Page 115 of Hunted By Her Demon Wolves

He arched back, looking down at me over his snout, disgust in his eyes like I was no more significant than a flea.We have a deal, Anya the Ordinary. Now heal my rider.

Chapter Two

As it turned out, thatlump of coal was actually a Fae, and not just any Fae, but a Sidhe, or as we witches called them, Noble Fae, considered to have been the most regal of the Fae. He was the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen, with dark brows that looked like raven wings, pointed ears, and silver hair that gleamed beneath a shaft of moonlight that cut through the treetops to shine down on him, as if the moon itself knew he was special. And his body. He was at least six feet tall with broad shoulders and a chest that appeared to have been carved from granite, but probably most beautiful of all were his flawlessly sculpted, round buttocks. My fingers lingered on those perhaps overly long while I healed him.

As tired as I was, I could’ve stared at his perfect features all night. I’d worked all day healing him, bright green magic pouring from my fingertips as I smoothed away each charred bit of skin. I realized once I’d revealed those pointy ears why, despite my fledgling magic, he had healed so easily. Noble Fae were known for their ability to heal quickly.

I’d been reluctant to cover up such a beautiful body with clothes, but the dragon had found him a new tunic and trousers from a bag that had survived the conflagration. One side of the leather bag had been blackened by the fire. I smoothed my hand over the bag, smiling to myself when the blackened leather turned into a supple suede once again. I did the same thing with the Fae’s charred boots.

When a massive shadow blotted out the moon above us, Demon jumped into my bag, making a loudthump.

I craned my neck to look up at Radnor after he landed hard beside us. Though I’d grown used to his landings rattling my insides, I’d never adapt to his consistent grumbling.

Ruffling his wings, he gave me an impatient look.Well?

“Well, what?” I had long grown tired of the brooding drake. He complained more than an arthritic crone.

Is he healed?

I motioned to the sleeping Fae in front of me. “See for yourself.”

Radnor leaned over us, nudging his rider. The Fae moaned before rolling onto his side, resting his cheek on a soft bed of grass. Smitten fool that I was, I’d grown it for his comfort.

Radnor snorted, releasing an acrid plume of smoke.He’s not waking.

Coughing on his nostril fumes, I waved in front of my face. “He’s healing. Mind taking your sulfur breath somewhere else?”

We’re running out of time.Pinning his wings behind him, he scanned the moonlit skies.We need to leave before something worse than a berchta finds us.

Something worse? What could’ve been worse than a berchta? The fire mage that attacked Radnor and his rider? I blew a wayward strand of hair out of my face with an exasperated breath. “What do you expect me to do?”

Do you have no spell to wake him?

I shook my head. “He needs recovery time.”

He snarled, then let out a warning rumble.Wake him, witch.

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