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I felt no pain.
It all happened so quickly the silver dagger entering my chest with barely any resistance. There was no pain, only a strange, sudden lightness spreading through my body. An unprecedented sense of freedom.
Because I would never feel pain again.
The silver poison spread through my veins like ice water, numbing everything in its path, Distantly, I heard sounds–panicked voices, running, footsteps, someone screaming my name. But they seemed to come from another world entirely.
In my hazy state, memories flooded back with vivid clarity, I remembered when I’d fallen terribly ill with fever shortly after Mom died, I was only nine years old.
My brother had been frantic then. Twelve–year–old Ethan, suddenly responsible for his little sister, staying by my side day and night. He’d refused to go to school, refused to sleep.
“Her temperature is 104,” he’d told the Pack healer, his voice breaking, “Why isn’t the medicine working? Do something!”
Loften heard his voice cutting through my fever dreams, felt his large hand gently stroking my sweat–soaked forehead, calling my name over and over like a prayer,
“Skye, please wake up. Skye, come back to me. I need you, little sister. Please,”
He would sing Mom’s lullabies to me, his adolescent voice cracking on the high notes. He’d whisper promises about all the things we would do when I got better–how we’d go to the lake, how he’d teach me to hunt, how we’d always be together.
When I finally woke from the fever after five days, I saw his red–rimmed eyes. He had been crying, his young face gaunt from sleeplessness.
“Skye,” he’d sobbed, gathering me carefully into his arms, “You have to get better. Don’t leave me, Please don’t ever leave me.”
