Page 107 of Outlaw Witch

Clearly, since we were in danger, it acted as a shield against the worst of the damage.

Is that why I feel like dog shit? Wrung out and exhausted?

How the hell did we get home last night? I squint one eye open and glance down at my leg.

Definitely broken, or at least a nasty sprain. It twinges like mad with every minor movement. I figure at least part of my wooly-headed confusion is thanks to there being some painkillers in the drip attached to my arm.

How did I get home on a busted ankle? I’m a big guy and I doubt Ro could lift me, let alone carry me, however many miles it is back from the warehouse.

Maybe Ro didn’t get knocked out and managed to call for a ride?

I doubt that too, since I don’t think we’re going to be trusting any of our guys for a while. Not now that we know we have traitors in our midst.

What a damn mess, especially so close to the moon.

... shit.

Silver.

Did she get out okay or is she in the next room with a busted head too? Fuck, we need to take better care of her so close to the ritual. Shouldn’t have dragged her out with us.

What a dumb, stupid fucking thing to do.

I feel a sharp stab of panic. Fuck, I need to get out of this bed. Need to check on her.

... because of the ritual. That’s all. We need her in one piece.

Nothing else.

There’s no other reason why my heart is pounding like a drum and my mind is conjuring images of her pale-faced and bleeding out on the floor.

I force myself up onto my good leg, hopping forward and tilting precariously until I steady myself on the wall. The IV in my arm pulls and I yank it out, snarling at the sting of pain. Painfully fucking slowly, I limp out of the room and hop along until I’m in the corridor, heading for Fabian’s room. My head spins, and I have to take a break every few steps to clear my head and stop myself from puking all over the clean floor.

No fucking chance I got back here under my own steam, not unless my magic formed a flying carpet to bring us all back home safely.

It takes for-fucking-ever to reach Fabian’s room and I freeze at the window, looking in.

The witch I’ve been having anxiety over, who I pictured bleeding out alone, is sitting pretty at Fabian’s bedside. She’s unharmed by the look of things, grinning widely as she holds Fab’s hand while he smiles back at her.

My chest constricts. There’s this expression on his face that makes my stomach drop.

I know the two of them have been getting pretty cozy recently. All those nights close together. She’s even been reading to him, whether he’s been conscious or sleeping. And since he’s been asleep more than not recently, it’s mostly been the latter.

Idiot that I am, I even went upstairs and replaced their book when I noticed they were getting to the end. Dropped it off while Fab was taking a piss.

He likes her.

Trusts her.

But all the questions that have been swirling around in my head since we met start to come to life again. There’s something about her I can’t put my finger on. Like I recognize her from somewhere but can’t place from where.

I don’t trust it. Trust her.

At least she’s unharmed, so the ritual should still be able to go ahead.

Good. That’s good.

All we need to do is make sure she survives the next couple of days. Then she can go back to her trash life at the bottom of the heap.

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