by Layla Nash
Miles grunted and moved around, still asleep, to wrap his arm around me and press me against his side. For a brief moment I considered waking him and recommending we snuggle in his bed, but I didn’t think I could actually say that to him without my head exploding. So instead we crowded close. It should have been uncomfortable or awkward, yet instead laying my head on his chest and feeling the power of his muscles as he squeezed me and patted my ass felt natural. Normal. Like we’d done it every night for years.
There was an unnerving degree of familiarity, something that felt almost contrived or unnatural about the depth of our connection. The relationship felt natural, but the very naturalness of it felt unnatural. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to quiet my brain. I really overthought everything. Every single thing in my life had to be analyzed and considered and debated and evaluated. I needed to let go and just enjoy, to see where things went. Maybe I needed to let Miles take the lead and set the pace, since clearly he’d be careful with me.
I drifted, half-asleep, as the movie ended and the black screen emitted only a soft dark glow. Cricket got the zoomies and started racing around the living room, bouncing into each of the bedrooms and skidding through the kitchen, then careening onto the couch to launch off of Miles’s face and over the back. I winced, waiting for Miles to wake up and yell at the cat, but nothing happened. He didn’t even twitch an arm to try and push Cricket away after the fact.
My heart jumped to my throat. That wasn’t normal. Surely a wolf would need to have better reflexes and be a lighter sleeper, especially with four paws full of claws digging into his chest as it was used as a springboard. I patted Miles’s chest, then his cheek. “Miles. Wake up.”
The skin around his eyes tightened, but he didn’t stir. He still breathed, or at least it looked like he did. I slapped his cheek, sitting up to get more oomph behind it, and he definitely flinched. But he didn’t wake up. He didn’t grab my wrist and wrestle me to the floor, didn’t joke or laugh. He didn’t do anything.
I scrambled up and ran to the door, hitting the lights on the way, and shouted for help into the hallway. Someone had to hear. Someone had to. I screamed until I heard footsteps and questions from the other end of the hall, then I raced back to where Miles lay on the couch.
He couldn’t have been poisoned. The timeline didn’t match up for being exposed, particularly when there were so many of us in the car—we all would have been poisoned. And we’d eaten the same food. It didn’t make sense. It just didn’t make sense.
I sat on the coffee table after knocking everything off of it and tried to concentrate as I reached for magic. Regardless of what it was, I could find it. I could figure it out. I squeezed my eyes shut as magic built slowly inside me until I could spool it into him, trying to cleanse the toxins or poison or whatever it was from his blood, though sudden noise and movement in the suite almost knocked me sideways.
Henry reached me first. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“He’s not responding to anything,” I whispered. “We were sleeping and the cat ran across him and he wouldn’t wake up. When I tried to wake him up, he didn’t do anything. He’s just—there.”
The wolf cursed and started shouting orders for the medic and Todd and someone to call Smith, and still more chaos erupted. I concentrated only on Miles, on the sluggish beating of his heart and the cool skin under my palms as I touched him, and whispered one of the healing spells my mother had always used as a good luck charm. More people crowded in around him, though they didn’t jostle me much, and talked over each other until I could hardly hear myself think.
And that wasn’t good. That wasn’t the way to save his life.
I borrowed from my ice queen mantra and dragged my eyes away from Miles’s face so I could glare at all of them, and my voice boomed out to overwhelm all of them. “Be quiet. If you’re not helping, get out.”
Silence followed, then the wolves retreated and left only Henry and Mercy at my side, and Todd standing over the couch as he watched his cousin’s still, silent form. Todd, on the phone with Smith, started relaying questions. “Is it the same as what poisoned him previously?”
“I don’t know,” I said. I gritted my teeth and shoved the magic at the alpha, though it didn’t want to fit the right way. Normally magic was like water and would just slide in to fill whatever container you put in front of it, but for some reason, it didn’t want to fill Miles. It didn’t want to get anywhere near him. “It doesn’t feel the same, but it might have been a different delivery mechanism.”
Todd repeated it, waited a few moments, then asked, “Are the symptoms the same?”
“No,” I said. Even though I couldn’t really say. “But you know that better than I do, don’t you?”
He grunted and talked more with Smith, turning away, and I redoubled my efforts to keep Miles alive. It felt more like pushing a boulder uphill than saving a man’s life. Mercy remained next to me, practically vibrating with worry, and whispered, “Can I help?”
I shook my head, and instead of moving away, like I feared, she edged a little closer and rested her shoulder against mine. The quiet support, offered without expectations or strings attached, almost broke through my concentration. I was worried when Miles didn’t respond right away to my magic and the cleansing. I held back a sudden surge of emotion at the thought that he wouldn’t wake up, not just because he would leave a hole in his pack if he died but because—I realized in a sudden rush—I would miss him. I wanted to know what it would be like when we got past the “just kissing” phase and what he looked like in the morning when he first woke up and whether he actually could cook anything. I didn’t know why, but I liked Miles Evershaw and I would miss him if he died.
The realization only made it more difficult to focus on dragging magic into him, fighting off whatever darkness clawed at him from inside.
It took far longer than it should have for his skin tone to improve and his eyes to move beneath the lids; long enough that I hovered on the edge of tears and almost had to face the question of when to give up. Smith had even arrived to watch me work and offer quiet commentary to Todd and the others on what he speculated caused the paralysis. I blocked it all out as my hands shook and hovered over Miles’s chest, and I squeezed my eyes shut against the possibility that he might not wake up at all. I’d reached the end of my strength. I couldn’t do anything else for him.
My eyes burned and a tear escaped and then a warm hand slid around my wrist. I tried to pull away, shaking my head, and my voice cracked. “Not yet. I need another minute.” They didn’t let me go, insistent, and I sucked in a breath. “I’m not done yet.”
“Deirdre,” he said, and my heart tripped.
I almost couldn’t believe it as I forced my eyes open and found Miles awake, holding my wrists, and watching me with beautiful chocolate, patient eyes. “Hi.”
I swallowed a knot in my throat. “Hi.”
Mercy burst into tears and punched his leg as she said, “Don’t ever do that again,” and she bolted out of the room.
Henry took a breath as he squeezed my shoulder, then strode after her with a sighed, “I’ll make sure she’s okay.”
I worried about her but I couldn’t look away from Miles. His thumbs rubbed gently, over and over, against the inside of my wrists, though he hadn’t otherwise moved. I took a shaky breath and started to pull away. “How do you feel?”
“Better now,” he said. His gaze didn’t leave me, though he raised his voice to address the others in the room. “Todd, what happened?”
“The witch woke us up. You wouldn’t come to after the cat ran over you, so she was worried. I called Smith as she tried to save you, but it’s been a long night.”
Miles nodded a touch, squeezing my wrists before he went back to stroking the fragile skin over my pulse. “And can Smith tell what caused this?”
“It’s not the toxin,” the ErlKing said. I dragged my eyes up to look at him, and found Smith studying me with sympathy in his anc
ient eyes. “It was different. Perhaps the poison but synthesized from something else or into something else or delivered in an unconventional way. It could have been magic, although I did not see any particular fingerprints that would reveal the perpetrator.”
Magic? I breathed out and started to shake. It couldn’t be. I would have felt something or sensed something on him. I shook my head, all of my insides cold with fear, but Miles squeezed my hands and slowly sat up, distracting me as he said, “I’ve pissed off a few witches lately, but I don’t think either of them did anything to me today.”
“That’s what you think,” Smith said under his breath. He shuffled over to sit on the coffee table next to me, frowning as he studied Miles. “If I may?”
When Miles nodded, Smith touched his forehead and a green, ancient magic flooded through him. I jerked away from Miles’s grip and shot off the coffee table; the old man’s magic had a hungry, seeking power to it as it searched and searched, bloodthirsty and angry after centuries of waning influence. I shuddered and retreated still more, though Miles’s attention followed me regardless of what Smith did.
Todd stepped closer and put his arm across my back to keep me from backing toward the open door. The second-in-command murmured, “Take a deep breath. Don’t run anywhere, okay? He’ll chase you, and that’s probably not a good thing until we know exactly what happened, right?”
I nodded, staring at Miles, but I couldn’t stop shaking and shivering. The spreading ripples of Smith’s vile power filled the room with the smell of old forests and rotting vegetation, heavy and oppressive, and I gagged. Todd carefully ushered me toward the open door near the kitchen that kept me within Miles’s line of sight, and shooed me into it. “Go in there. Shut the door if you want. He won’t worry about you in there. I’ll let you know when it’s all clear. Do you need anything else?”
“No,” I whispered, and staggered into the room. It was only when I stubbed my toe on a heavy piece of furniture that I realized where I’d stumbled—Miles’s bedroom. I’d walked through it on my first tour through his suite as we searched for what poisoned him, but that felt like an eternity in the past. I’d still been furious about being kidnapped and ready to kill Miles myself if I could have gotten away with it. I couldn’t believe it had only been a matter of days.
The door remained open a crack, but at least I couldn’t feel that awful magic anymore. I sat on the foot of the bed and stared at the floor near the door, watching for shadows and listening for something other than the soft rise and fall of their conversation. I wanted to rewind the night a few hours and go back to kissing and snuggling on the couch with a crappy movie in the background. I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes, trying to block it all out, then jumped as something soft brushed my ankle.
Cricket. He always knew when I was upset and somehow always found me. Even when I tried to hide, he found me. He backed up and heaved himself up onto the high mattress, head-butting me until I lay back and he could clamber onto my stomach to knead his paws against me. His purr rattled through me, like the best white noise machine in the world, and it wasn’t long until my eyes drooped and the desperate nausea of Smith’s magic faded still further away. I exhaled and worked my fingers into Cricket’s fur. It would be okay. It would all be okay. It had to be.
Chapter 43
Miles
He’d heard her the entire time, even when he didn’t know where the fuck he was or what was going on. He heard Deirdre’s voice asking him to wake up, and he tried his damnedest to do it. When he couldn’t, Evershaw knew something serious had happened. He’d never been in a coma before, not with the crazy-fast shifter healing, and he’d never been conscious for the crazy magic shit that Deirdre did. It felt like worms working their way through his body, getting stuck in some places and flowing into others, with an intensity he couldn’t even try to scratch or move to accommodate. He just had to endure.
The only thing that helped was knowing he could open his eyes and see Deirdre again. That was all it took—concentrating on her. Her voice, her smell, the slight pressure of her hands on his chest... He knew he would be fine. He could fight through it with Deirdre’s help and with her waiting on the other end.
But when he could finally open his eyes, he didn’t like what he saw at all. Deirdre’s panicked, terrified expression gutted him immediately, even though she kept her eyes shut and refused to look at him. She whispered about trying to save him, needing a few more minutes, and it broke what was left of his heart.
He would have carried her to safety, away from Smith and Todd, except there was still an odd pressure in his chest that didn’t feel right. So he let the old man do whatever kind of weird fucking magic he had, and didn’t like the revulsion that rolled through Deirdre at what she saw. Todd caught Evershaw’s eye and knew exactly what he needed to do, and Evershaw could breathe a little easier as his cousin gently escorted the witch out of the living room and into his bedroom. He hated that he couldn’t help her himself, but he’d take that over once and for all the moment Smith took his hands off him.
The old man said under his breath, “Calm down. Just a moment more. She’s fine.”
“Don’t talk about her,” Evershaw growled. He didn’t know what was between Smith and the witch, but he knew that it caused Deirdre some distress and that was enough—even if the old man was in the middle of saving Evershaw’s life. Smith tied the witch to Evershaw against her will, after all—and against his, as well. “She doesn’t like it.”
“I know,” Smith said. There might have been a hint of regret in the old man. “There is a long history between me and her kind. They have no reason to trust me.”
Evershaw growled. The wolf didn’t like whatever it was Smith did. It felt wrong in comparison to Deirdre’s odd power, but at least it eased the pressure in his chest. Smith finally sat back and the weird green glow around him dissipated, along with a strange shadow around his head that looked like antlers and moss.
Smith got to his feet, creaky and slow, and started to limp toward the door. “You must be careful, Evershaw. This is a new level of threat, well beyond simply trying to poison you. I do not know where it came from, although it was based in nature. I have cleaned it from your bones, where it tried to latch into you. Deirdre was able to handle most of it, but she is still weak from expending a great deal of energy healing you the first two times. She needs rest to recharge, otherwise she will not be able to save you if you need it.”
He didn’t like that at all. “She won’t hurt herself to save me. I’d die first.”
“Unfortunately,” Smith said, his gaze going far away. “You don’t have that choice. The geas I used should have disappeared after you found the first perpetrator. Instead, it has solidified and changed. Warped. I attempted to remove it and it remains despite my best efforts. I must consult with some... colleagues, as I have not experienced this before. Perhaps it is a consequence of having been trapped for so long.”
Evershaw scowled at him. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Your little trick is going to get Deirdre killed.”
“It would have done that before and you didn’t seem to mind all that much.” Smith limped toward the door, moving slowly and creakily as his joints popped. “There is always a solution, young wolf. It is just a matter of finding it. I will be in touch.”
Evershaw ground his teeth until he thought a few of them might have broken right off while watching the old man leave, and gestured violently at Todd to follow the bastard out. He’d made a mistake in assuming that Smith was still sane after his imprisonment in that in-between place.
He took a deep breath and shook off the lingering fury at Smith’s cavalier attitude toward Deirdre’s life and safety, and ignored the jab that Evershaw’s own position on the utility of that geas thing had changed in a matter of days. He’d scared Deirdre, and that was after the awkwardness of her discomfort making out on the couch. He didn’t want to scare her again. Ever.
He turned off the lights a
nd secured the door of the suite so no one would interrupt them, and checked all the exits and windows to make sure nothing could get in to disturb Deirdre’s rest. The next day, he’d keep her chained to a bed and stuff her full of every type of food he could find. Although the thought of having her all wrapped up in blankets and sleepy made him groan in anticipation, since he’d have to find a reason to be there with her. Evershaw wrestled the wolf’s instincts back, because chances were she didn’t feel the same thing for him, or at least with the same intensity.
The bedroom door moved on silent hinges and he peered into the darkness, trying to figure out where she hid. Nothing stirred, and only a low rumble disturbed the quiet. It took him a moment but after a deep breath, he rolled his eyes and ran his hands over his hair. That fucking cat. That hairy little bastard was in his room. On his bed. On his Deirdre.
Evershaw clawed back the urge to growl and snap at the giant feline, and instead only glared at it. The cat’s eyes reflected a glimmer of light back at him, and it didn’t look away, challenging him. No doubt the little beast wanted to keep Deirdre all to himself; Evershaw didn’t blame it. She’d be very difficult to share—which was why he didn’t want that goddamn cat sleeping on her when he wanted to put his arms around her.
And he stood next to the bed and watched her breathe. He never wrestled with uncertainty, but the possibility of scaring her almost paralyzed him. He cleared his throat and murmured, “Deirdre.”
She stirred, the cat grumping and growling as he had to move, and peered at him. “Miles?”
The soft, sleepy way she said his name gutted him right there. He wanted to smack himself for being the poor bastard he used to make fun of. Instead, he crouched next to the bed so he was at her eye level, resting his chin on the mattress, and breathed her in. “Yeah. All better now.”
