Page 7 of The Witch's Shifter
The Wolf
EVERYTHING IS DARK. MY SKIN burns with heat. My body is on fire. But I can’t move, can’t even open my eyes. All I know is pain.
Something is holding me down, a weight upon my chest and legs. What is it? I can’t tell.
A complex scent curls through the dark: woodsmoke and... mushrooms? There’s something else too, something sweet and light, something that draws me toward it, makes me think everything is finally going to be okay. It’s the same scent I detected in the woods, the same scent that led me toher.
The woman with hair like spring.
Remembering her makes the fire within me roar, and with it comes so much pain.
Enough to send me once more into the black.
Chapter 6
Aurora
THE MAN HAS BEEN ON the couch for two days, but he’s still not woken. I’ve dribbled water into his mouth and have pressed cloths to his forehead, but his fever has not yet broken, and I’m worried. Maybe we should’ve taken him to Niamh after all. But those wounds... I’m not sure it’s safe even now to transport him such a distance.
Rowan and Alden have been taking turns watching the man overnight. I’m not convinced it’s necessary, but it makes them feel better, and I’ll admit I do like knowing someone is keeping an eye on him—more for his sake than anything. They both look so tired though, and despite having other responsibilities, they refuse to leave me alone in the cottage with the man. Did I make a bad choice in bringing him here?
I finish pouring two cups of licorice-marshmallow tea, then carry them into the parlor, where Alden is sitting in the chair by the window, reading a book. The man is fast asleep, a light sheen of sweat gleaming on his forehead in the sunlight. His breathing is deep and easy, but his eyes remain closed.
Handing Alden a steaming cup of tea, I let out a sigh. “I’m so sorry about this,” I say as I stand over him, fingers wrapped around my warm mug. He puts his book down and pats his knee, and I ease into his lap.
“Don’t be sorry.” Gently, he pushes my hair from my face and tucks it behind my ear. “You’ve got a kind heart and a gentle soul. That’s something to be proud of, little witch.”
“But your work at the Golden Lantern—”
“Can wait. I wrote Mrs. Bluewren yesterday and sent the letter with Harry; she’ll understand. And besides...” He wraps his arm around my waist, his fingertips brushing my round belly, holding me close. “This is more important.”
Nodding, I lean against him, breathing in his familiar woodsy scent. We sip our tea quietly, listening to the crackle of the fire and the wind as it brushes the windowpanes.
A short time later, after we’ve finished our tea and I’ve moved to the rocking chair to work on the mittens I’m mending, Alden stands and stretches his arms over his head.
“Fire’s almost out.” He nods to the log rack sitting beside the hearth. “Need more wood.” Slowly, his gaze slides to the man, who still hasn’t moved. Then his eyes find me. “You going to be okay if I step out for a moment?”
Putting my knitting down, I cock an eyebrow at him. “I appreciate your concern, but I’mfine. Go take a walkabout. The fresh air would do you good.”
“If he moves—”
“He’s not going anywhere,” I assure him. “Now go, stretch your legs.”
“I’ll grab some wood and be back in a moment.”
“No need to rush.” With a smile, I pick my knitting back up, and Alden finally heads for the door, albeit reluctantly. Once he’s gone and the door has closed behind him, I drop my smile and lower my knitting again. My eyes find the man.
He’s still sweating, still hasn’t moved. If he doesn’t improve shortly, I’ll have to ask one of the men to walk into the village and see if Niamh will make the journey to the cottage. I know my fair share of remedies and healing modalities, but this may be more than I can handle.
With a sigh, I stand from my chair and put the knitting away. Then I go to the man’s side and place my hand upon his brow. Still hot. There’s a bowl of water on the table beside the couch, a cloth draped over the edge. I dip it into the water, wring out the excess, and then begin blotting the sweat from his umber cheeks.
“What happened to you?” I whisper, gaze drifting across the fresh bandages I applied just last night. The wounds were still open, but thankfully, they showed no signs of infection. That, at least, put me somewhat at ease.
As I shift the cloth to the man’s brow, his closed eyes twitch.
And then he opens them.
My breath catches.
