CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
"You have to save her,” Graham said. He was in excruciating pain himself and could barely get the words out, but he didn’t care.
Misty lay on his bed, her eyelids fluttering as she moved into and out of consciousness. Reid stood on one side of her, Neal Ingram, the Guardian, on the other, and they both looked grim.
Reid, who possessed the very helpful skill of teleporting, had gotten them out of the cave. He’d taken Misty first with one cub then popped back moments later for Dougal and the second cub.
Reid had returned a final time for Graham just as Oison was struggling up and groping for his sword. Oison’s face and neck had run with blood, the Fae looking as though he’d been stung by a thousand hornets. Graham had wished he didn’t hurt so bad so he could laugh.
Reid had come in with a bang, grabbed Graham, and popped them both out again.
Graham knew they’d never have survived without Reid. Which sucked, because now he owed Reid a debt. A big one.
But Misty came first. “Can you fix her?” Graham asked Neal, who had some skill in healing. Graham didn’t like the presence of Neal’s sword, which leaned in the corner, glinting softly in the afternoon sunlight. The Guardian’s sword turned dead or dying Shifters to dust, sending their souls to the Summerland. Neal wouldn’t use it on Misty, she being human, but the reminder of loss was sharp.
“I don’t know,” Neal said. “This is a Fae wound, from a Fae sword. Healing her will be different from stitching her up and putting a bandage on her.”
“But you’ll fix her,” Graham repeated in a hard voice.
“What about you?” Neal looked at the makeshift bandage wrapped around Graham’s bare side, which was already stained with blood. “You need a healer.”
“Misty first. She can’t die.”
She couldn’t. Graham touched her white skin, his heart burning when her eyes flickered. She wasn’t waking up, but not sleeping either.
Reid said, “A human hospital won’t be able to help her.”
“But you can, right?” Graham demanded. “You’re Fae. You made iron slivers go into Oison. Can you counteract magic from a Fae sword?”
Graham knew he was babbling, but watching Misty lie in his bed, pale and sweating, made him sick. His fault. Oison had wanted Graham, and Misty had gotten caught in between.
Neal seemed to understand. His voice was gentle, without its usual Lupine growl. “The answer is, we don’t know.”
“Well, what the hell good are you, then?”
Reid and Neal glanced at each other, neither taking offense. Graham was terrified, and he knew Neal smelled that. Neal would also smell his weakness, plus the Fae curse that was killing him.
“The Guardian’s mate in the Austin Shiftertown,” Neal said. “She’s a healer. I’ve already called her.”
“She’s half Fae, right?” Graham stopped and took a breath as more pain flashed through his side. “That’s all we need, more effing Fae.”
Neal didn’t answer. There was no reason to. The woman would come, and Graham wouldn’t stop her having a look at Misty. Graham knew things were bad when he would welcome a Fae-blood’s help.
“Why don’t you sit down until she comes?” Reid said. “You can’t do anything for Misty standing over her, breathing on her.”
“Shut it, Fae. She’s my mate.”
Neal blinked, turned his head, and pinned Graham with a Shifter stare. Guardians could get away with looking alphas in the eye, because Guardians were a whole other hierarchy of Shifters. They followed the dominance line of their packs and clans, but they had their own rules, and they got away with shit no other Shifter did.
Graham had no idea why he’d blurted out that Misty was his mate. Except that it was true. Misty was the mate of his heart. He knew it. His heart knew it. His brain just needed to catch up.
“You’ve mate-claimed her?” Neal asked.
“Yes. Right now. I claim her as mate, under the sun, the Father God, and in front of witnesses. That would be you and Reid.”
Neal gave Graham the ghost of a smile. The man was taciturn—hell, dead silent most of the time. But right now he looked almost amused.
“The Goddess’s blessing on you,” Neal said. “Both of you. Your Lupines are going to be pissed off.”
“They can bite me.”
Another twitch of lips from Neal. “They probably will.”
“You still need to lie down,” Reid said, giving Graham a scowl. “You have a gunshot wound, freshly reopened. Dying of it won’t help Misty.”
“If I lie down, I’ll sleep,” Graham said. “If I sleep, I’ll dream, and Oison will be there. Who the hell knows what he can do to me then?”
“Have you tried surrounding yourself with iron?” Reid asked.
“Our whole lives are surrounded by iron,” Graham said. “Or steel. Doesn’t seem to help, does it? Besides, you smacked him with the tire iron, and he laughed at you. He shouldn’t have been able to grab that bar, but he did. He was only hurt by it because you turned it into bullets. How did you do that, by the way?”
“I’m an ironmaster,” Reid said. “At least, I was in Faerie. That cave is a little piece of Faerie, so I could work my magic there. I can make iron do whatever I want in Faerie. That’s one reason the hoch alfar hate the dokk alfar.”
“I bet there’s more to it than that,” Graham said. “What I don’t get is how we got there. I wasn’t asleep. And you teleported to it. I thought you had to see a place before you could teleport there. But you never said you’d been to the cave.”
“I hadn’t,” Reid said. “I do have to see a place, yes—unless I’m moving along a ley line. Then I follow the ley line’s pull. Several ley lines intersect in that basement, I discovered. I suggest you seal it up and build the house elsewhere.”
Ideas came together in Graham’s head. “When the cubs disappeared down there, they must have followed a ley line that came out . . . at Misty’s store?”
“I haven’t had time yet, but I’ll go down and see where they all lead,” Reid said. “One goes to the cave in the desert—which can be there or not, as Oison chooses, it seems. He must be working some powerful spells, including ones to help him resist iron.”
“Great. Iron is the badass magical weapon against Fae,” Graham said. “Without that, what have we got?”
“Spells that help resist iron are temporary,” Reid said. “And Fae can’t resist iron when it’s embedded in their brains.”
Neal gave a short laugh. The man was opening up in a big way today. “Wish I could have seen that.”
“I don’t know if I killed him,” Reid said. “Since Misty and Graham are still hurt, I’d say I didn’t.”
“Too bad,” Neal said.
“Tell me about it.” Graham dragged in a breath that sent agony through him. “You can leave. I’ll stay with Misty until the healer gets here.”
Reid and Neal exchanged a glance. “You sure?” Neal asked.
“You want me to rest. I’ll rest with her. But I won’t sleep.”
Another glance. Goddess, they were like nannies. Finally Neal took up his sword and buckled it onto his back. Reid gave Graham a last look, and the two men left the room together.
“Thought we’d never be alone.” Graham sat on his big bed, swinging his legs onto the mattress and adjusting himself to lean against the headboard. He wore only jeans, his feet bare, the bandage squeezing his side in an annoying way.
Misty didn’t respond. Her hair was sweaty and damp, still in the ponytail. The first night Graham had met her, at Coolers, she’d worn her hair in a softer style, with wisps curling around her forehead. She’d regarded Graham with her dark brown eyes, unafraid, and asked him if he was a Shifter.
And look what he’d done to her.
Misty should have run from him that night and never come back. But she had come back. She’d met him the second time by chance on top of a parking garage at the county courthouse, and then she’d sought Graham out in Shiftertown to tell him a bad man had asked her to spy on Shifters. That night, Graham had kissed her for the first time.
He’d never been able to forget the taste of her. Graham had drunk her last night as well, finding an even sweeter taste between her legs.
If she died, Graham would force his way into Faerie, hunt down Oison, and chop him into a million tiny pieces.
Misty’s wound wasn’t very deep, so Neal had said when he’d cleaned her up and bandaged her. But with Fae wounds, it didn’t matter how deep they were. A scratch could be deadly.
“Stay with me, love.” Graham took her hot hand in his and caressed her limp fingers. “I can’t let you go.”
Graham had lost everyone in his life. His father and mother, his sister—Dougal’s mother—all dead in the wild. Graham and Dougal were the only ones left of the pack. And Rita had died, Graham’s one cub with her.
Alone, always alone. Graham had found more Shifters in his clan, then they’d been rounded up into Shiftertowns, practically living on top of one another, but it made no difference. A wolf without a pack was nothing.
But a wolf could start a pack. He needed a mate, and cubs. When Dougal mated as well, there would be many little ones running around.
The idea of being alone forever terrified the hell out of Graham. He’d never told anyone that.
“Stay with me, Misty.”
He leaned down and kissed her hair, squeezing her hand. Misty never opened her eyes, never acknowledged him. She was here next to him, but Graham was still alone.
No, not quite. Kyle and Matt pushed the door open, concern in their wolf-pup eyes. They preferred staying wolf these days, Graham noted, unless they wanted to chatter to Misty.
Now they put their paws on the bed, looking up at Graham’s high mattress. Graham lifted them both. After wagging tails and pushing noses into his palm, the two cubs lay down at Misty’s feet, one on either corner of the bed.
Guarding her, Graham thought. Guards who closed their eyes almost immediately, and started to snore.
? ? ?
Misty swam toward consciousness, but that way lay pain. She thought she heard her brother’s voice . . . Paul, I need to take care of him.
She was twelve again, and sick in bed with the flu, fever making her delirious. Her father was off pursuing one of his wild schemes, her mother was in Newport Beach in her new house with her new life. Only Misty was there to take care of Paul. I have to get up. I have to look after him.
But Graham was there too. She heard him rumbling something and relaxed. If anyone could take care of Paul, it was Graham.
She heard other voices, ones she didn’t know. A woman with low, almost velvety tones, a man with an Irish accent. What were they all doing here?
Present reality caught up to her. She’d been stabbed, with a wound that seared, and Graham had been hurt. Where was she? Was Graham all right? Were the cubs?
She started up to find a heavy hand pressing her back down. “Stay still,” Graham said.
Misty subsided. Graham sounded as strong as ever, though she heard the weakness in his voice. Faint, but there.
The pain returned. Pain had seeped through the darkness of her dreams, but it had been muffled, like sounds through a thick blanket. Now it raced over her, spreading through her body from one hot core.
“The cut isn’t too deep,” the woman’s voice said. “But deep enough. I can try.”
“What is that?” Graham’s voice held great suspicion.
“Something my father gave me. He thinks it will help.”
“Your Fae father.”
The Irishman spoke. “You knew that when you called us.”
Graham growled something wordless. “You’re a Guardian,” he said. “Why do you have to be in here? You make me nervous.”
“The sword helps,” the woman answered in soothing tones. “Sean and I do this together. If you want her to get better, you have to stand over there and be quiet.”
Misty wanted to laugh, but it hurt too much. Graham hated being told what to do, especially by a female.
The Irishman, who must be Sean, gave a low chuckle. “I’ll let no harm come to her. Andrea knows what she’s doing. Now I’m going to draw the sword, but I promise, I’m not stabbing anyone with it.”
A faint ting as metal touched metal. Then a touch on Misty’s side. She cried out, cringing away, as pain intensified.
“What are you doing?” Graham said immediately.
“Calm down.” Andrea’s voice again. “I can see the spells. They’re complex, a mesh. It will take a bit for me to untangle them.”
“Just do it,” Graham rumbled.
“She will,” the Irishman said. “Stop interrupting.”
Graham made another noise of impatience, but he subsided. He must be truly worried if he actually shut up.
Misty felt the cold of animal noses touching her arm. Little noses. Two of them. She wanted to smile, but couldn’t move.
And then more pain. Misty started to scream. She heard the sounds come out of her throat, hoarse and cracked. Another touch, this one Graham’s big, rough-skinned hand holding hers.
“Easy,” Graham said, so gently Misty was surprised it was he who spoke. “Easy, now.”
Misty tried to lie still, but the pain pulled her. She writhed, only to find Graham’s warm strength holding her down.
“Poor lady,” Sean said.
Andrea drew a breath. “Ready.”
“Aye, love.”
Did that mean they hadn’t started? Dear God, how much more could Misty take?
She forced her eyes open a crack. Sitting beside her bed was a dark-haired woman with gray eyes and a lovely face. She had one hand on Misty’s side, the other wrapped around the blade of a sword that looked much like Oison’s. Misty saw the runes on the silver metal, which began to glow.
The sword’s hilt was held by a man with black hair and very blue eyes. He had his arm around Andrea, his free hand resting over hers on Misty.
Andrea closed her eyes and tilted her head back, drawing in another breath. Sean kept his hand steady on Andrea’s.
Graham lay half on top of Misty, his short hair tickling her chin. His hard hands held her arms in place. The wolf cubs were beside Misty’s head, peering worriedly into her face.
It’s all right, Misty wanted to reassure them. But she wasn’t certain it would be.
Another wave of pain, white-hot. She thought she was being sliced in half. The screams came again. Graham tightened his grip on her, and one of the cubs whimpered and licked her cheek.
Andrea’s head went farther back, her eyes moving as though she watched something behind her lids. “Now, Sean,” she whispered.
Sean removed his hand from Andrea’s. He reached for something out of Misty’s line of sight, then clamped what felt like a poultice to Misty’s side, Andrea at the last minute moving her hand to rest it now on top of Sean’s.
Misty thought she was dying. The agony reached a peak, beyond which there was no feeling. After a very long time, she heard Graham again, his voice harsh. “It’s not working.”
“Patience,” Sean said, but Andrea drew a breath.
“He’s right,” she said.
I don’t want to hear that, Misty thought frantically. I want everyone surprised but happy I’m alive.
“Move.” Graham again, his weight rocking Misty. “Let me.”
“No, you don’t know—” Sean began, but Graham cut him off.
“Tell me what to do. What is this stuff?”
Andrea answered. “Fae . . . medicine.”
“Yeah, don’t reassure me. Why is it hurting her so much?”
“The Fae magic in her is fighting it,” Andrea answered. “It’s strong.”
“I’m stronger.” Graham’s voice was rough, breathy. “Misty, love.” He wrapped his hard fingers around hers. “Hold on to me. Tight as you can. And fight. Fight it for me, sweetheart.”
Misty had no strength to fight. Nothing. She didn’t want to die, but right now living was so, so tiring.
Graham’s large hand went to her side, and he pressed a cloth filled with something over the sword cut. Misty half sat up, trying to scream again, but her voice had gone. Her vision was blurred, but she saw Andrea and Sean collapsed onto a couch pulled to the bed, holding each other. Matt and Kyle sat up next to Misty, anxious, two pairs of wolf cub eyes fixed on her.
Graham was merciless. His eyes were the light gray of his wolf’s, determined, angry. He pressed her side, holding Misty down while she tried to wrench herself away from the pain.
“Hang on, baby,” Graham said. “I know it hurts. You can kick my ass later. But hang on.”
Misty clamped down on his hand, clinging to it as though it was a lifeline. Graham forced whatever it was into her wound, the pain searing, something hot rushing to her heart. She couldn’t hold it in—her heart would burst, and Misty would die.
Through the pain, a small dart of warmth touched her chest. The tiniest piece, and yet it was something outside the pain, something to focus on.
She heard Graham draw a sharp breath, saw his gaze go to the middle of her chest, as though he knew what she felt. He looked down at his own chest, and his look turned startled.
Misty had no idea why. Was he feeling what she felt? Was that possible? But strange things had been happening all day. Night. Whatever time it was.
The piece of warmth suddenly flooded her chest, spreading, widening, burning through her to engulf the pain from the wound. Her body seared hot, hotter . . . hotter than she could stand.
And then everything stopped. Misty dragged in a long breath that seemed to come from the ends of the atmosphere, and she realized she hadn’t been breathing for the last . . . however long it had been.
As soon as Misty exhaled and blinked, the cubs went into paroxysms of joy, dancing in circles, yipping, tails moving rapidly.
Misty found herself drenched but realized it was with sweat. The sheet was soaked with it, and so was the big T-shirt she was wearing. Not hers.
The runes on Sean’s sword, still in his hand, flashed out once, then went dark. Andrea was up, her hand on Misty’s forehead, her face relaxing. “It’s gone,” Andrea said. “I don’t see the spell anymore.”
Graham unfolded himself like a huge bear coming to life, his eyes silver white and wild. He wrapped his arms around Misty, picking her up away from Andrea, gathered her against him, and buried his face in her neck.
Misty held his shaking body, both of them rocking a little. “It’s all right,” Misty said softly, stroking him. “I’m here.”
Graham lifted his head. The relief in his eyes went a long way down, along with pain and stark terror. He drew a breath.
“What the hell were you thinking?” he roared in his loudest voice. “Going for the sword like that?”
Misty closed her eyes, sinking into exhaustion. “Love you too, Graham,” she murmured, and hugged him.