Page 50 of Elora and the Crow

“Of course.” Cece squeezed her again. “I’ll start making the fresh one as soon as I finish my shift at work.”

Elora glanced at her phone. “Christ, it’s three in the morning. You’ll be exhausted for your work shift today.”

“I’ll survive,” Cece said, “but I am going to crash here if you’re good with it. It’s not like Jonah doesn’t have enough spare bedrooms in this place.”

“I absolutely do not want you driving now. Grab a bed and get some rest, honey,” Elora said.

“Are you staying here with Jonah?” Cece asked.

“Yes,” Elora said. “He probably won’t wake up until later, but I don’t want him to be alone if he does wake up and need something in the next few hours. I just hope I don’t recite spells in my sleep and light his damn house on fire. I’m too beat to even attempt a fireproof spell on Jonah’s room.”

Cece hugged her hard. “You won’t.”

“I hope not,” she said morosely before returning Cece’s hug. “Good night, Cece. I love you.”

“I love you too, honey.” Cece left, and Elora grabbed one of Jonah’s t-shirts and stripped off her bloody, pus-soaked clothes. She had a quick shower in the attached bathroom, which was bigger than her entire bedroom, and slipped Jonah’s shirt over her head before brushing her teeth with a new toothbrush she found in the cabinet under the sink.

She crawled into the bed next to Jonah, shutting off the light and listening to the steady sound of his breathing. When he made a soft groan in his sleep, she squirmed closer, letting her body press against his.

“You’re okay, Jonah,” she whispered. “You’re safe.”

“Hmm,” he mumbled before slinging his arm over her waist. “Night, baby.”

“Goodnight,” she whispered, pressing a kiss against his mouth.

CHAPTER16

Jonah woke slowly, acutely aware of how much his body hurt, especially his back and skull, but numbly grateful it wasn’t the gut wrenching agony from earlier.

He blinked rapidly until his vision cleared and stared in surprise at his bedroom ceiling. He could have sworn he was at Elora’s apartment and he swallowed his disappointment.

He should be grateful he had a home as nice as this one and not wishing he could pack up his shit and live in Elora’s tiny apartment with her and her grandmother.

He pushed back the covers, muttering a curse at the flare of pain in his right hand. He studied it, grimacing at how swollen and bruised it was. Fuck, it was definitely broken. He climbed out of bed and went to the bathroom, left handedly fumbling through brushing his teeth and using the toilet before gritting his teeth and washing his hands. His right hand pulsed with an intense pain that made him feel nauseous, and now his skull and back were starting to throb, too.

His eyes were bloodshot, his usual stubble was a day away from a full-on beard, and he was so pale he could be mistaken for a vampire. He studied the dried green paste on his forehead before he turned and looked over his shoulder. Paste matted down the hair on the back of his skull, and his back was covered in it, although a bunch had flaked off. His skin underneath looked angry and a little raw, with the puncture wounds ringed in bright red. But it was no longer oozing pus, and the nausea in his stomach was from his broken hand rather than the fae’s poison.

The dried paste was itchy as hell, and he considered trying to shower but cringed at the thought of how painful it would be on his hand. He would wait for Caleb to get home and ask him to help -

Caleb is never coming home, remember? You’re all alone and always will be.

He stared at himself in the bathroom mirror as the nausea intensified and the quietness of the house smothered him like a blanket. He gripped the sink with his left hand and took a deep breath. Okay, Caleb wasn’t gone forever. He just needed to see that he was under the fae’s influence. As soon as Jonah was healed, he would rescue Caleb from the fae, and things would return to normal.

Normal? Buddy, things will never be normal again. You suddenly can’t shift, which is terrifying and weird, but also means you can’t do fuck all to save Caleb. Without your shifting ability, you’re just as average as a human against the fae. And Elora might have helped you last night, but she didn’t stick around, did she? Why would she? You’re a walking disaster.

He blew his breath out in a shuddering sigh. He couldn’t blame Elora for bailing, but, fuck, did it hurt that she was gone.

He left the bathroom and stared at the bed with the smears of green paste on the sheets. Fuck it, he’d lie in one of the guest beds and absolutely not obsess over how he suddenly couldn’t shift.

He walked out of his room and headed toward the closest guest room. The nausea was even worse now, and his headache had returned. A throbbing, pulsing agony at the back of his skull that worsened with every step he took. Shit, he really needed to get some Advil or -

He froze, his head cocked to the side, and the pain and nausea dimmed as his adrenaline kicked in. There was another muffled thud from downstairs, and he stared at the staircase before turning and walking toward it. He descended the stairs, every nerve on high alert. The noises were coming from the formal living room, and he reached for his gun before scowling in annoyance.

He’d forgotten his gun upstairs. Hell, he’d forgotten to put on fucking pants and was about to confront a possible thief in his goddamn boxer briefs. What the fuck was wrong with him?

You nearly died yesterday? Your brother abandoned you, and so did the woman you love? You can’t shift, your entire life has been a complete waste, and you’re going to die completely alone?

It would be helpful if his existential crisis could give it a rest for one fucking minute.

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