Page 52 of Wild Games

There. A flash of white.

She hangs face-down, arms spread wide like she’s floating. Not moving, just dangling like a marionette, as if she’s already accepted this as her watery grave.

No. No, no, no.

I grab her shirt, the fabric heavy with water, and pull hard. Her body lifts slowly, too slowly, so I hook one arm under her chest and kick toward the surface with everything I have.

She’s deadweight in my arms, but despite my already empty lungs screaming for air and black spots dancing at the edges of my vision, I don’t slow down. Don’t let go.

We break the surface in an explosion of spray. I gasp, sucking huge gulps of night air into my burning lungs.

But Camille doesn’t. Her head lolls back against my shoulder, lips pale.

“Come on, baby. Stay with me.”

I swim hard for shore, kicking against the weight of both our bodies.

Tanner is crawling through the shallows ahead, coughing up water, blood pouring out of his nose. But still alive.

The rocky beach seems miles away, though it can’t be more than thirty feet. The moment my feet touch the slick stones of the bottom, I’m running. Water streams from our clothes, my bare feet slipping on algae-covered rocks.

Raven inches closer to Williams, stronger now without the presence of the stone, and kicks the almost empty potion bottle further away.

From the forest, I hear a howl go up. A call for help from any wolves nearby, then the pounding of paws across dirt.

Dean and Callum. They’re on their way.

I carry Camille’s limp form to a flat section of beach, well away from Williams’s body, then lay her carefully on smooth stones.

“Come on. Get it out.”

I turn her onto her side, pressing firmly between her shoulder blades. A trickle of water runs from her mouth, but not enough. Not nearly enough. Her skin is cold as ice under my hands, lips completely blue now.

Behind me, I hear Raven ripping fabric, attempting to stem the alpha's blood loss, but I could not care less what he does. All my focus is on my mate.

I flip her onto her back, wet hair spreading across the stones. Tilting her head back, I pinch her nose and breathe into her lungs. Her chest rises with my breath and falls when I pull away.

Again.

As I compress her chest, I feel her ribs flexing under my palms.

She’s still there. I would have felt it through our fledgling bond if she were gone. I know I would. I have to keep going.

More breaths. More compressions. Then a pause to check for any signs of life. The rhythm comes automatically from old training.

Nothing.

“Don’t you dare,” I snarl between compressions.

Another round. And another. My arms ache from the force I’m using, shoulders burning. The stones dig into my kneeswhere I kneel beside her, and lake water drips from my hair onto her face, making it look like she’s crying.

“Please, Camille. Come back to me.”

I breathe for her again, press on her chest, willing her heart to remember how to beat. Count the compressions like they taught us years ago, though the numbers blur together. Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen...

“I just found you.” My voice breaks on the words. “You can’t leave me. Not now.”

One more round. When I breathe into her lungs, I cup her face between my palms like she’s the most precious thing in the world to me.