His body jerked, and Kendrick became a man again, naked and bruised, his skin dark with blood. He gazed up at her with green eyes that burned into her heart.

“Love you so much,” Kendrick whispered. Then his eyes filmed over, and he went still.

Addie gave a cry of anguish. “No. Please, we’re almost there. Kendrick, please, I can’t lose you.”

Her sobs were drowned by the sound of grating rock, and she raised her head with a gasp. But instead of the cave-in she expected, a tiger as large as Kendrick, but orange and black, snaked through the opening and stopped, studying her with yellow eyes.

Behind him came Zander, the healer, and Kendrick’s trackers—Seamus, Dimitri, Jaycee. Ben too, with Dylan, all of them wading in to help.

The three trackers and Zander lifted Kendrick gently between them, carrying him out. Ben got Addie onto her feet, his touch tender with understanding.

They carried Kendrick out and laid him under the stars, where he lay still. The sword Addie held flashed once, then its light cut out and vanished, leaving them in darkness.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Kendrick opened his eyes as pain roared through him. Sound burst out of his throat, a cry from the depths of his soul.

Every nerve was on fire, every blood vessel straining to burst. His head pounded, his throat was desert dry, and his lungs could grab no breath.

He peeled open his eyes—even his eyelids hurt.

On one side of him knelt Addison. Her face was covered with grime and scrapes, her dark hair matted with blood, perspiration, and dust. She clutched one hand around the hilt of the Sword of the Guardian, which no longer glowed, the other hand resting on his chest.

Kneeling behind Kendrick’s head was Zander, his two white braids brushing Kendrick’s face, the beads in the braids catching the moonlight. Zander was chanting in his deep voice in a strange language, both hands placed on Kendrick’s shoulders. Pain burned where Zander’s hands touched him and rippled down the rest of Kendrick’s body.

“Son of a . . .” Kendrick writhed, trying to throw off Zander’s hold, but the big man pushed him back down.

“Stay still,” Addison said. “He’s healing you.”

Kendrick’s head banged back down to dirt and prickly grass. He was naked, but alive, cool breeze touching his sweating skin. He was also outside, no more tunnels. The sky stretched far overhead, the constellation of the Shifter bear and her cub circling the polar star in their endless dance.

“Holy Goddess,” Kendrick snarled, his voice strengthening. “That fucking hurts.”

Zander opened his eyes, the blackness of them deeper voids in the darkness. “Hey, you were mostly dead,” he said, sounding weary. “Of course it hurts. Think what I get to look forward to.”

Kendrick tried to feel sympathy—Zander would experience Kendrick’s pain exactly as Kendrick had. But no emotion touched him beyond agony.

Kendrick’s muscles were fusing back together, his bones knitting. If he had spent a few months in a hospital bed, he’d have accomplished the same thing. Having all the healing happen at once was excruciating.

Addison moved her hand on Kendrick’s heart. The warmth there cut through the hurt, relaxing Kendrick the slightest bit.

Zander bowed his head again and continued chanting. As Kendrick’s body relaxed, he became more aware of what went on around him. He saw Shifters milling about, and beyond them, the bulks of houses in the dark, warm lights shining in their windows. He heard men talking, the higher-pitched, lighter tones of women, the smaller voices of cubs.

So normal. So absolutely, bloody normal.

“My Shifters.” Kendrick tried to rise. There could be more trapped below, and who knew if the ones up here were still against Kendrick?