal out, showing it the rule-book: bonds form at the Moonlight Festival, under the council’s wards, not in a muddy riverbed, not because an old hunger decided it. But the words stuck in my throat. There was no language for the thing that had blurted itself out of my beast and laid a claim I didn’t understand. Instead, I did what I could. I kept my stance tight, chest forward, shoulders squared, an obvious, dramatic wall for anyone who wondered whether they could step too close. The protective pose was almost theatrical; I realised later it probably read as something much simpler to everyone watching: he’s scared and furious and not fucking around.