Page 78 of Hex and the Kitty

“Not when dark magic is involved.” She tugged him closer, examining the wound with expert eyes. “Magical wounds need magical treatment. Let me?—“

“Not until you’re taken care of.” He sat beside her on the stretcher, drinking in the sight of her. Alive. Safe. His entire world condensed into this one remarkable woman.

“I’m fine, truly.” She squeezed his fingers. “Daisy gave me something for the pain. Dislocated shoulder and a minor concussion, but nothing that won’t heal.”

“You could have died.” The words scraped his throat raw. “If that beam had struck differently...”

“But it didn’t.” She guided his hand to her cheek, leaning into his touch. “I’m still here. We both are.”

Warrick stared at her, memorizing the determination in her eyes, the stubborn set of her jaw, the way her damp curls clung to her neck. In his entire life, he’d never felt fear like he had when seeing her crumpled on that floor, blood staining her dress.

“I love you.” The declaration emerged unbidden, but undeniable in its truth. “I thought I understood what that meant, but tonight... seeing you hurt...”

“I love you too.” Her smile wavered, but the certainty in her voice remained steady. “Enough that I’m not even going to ask what happened to Gus. The look in your eyes tells me everything I need to know.”

“He’ll face justice,” Warrick assured her, tracing her cheekbone with his thumb. “Reed has him in custody.”

A paramedic approached, clipboard in hand. “Ms. Hues? We’re ready to transport you to Whispering Pines General for observation.”

Panic flashed across Molly’s face. “I don’t want to go alone.”

“You won’t.” Warrick stood, not releasing her hand. “I’ll be with you every step.”

“Sir, only family can?—“

“She’s my mate,” Warrick stated, his tone brooking no argument. “Where she goes, I go.”

The paramedic hesitated, then nodded. “Of course, Chief Shaw. You can ride along.”

As they loaded the stretcher into the ambulance, Warrick maintained his connection to Molly. The adrenaline from the fight had faded, leaving behind a bone-deep certainty that transcended his three centuries of existence.

This woman—this brilliant, brave, beautiful witch—had changed everything. In mere months, she’d transformed Whispering Pines from a temporary posting to a true home. She’d pierced the armor around his heart, awakening feelings he’d thought long dormant.

She’d made him feelaliveagain.

“What are you thinking?” Molly asked, her voice a small whisper as the ambulance doors closed, sealing them in together.

“That I’m never letting you go.” He brought her fingers to his lips. “That we’re going to build a life together in Whispering Pines. A real life with a home and a future.”

“And cupcakes,” she groaned in pain. “Don’t forget the cupcakes.”

“Never.” He returned her smile, feeling something settle within him—a peace he hadn’t known in centuries. “Or the witch who bakes them.”

The ambulance pulled away from the community center, leaving behind the chaos of the Fireman’s Ball. He watched Molly pass out completely, his heart breaking at the view of his mate covered in blood. He wouldn’t leave her side again. Not even dark magic could tear him away from her.

SIXTY-THREE

The harsh fluorescent lights of Whispering Pines Medical Center cast everything in a sterile, unforgiving glow. Warrick sat rigid in the uncomfortable plastic chair beside Molly’s bed, his large hand engulfing her smaller one. Her skin felt cool to the touch—too cool for his liking. The steady beep of monitors provided the only sound in the otherwise silent room.

Molly lay unconscious, her vibrant curls splayed across the white hospital pillow in stark contrast. The emerald dress had been replaced with a pale blue hospital gown that made her look smaller, more vulnerable. Fresh bandages covered the wound on her temple, stark white against her skin. Her right shoulder, dislocated and now reset, rested immobilized in a proper medical sling.

The doctors had spoken in hushed, concerned tones about internal bleeding, about the head injury being more severe than initially assessed. Words like “swelling” and “pressure” had filtered through Warrick’s fog of worry. They’d taken her for scans immediately upon arrival, rushing her through doors where even his intimidating presence couldn’t follow.

Now she lay motionless, her usually expressive face still. Too still.

Warrick’s thumb traced circles on the back of her hand, his golden eyes never leaving her face. The room smelled of antiseptic and illness—scents his heightened tiger senses found overwhelming. He focused instead on Molly’s natural fragrance, still detectable beneath the hospital smells: vanilla, cinnamon, and that unique undertone that was purelyher.

“Fight, little witch,” he whispered, bringing her knuckles to his lips. “Come back to me.”

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