Page 80 of Hex and the Kitty

“By air that sustains us,” Tabitha continued, her rounded belly glowing faintly beneath her flowing maternity dress.

“By fire that forges us,” added Celeste, her eyes flashing with protective determination.

“By water that cleanses us,” Mari completed, one hand briefly touching her pregnant stomach as she channeled her power.

The elements called, the witches began to glow—subtle at first, just a shimmer around their outlines, but growing steadily brighter. Each woman emanated a slightly different hue: Mari’s pregnancy-enhanced magic glowed forest green; Ellie radiated a calming blue; Sera’s triplet-bearing form shimmered with an intense gold; and Tabitha glowed with a warm amber light around her growing belly. Fia’s pregnant form emanated a silvery sheen while Daisy’s magic manifested as vibrant pink.

Warrick pressed himself against the wall, transfixed. The rational part of him—the part that had survived through careful control and analysis—noted the temperature change in the room, the subtle vibration of the floor beneath his feet, the way the machines monitoring Molly’s vitals flickered without actually turning off.

But another part—the part that had fallen irrevocably in love with a witch who baked glimpses of the future into cupcakes—simply marveled.

“The blood that spills returns to its vessel,” Luna chanted, placing her aged hands directly on Molly’s forehead. “The bone that breaks knits anew. The flesh that tears mends its seams.”

Light coalesced above Molly’s still form, colors swirling and blending until they formed a pulsing white radiance that slowly descended to envelop her entirely.

Warrick’s breath caught in his throat. Through the luminous cocoon, he could see the bruises on Molly’s skin beginning to fade—purple fading to green, green fading to yellow, yellow disappearing entirely. The bandage on her temple glowed briefly before the gauze disintegrated to reveal smooth, unmarred skin beneath.

A soft gasp escaped him, drawing Luna’s knowing glance.

“Magic has its own language, tiger shifter,” she explained without breaking the circle. “It speaks to itself across bodies, across bloodlines. Her magic recognizes our intent.”

“The darkness retreats,” Fia continued the incantation. “The light returns.”

“Pain subsides,” Briar added. “Strength renews.”

The machines monitoring Molly’s vitals began registering changes—heartbeat strengthening, blood pressure normalizing, oxygen levels rising. Her color improved visibly, the pallor giving way to her natural fairness with its healthy undertone.

Warrick felt something unfamiliar welling in his chest—something that made his throat tight and his vision blur. Hope. Raw, unfiltered hope washing through him with an intensity that nearly brought him to his knees.

The magical light pulsed once more, blindingly bright, before sinking into Molly’s skin and disappearing completely. The witches lowered their hands in unison, several swaying slightly from the exertion.

“Is she...” Warrick couldn’t finish the question.

“She’ll wake soon,” Luna confirmed, her lined face tired but satisfied. “The internal bleeding has stopped. The concussion is healed. Her body will need rest to recover fully, but the danger has passed.”

The relief hit him like a physical blow. Warrick staggered forward, returning to Molly’s side and reclaiming her hand. It felt warmer now, her skin regaining its natural vitality.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” he said, his voice rougher than intended.

“You don’t need to thank us,” Mari replied, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Molly would do the same for any of us.”

“Has done,” Daisy corrected with a weary smile. “Remember when Roarke got that enchanted thorn lodged in his paw? Molly stayed up three nights straight brewing the extracting potion.”

“Or when Asher had colic,” Ellie added. “She created those soothing melody muffins that played lullabies when warmed.”

“The fertility honey for Sera and Lark,” Tabitha recalled. “Worked a little too well, considering the triplets.”

Sera blushed scarlet but smiled. “Exactly as intended, actually.”

SIXTY-FIVE

Warrick looked around at these women—different ages, different backgrounds, different types of magic—united by their love for the unconscious witch who’d captured his heart. They’d rushed to the hospital without hesitation, bringing their collective power to bear against injuries that had left modern medicine concerned.

For Molly. For him. Without expecting anything in return.

“She’ll need to stay overnight for observation,” Luna declared, beginning to pack her supplies. “I’ll return in the morning with medicinals to restore her energy and ease any residual discomfort.”

“I’m staying with her,” Warrick stated, not a question but a fact.

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