Page 5 of The Witch's Shifter
My and Rowan’s gasping breaths fill the forest. Chest aching, I lean down and brace my hands on my knees. I don’t think I’ve ever run so far so fast in my life.
“We thought you were hurt,” Rowan says, glancing back at Aurora over his gleaming silver shoulder. His voice is sharper than usual.
“No, I’m fine. I’m sorry.” She looks down, fingers worrying at the cotton skirt of her long-sleeved dress. “I didn’t want to frighten you, but I’m worried about him. He’s hurt. Look.” She goes to take a step forward, but Rowan holds out an arm. Immediately, Aurora’s brow creases. “He’s not dangerous. He’s not even conscious.”
“You don’t know who or what he is.”
“He’s a shapeshifter, and he’s—”
“What?” Rowan’s mouth turns down grimly. He stands a bit taller. “Don’t you know how unpredictable they are?”
Having finally caught my breath, I stand upright and step to Aurora’s other side. She reaches for my hand, and when our fingers twine together, she lifts her green eyes up toward mine.
“They’re not all like that,” she says as she turns back to Rowan. Her voice is soft. “And he needs my help. Look, he’s got fever sweats, and he’s badly wounded.”
Now that I’m getting a better look at the man, I see the deep wounds on his shoulder, chest, and neck. Some of them are bleeding, and a small puddle of blood has formed beneath him. If he were human, he might have succumbed to his injuries by now. Whatever happened to him, it sure doesn’t look good. And one glance at Aurora tells me there’s no way she’s leaving him out here.
“What do you want us to do?” I ask. This elicits a sharp look from Rowan, but I ignore him.
“Bring him back to the cottage. We need to get him out of the cold.”
“Absolutely not.” Rowan crosses his arms, gauntlets clinking together. “If he needs a healer, we’ll take him to Niamh.”
“Carrying him all that way will just injure him further,” Aurora says. She stands a bit taller now, and though she has to look up at Rowan, she shows no sign of backing down. Not for the first time, I think how magnificent she is, my little green witch. Leave it to her to save a wild shifter while facing off against one of the king’s knights. It almost makes me laugh.
“You don’t know this man,” Rowan says.
“And neither do you, so you’re in no position to cast judgement. Give him a chance.” Her eyes soften a bit, and she reaches out to place a hand on Rowan’s armored forearm, her other still holding mine tightly. “Please?”
Rowan’s eyes are still narrowed as he looks from Aurora to the man and then up to me. The muscles flex along his clean-shaven jaw. “What do you think?” he asks.
Reaching up, I scratch my beard, then let out a sigh. “I’m not sure we have much choice. We can’t leave him out here.” I glance at Aurora. Her eyes are already starting to light up. “I’ll stay at the cottage with her, make sure nothing happens.”
With a frustrated mumble, Rowan runs a hand through his hair, which is windblown from our sprint here. “If he’s going to be in the house, I’m staying too,” he says.
My gaze flicks to the scabbard at his hip and the sword hilt resting there. I suppose it wouldn’t be a bad idea to have a knight around when the strange shifter wakes up. Who am I to complain?
“All right.” I lift Aurora’s hand to my mouth and press a kiss to her knuckles, then drop her hand and step toward the prone man. “Let’s get him up.”
Chapter 4
Rowan
I CAN’TBELIEVEI’M DOING this.
“This is a bad idea,” I grumble as Alden and I carry the man through the forest. We’ve each got one of his arms draped over our shoulders, and even with the two of us, he’s still impossibly heavy. His head hangs forward limply, long hair swaying around his face, obscuring it from view. Behind us, his bare feet drag through the fallen leaves and pine needles blanketing the forest floor.
“Aurora’s right,” Alden says quietly, keeping his voice down so Aurora, who’s walking ahead of us with Harrison, won’t hear. “His skin is burning up. He’s definitely got a fever.”
I don’t reply. A healthy shifter is already hard enough to deal with; I’m not atallexcited about having a feverish one around. And what caused all these wounds? Was he attacked by something? Did he provoke the attack?
I’ve got too many questions and not a single answer.
Again, I can’t believe I’m doing this. I must be out of my mind.
The walk back to the cottage feels much longer with the shifter’s weight dragging us down, but we finally make it out of the tree line and into the autumn sunlight. Lucy, Marigold, and Whisper stop pecking in the dirt long enough to glance up at us, then scatter as we drag the man past.
They get it, I think crankily.
