Page 56 of Their Witch Bride

Warmth flows from my hand, and his eyes widen. The cut on his face begins to heal and fade. I look down and see that the wounds on his throat and chest have stopped bleeding, and that they’re knitting themselves slowly back together.

My heart races. It worked. It actually worked.

Prince Rinan blinks down at himself, his eyes wide. “Did you… heal me?” His voice sounds small and raspy.

I nod, dropping my hand. “I think… I think you’re going to be okay.”

Prince Arlys touches the spot where the wound was on the prince’s cheek. It’s gone now. Completely faded. “Remarkable.”

“I-it feels so strange.” Prince Rinan says softly. “I can’t describe it. But one minute I felt that the gods were calling me home, and the next I felt more solid. Here again. And the pain, the pain has eased.”

“That’s how it is with healing magic,” I tell him, surprised that he doesn’t know.

“A bear shouldn’t have fucking been here in the first place!” Prince Drogo says, nearly shouting.

Prince Arlys looks up at him sternly. “Get a grip, Drogo. It happened. You can’t fix what’s already taken place just by being angry at it.” Then he turns to me. “Are you alright?”

Me? I’m not the one in a bloody pool on the floor. “Yes, I’m fine, and I think he’s fine now too.”

Prince Arlys looks relieved, then glances down at his friend. “Can you stand?”

It takes Prince Rinan a full minute to answer. “I think so.”

We help him up, while Prince Drogo stares on, looking angry and helpless. It takes Prince Rinan another long minute to find solid footing, and then he moves away from us and goes to the bed, collapsing onto the side of it.

I step around the bear, staying close to Prince Rinan for reasons I don’t understand. All his wounds appear to be healed up. He has more color in his face. I don’t need to be worried about him any longer, but I am. For some reason.

“Fucking bears,” Prince Drogo mutters.

Speaking of which… “How did a bear get on the second story balcony?” I ask. “How is that even possible?”

“It isn’t a bear,” Prince Rinan says tiredly. “It was a bear shifter.”

I turn and look at the bear, and to my shock, he’s shifted into a man. A giant of a man, even bigger than the three princes, with torn clothes and hollow eyes that stare at nothing. Well, one hollow eye. The other has my throwing star in it.

A freaking bear shifter. I knew they existed, but I guess I’d never thought I could mistake one for an actual bear. I figured something about the bear would indicate it was a shifter, but I should have known better.

“Why? Why was it here? I don’t understand.” My voice sounds small and frightened even to my own ears.

Prince Drogo makes an angry little sound. “Clearly, if it was in your room, it was looking to attack you, right? Or at least that’s what we’re expected to believe.”

I choose to ignore the last sarcastic sentence. “Me? Why me?”

None of them look at me. No one speaks.

I stare at them, getting the strangest feeling that everyone knows something that I don’t know. “It attacked me. It sought me out. I need an explanation. Something.”

There has to be something. Or is this something that happens here all the time? Monsters attack. Bears attack. People turn into wolves.

It’s pure madness.

Prince Arlys breaks the silence, explaining, “Part of the Shifter Kingdom is ruled by bears. My only guess is that they’re worried that us aligning with witches might make us strong enough to finally defeat them.”

So the shifters fight with the witches, and they fight amongst themselves. Of course this place had to be worse than I ever expected. Now, do I have to spend my days being terrified of bears jumping out of the shadows?

Prince Rinan rises to his feet. “None of that matters right now. I’m fine, and we’ll manage the bear shifters when the time comes.” He moves slowly toward me, tenderness in his gaze as he assesses me. “You’re covered in blood.”

I look down at myself, realizing for the first time that I’m drenched in blood, and bile burns the back of my throat. “It’s not all mine,” I assure him, even though some of it is, judging by the claw marks across my chest. I put my hand near one of the cuts and say, “Heal.” Of course, nothing happens. I bite my lip and look up at them. “It’s harder for us to heal ourselves,” I tell them, unsure if they noticed what I just tried to do.

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