Page 53 of The Rowan
I turn my hand over and examine it for any sign of the injury, but I find none. Even though I’m immortal, it’s amazing to me.
“Now, I texted Theron and asked him to volunteer. I can’t be healed by magic anymore. My father’s blood took over a long time ago,” he states matter-of-factly, as if it doesn’t bother him anymore.
Theron steps off the elevator and strides over to us. He eyes the knife on the table with distaste before pulling up another chair. With a wave of his hand, his feet are shoeless and buried in the grass like mine.
I smirk at his small display of abandonment. He raises an eyebrow, and I glance down at my feet. His eyes follow, then gleam with happiness to find me barefoot in the grass, too.
“Thank you for volunteering,” I say with a chuckle. Looking at Daire, I motion for him to continue.
“Slice his hand and think about what I told you—memories, feelings, anything that makes you feel warmly towards Theron,” he dictates.
Without giving myself too much time to think about it, I slice Theron’s palm. He doesn’t even flinch, just gazes at me steadily.
His blood flows onto the grass. Startled at the sight of the dark red against the bright green, I think about the fact that he’s not wearing any shoes in the grass. I like this less restrained version of him, and I smile.
I feel warmth crawling from my heart to my hand. A second later, a glow appears and then stops. When I take my hand away, the cut is healed. I stare at it in wonder, running my fingers softly over his unmarked skin. As a witch, I’m used to using magic to battle and cause damage or for mundane tasks. But healing, it’s powerful. I look up at Daire in awe.
“This is incredible,” I whisper, not willing to disturb the peace of the moment.
“It’s truly a gift,” he murmurs. “One I thought I’d lost a long time ago. You gave it back to me. It’s only right I give it to you.”
We stare at each other, a new awareness growing between us.
Theron clears his throat. “Do you need anything else?”
Daire smiles at him, and all I see is a blur.
Theron yells, “What the hell, Daire?” He grabs the handle of the knife stuck deep in his stomach and yanks it out. Cursing, he slaps a hand on the gushing wound and slams the knife on the table.
Daire quietly reminds me. “Stay calm, Arden. This is going to take a lot more power than the paltry cut you gave him a second ago, but we don’t know what the witches might ask you to heal. You can do this. Think about Theron.”
Peering up at the ceiling for answers, I try to calm down. Seeing Theron seriously wounded is pushing a button I didn’t know was there. Shaky, I concentrate on breathing. In, out.
Theron stumbles to his feet. “It’s okay. I can just go lie down. I’ll heal.”
I stand and grab his hips. “Please, sit back down. Let me try.” I hold on to him as he eases back into the chair. My eyes meet Theron’s violet eyes, and I think about all the times he protected me, stood up for me, helped me find my way. Lastly, I remember the wild look in his eyes when he gazed down at me in Alric’s arms. My hands glow, and the wound closes.
He gasps. Standing, he rips his shirt off, pulling at his stomach to find the wound, but it’s completely gone. “Thank you, Arden. I’m glad I could help you, but if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere I need to be.” He strides off, half-naked.
“Do you think he’s okay?” I ask, startled.
Daire lifts his shoulders. “Theron cloaks his feelings in duty and honor. One day, he won’t be able to keep them contained in their self-designed box. Heaven help the person,” Daire cuts his eyes to mine, “or woman responsible for lighting that fuse.”
Hmmm.
Changing the topic, I jump up and launch myself into Daire’s arms. “Thank you, thank you. I’m going to nail those final bloodline tests tomorrow. Is there anything I can do for you?”
He shakes his head. “You already did,” he murmurs.
32
THERON
“When Daire and I worked together to help Arden learn to heal yesterday, I realized something.” I pause and stare at each of my brothers, trying to convey the seriousness of what I’m about to say. “We’re stagnant. Our bond is lax. We created the cadre and this bond between us to be a force to help others, to be an ally to those individuals standing alone. And for a long time, we did. Then, we settled down at The Abbey, and for the first five hundred years, we continued our work, using this sanctuary as a beacon to draw those in need.”
I tap my fingers on the conference table in front of me. “Until now. We’ve become complacent. The pressures of running The Abbey, the toll of being a king or prince and the unending thirst for knowledge became the cornerstones of our days. We no longer searched the crowd for supernaturals who needed us. We turned inward.” I frown, showing them my disappointment in the cadre and in myself. “Until Arden. Arden has given us back our purpose. She’s strengthening our bond, reminding us why we created this cadre in the first place—to help other supernaturals like we once helped each other.”
Fallon blinks. “You’re right. Even though I’m here, at The Abbey, my mind and energy are with my father. I have resources out looking for Arden’s assassins, but I’ve taken a passive approach, letting them come to me with updates instead of chasing them down. I continue to let my father’s missions rule my life.” Shame fills his face. “And I haven’t taken the time to really get to know Arden. I promised to show her my powers, to see if they resonate, and I’ve done nothing.”
