Page 73 of Possess Me at Midnight
“Shock may not have been, but I am.”
I whirl to the sound of the witch’s voice. There, Anka stands beside a dark-robed figure, face hidden by her hood. I cast a guarded glance at Lucan, who freezes, arms crossed over his chest, gaze firmly fixed on her.
“Sterling let me in,” Anka murmurs as she approaches me, giving her former mate a wide berth. “Shock told me of your visit, of Bram’s condition. I insisted he find help for your brother.”
Could he possibly know where to find Emma? “If Shock understands the spell that’s felled Bram, he didn’t say so.”
Anka shrugs, her blond curls sliding over her shoulders. “That’s Shock’s way. He doesn’t say half of what he thinks. Sometimes, I can…persuade him to talk.”
I know exactly how the lovely witch entices Shock. A glance at Lucan shows her former mate has reached the same conclusion—and he’s angry enough to spit glass.
“Shock told me about a healer. A dark one. She may be the only one who can help Bram.” Anka gestures to the figure beside her.
I hesitate. I want my brother well. But someone who dabbles in the dark arts? Dangerous indeed. She has a magical signature I don’t understand. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen. It’s distressed. Cracked, stretched thin, even slipping… As if it’s not her own?
None of that matters now. What awaits Bram if I fail to accept the help given except certain death?
“Follow me,” I tell Anka. “I’ll take her to him.”
“Wait,” Duke insists. “We know nothing about this healer. How can we be certain she’s not here on Mathias’s behalf to finish Bram off?”
He has a point. I’m so desperate to save Bram that I didn’t consider more dangerous possibilities.
Anka’s gaze softens. “On everything I hold dear, I would never help that wizard except to lead him to hell.”
“How do you know Shock hasn’t tricked you?” Lucan snarls, his eyes dark.
“Remember, he Called to me once. You know that magical bond ensures he’s incapable of deliberately hurting me.”
I have to believe Anka is right. I send Duke a determined stare. “I’m taking the healer to Bram. She may be our only hope.”
“Sabelle, no!” Lucan tries to stop me, putting his body between me and the stairs.
I glower back at him. “Yes. He’s my brother. What’s passed between us doesn’t give you the right to gainsay me when it comes to my own flesh and blood.”
Lucan grips my arm, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise as I stumble against his chest. “I should take you over my knee.”
The possessive gesture ignites my temper like a match to kindling. “Try it and lose a hand.”
I wrench away and march upstairs, motioning Anka and the petite, black-hooded woman to follow. As we head upstairs, Anka and Lucan exchange a final pained glance—she carefully skirting around him, both of them radiating the agony of all they’ve lost. I suspect they still love each other deeply…but has too much happened for them to ever embrace each other again?
At the top of the stairs, I guide the women into the spacious, blue-lined bedroom Bram occupies. The sight of him stops me cold. The black smoke has thickened since I left, coiling around him like a living shroud. His breathing is so shallow that I have to watch his chest carefully to see it rise and fall. I’m worried we’re running out of time.
Anka hovers in the doorway. The black-hooded witch darts immediately to the bed. I wish I could see her face, look into her eyes—something to help me gauge her intentions and her sincerity. But the lighting and her disguise ensure I see nothing. The more I look, the more there’s something off about the witch’s familiar signature, but I’m too exhausted to place it.
The woman’s dash across the room gives me the impression of youth and urgency. But when she sits on the bed at Bram’s side so slowly, the gesture makes her seem very old indeed. Long moments pass before the witch takes Bram’s hand in her own.
I’m both curious and skeptical as I watch. I know many of magickind’s dark healers—or know of them. I have no idea which of these dabblers in the dark arts has come and is currently latched onto my brother’s hand with surprising tenderness. But the moment her fingers close around Bram’s hand, the black smoke recoils slightly, as if recognizing something. My brother’s face relaxes for the first time in days. The petite healer goes rigid, her hood falling forward to completely shield her features.
“What is your name?” I ask. “I’d like the honor of knowing the kind soul who is helping my brother.”
The witch stiffens, and I have the distinct impression she’s hiding her face. “My name is not important.”
Why the dodginess? Is she afraid Mathias will somehow discover she aided his enemy? “Have you ever seen a spell like this before?”
She shakes her head. “But I know what must be done. Leave us.”
Leave my defenseless brother alone with a dark healer sent by Shock, whose loyalties are questionable at best? With a nameless stranger whose very signature feels wrong? Every instinct screams against it. “Impossible.”
