Page 106 of For Dear Life

Because of the Blackwood.

Rowan’s magic shimmers around, not only as the shadows eating away at the environment, but as if he’s surrounded by a barrier that undulates. I pull his shadow-covered figure against me, holding his face, searching his eyes. “Let the shadows go now.”

“Find Grayson.” He holds my cheeks in return, fingers cold as death. “Nobody will hurt me.”

“Your shoulder,” I protest.

“I’m alright. Nobody will hurt me,” he grits out. “I’m keeping these bastards here, under control, until Dorian arrives.”

I barely recognize his voice. This is the Rowan I’ve only glimpsed—the perfect bond to me, his potency and abilities equal to and able to absorb my hybrid’s magic, the darkness in his soul a match for mine. I’m torn between relief that Rowan pulled some of the vicious desire out of me but as his aura remains clouded, my chest tightens. The humans and my father had better arrive soon because although I can trust Rowan will be safe while I find Grayson, I can’t say the same for the men at Rowan’s feet.

36

VIOLET

If I couldn’t smell Grayson’s blood more acutely by the second, I would stay beside Rowan—ensure the witch remains unconscious, and that Josef remains choked by shadows. The metallic tang from Rowan’s blood affects me more in recent days, despite the potion, but Grayson’s tunnels into the hybrid’s mind, feeding the desire she couldn’t satisfy with the witches or Josef.

But Grayson isn’t beside me. I shouldn’t smell his blood in this way.

Pushing shaking hands through my hair, I focus on winding memories of Grayson around my mind, to tell my thumping heart that his blood isn’t for me and he means more than that. When I find Grayson, this barely leashed part of me will surge forward, unless I hold on to how much I care for him.

Cautiously, I follow the trail left from when Grayson lured away the bear, thankful there’s no blood, only upturned shelves. More boxes have tipped their contents into the aisle on the other side of the warehouse, but there’s no shifter beneath these.

Viggo.

Dead. If Kai and Dale don’t back me up on what happened here, I am, to coin a phrase I’ve heard, fucked.

I don’t need to search hard for Grayson, his scent leading me as it did the night Wesley died. Only that time, the blood was in his veins. Tonight, it’s spilled—Josef showed me in his mind’s eye.

There’s no blood trail to follow, yet I’m drawn anyway as I round a corner and find Grayson slumped against a wall towards the rear of the now-silent warehouse. But there’s plenty around him. Each step I take closer, my heart thrums in anticipation of the blood that soaks his shirt.

No.

I manage to grip the edge of the nearest shelf to stop myself moving nearer, swallowing hard. He’s unmoving but his heart beats, and Grayson’s eyes open as he senses me. Is this how I’d react to every single bleeding individual if I didn’t take the potion, or is the extreme reaction because this is Grayson? Because a whining in my head threatens to obliterate the girl clinging to the metal.

“So, this is ironic,” Grayson says weakly.

“I can think of many other adjectives,” I whisper.

He points at his chest. “At least the bastard missed my heart.”

A long metal cylinder protrudes from below his rib cage on the left, the end slick with Grayson’s blood.

“Can you stand?” I ask. “Or have you lost too much blood?” My voice cracks at the last word.

“Yeah. I’m kinda impaled against the wall by a metal bar.”

“Oh. Hence the irony. I see.” I hold a palm across my nose and mouth, but the action does nothing to stem the smell. “Why didn’t you shout for us?”

“I did. Perhaps not loudly enough.” His voice weakens and my fingers bite into the shelf. “Any chance you could take this out and I can leave? Before I do lose too much blood and face the embarrassment of someone carrying me out?”

Grayson speaks slowly, tripping over the words, wasting labored breaths. I’ve a million questions, including where Trent is and if Josef lied and Grayson knew about tonight, but I swipe a hand down my face instead. I’ve never seen anybody bleeding this profusely, and he’s the last person whose blood should be near me.

“Can you wait until someone comes?” I whisper.

“Violet,” he groans. “Are you seriously going to let me bleed out completely?”

“I might kill you,” I say flatly.

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