Chapter 10
Darkness. Then pain. Sam's consciousness floated back like a reluctant swimmer breaking the surface of a frozen lake. His body felt wrong—heavy and burning and somehow disconnected.
He tried to move. Mistake. Pain lanced through his chest, sharp enough to make his vision blur.
"Don't even think about it, wolf-boy." Zelda's voice cut through the fog. "Those shadow creatures did quite a number on you."
Sam forced his eyes open. The ceiling above him swam with projected constellations—Zelda's healing room magic at work. The air tasted of rosemary, valerian, and something metallic that might have been his own blood.
A warm pressure against his hand drew his attention. Delilah sat beside him, her head resting on the edge of his cot, fingers intertwined with his. Dark circles shadowed her eyes. She'd clearly been there for hours.
Memory crashed back—the witch, the orb, the shadow creatures tearing into him.
"How long?" His voice came out as a rasp.
Delilah's head snapped up. "Sam! Thank the Goddess." Relief flooded her face, followed immediately by something harder. "Two days. You've been out for two days."
"The orb—"
"Gone," Zelda interrupted, moving into his field of vision. Her hands glowed faintly green as she checked the bandages wrapped around his torso. "And before you ask, yes, we've been tracking it. No, we haven't found it. And yes, Mac has the entire shifter community on alert."
Sam tried to sit up again, ignoring the protest of torn muscles. "I need to get back out there."
"You need to lie down before you undo all my work," Zelda snapped, pushing him back with surprising strength. Fat Bastard, perched on a nearby shelf, gave a meow that sounded suspiciously like laughter.
"We're losing time," Sam growled. "The witch mentioned a master—someone collecting pairs. There's a larger pattern we're missing."
"We haven't been sitting around painting our nails," Delilah said, her voice tight. "Ivy and Rafe have been researching the Twilight Coven. Mac's coordinating with neighboring towns. I've been trying to scry for the orb."
"And I've been keeping you from becoming wolf jerky," Zelda added, adjusting a poultice that glowed with soft blue light.
Sam pulled his hand from Delilah's grasp. "This is exactly why I work alone. People get hurt when they're around me."
"You got hurt protecting me," Delilah countered. "There's a difference."
"Is there?" He met her eyes, letting his frustration surface. "You were only in danger because we were working together. This partnership was a mistake from the start."
Her expression hardened. "So that's it? One setback and you're done?"
"This isn't a setback. It's a wake-up call." Sam looked away. "You're a distraction I can't afford. A liability."
The word hung between them, sharp and cruel. He saw the moment it struck home—her eyes widening before narrowing to angry slits.
"Fine," she said, standing abruptly. "Heal up and go be a lone wolf. See how far that gets you against whatever was controlling that witch."
She stormed from the room, the door slamming with enough force to make the hanging herbs shudder. Boba Fett and Jango Fett scurried after her, casting judgmental feline glances at Sam. "Idiots," Jango murmured.
Zelda's withering look could have curdled milk. "Well done. Truly masterful emotional intelligence there."
"It's for her own good," Sam muttered.
"Is it?" Zelda adjusted a bundle of sage that had fallen. "Or is it easier than admitting you're scared?"
Sam didn't answer. Around him, the healing herbs briefly rearranged themselves, forming a pattern that matched the theft locations before settling back into place. He stared at the ceiling, ignoring the hollow feeling in his chest that was more painful than his wounds.
* * *
Sam struggled to his feet, ignoring the sharp protest from his ribs. The room tilted sideways, but he gritted his teeth and pushed through. Three steps toward the door. Four. His vision tunneled.
The door swung open just as he reached it, smacking him squarely in the face.
"Son of a—" Sam staggered backward, clutching his nose.
Mac stood in the doorway, arms laden with medical supplies. His eyebrows shot up. "Going somewhere?"
"Out," Sam growled. "There's a witch to catch."
"There's a hospital bed to return to," Mac countered, stepping forward. "Or do you prefer I carry you back like a pup?"
Sam bared his teeth. "I'd like to see you try."
"Challenge accepted." Mac set down the supplies and in one fluid motion swept Sam's legs from under him, catching him before he hit the ground. The movement sent fresh pain lancing through Sam's torso.
"Put. Me. Down."
"With pleasure." Mac deposited him back on the cot with deliberate gentleness that somehow made it more humiliating. "Now stay there before I get Zelda to hex your ass to the mattress."
Sam glared but remained seated, partly from pride and partly because the room wouldn't stop spinning. Mac methodically unpacked the supplies—fresh bandages, glowing poultices, and a thermos that smelled suspiciously like Zelda's healing broth.
"You're an idiot," Mac said conversationally.
"So I've been told."
"No, I mean a special kind of idiot." Mac checked Sam's bandages with practiced efficiency. "The kind who'd rather bleed out alone than admit he needs someone."
Sam winced as Mac applied fresh poultice to the deepest wound. "I don't need anyone."
"Right. And I'm secretly a chihuahua." Mac's fingers probed a particularly tender spot, making Sam hiss. "Sorry. Actually, I'm not sorry. You deserve that for what you said to Delilah."
"I was protecting her."
"Bullshit." Mac's sapphire eyes flashed. "I've known you for fifteen years, and this is the exact same crap you pulled after the Hollow Creek incident. Stop pushing away people who care about you before you have no one left."
Sam looked away. "It's different this time."
"How? Because she's not a shifter? Because she can see the future instead of your past?" Mac shook his head. "Or is it because you actually care about her, and that terrifies you more than any silver-haired witch?"
The silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft bubbling of healing potions.
"She deserves better," Sam finally muttered.
"Probably," Mac agreed, wrapping a fresh bandage around Sam's torso. "But for some reason, she chose you. At least until you called her a liability."
Sam flinched. "I didn't mean—"
"Yes, you did. You meant to hurt her so she'd leave." Mac secured the bandage with a sharp tug. "Classic Wolfe defense mechanism. Push them away before they can leave you."
"What do you want me to say?" Sam snapped. "That I'm scared? Fine. I'm terrified. Not just of her getting hurt, but of..." He trailed off.
"Of caring about her," Mac finished. "Of letting someone matter again."
Sam's shoulders sagged. "What if I can't protect her?"
"What if you don't have to do it alone?" Mac handed him the thermos. "Drink this. Zelda said it tastes like swamp piss but it'll help."
Sam took a reluctant sip. It was worse than swamp Piss "You sound like a self-help book."
"I'm the King of Shifters. Relationship advice comes with the crown." Mac's expression turned serious. "There's something else you should know. Three other shifter-psychic pairs have formed in neighboring towns recently. All investigating similar thefts."
Sam lowered the thermos. "That can't be coincidence."
"No," Mac agreed. "And every pair reported the same thing—unexpected magical resonance when working together. Just like you and Delilah."
"Someone's orchestrating this," Sam murmured. "The Collector."
"Exactly. So maybe pushing away your magical other half isn't the smartest move right now."
Sam stared into the murky depths of the thermos. "I wouldn't even know where to start fixing this."
"An apology usually works." Mac stood. "Though in your case, it might take groveling. Possibly in wolf form. With flowers."
* * *
Delilah paced the length of Zelda's garden, each footstep causing ripples of reaction through the foliage. Lavender stems bent away from her path as if sensing her anger, while thorny roses seemed to reach toward her, responding to the hurt pulsing beneath her skin.
"He's impossible," she muttered, kicking at a pebble. "Completely, utterly impossible."
Zelda knelt among her herbs, seemingly focused on harvesting mint leaves while actually monitoring Delilah's emotional state through the plants' reactions. "Men are generally impossible. Shifter men elevate it to an art form."
"I was just trying to help." Delilah stopped beside a cluster of drooping moonflowers. The moment she approached, they curled further into themselves. "See? Even your plants think I'm toxic."
"The plants don't lie," Zelda said, rising with her basket of herbs. "But they don't always tell the story you think they're telling."
Delilah crossed her arms. "What story are they telling, then? That I'm a disaster who gets people hurt?"
"They're telling me you care enough to be devastated.
" Zelda pointed to a patch of vibrant pink flowers that had suddenly unfurled, their petals opening wide despite the absence of direct sunlight.
"Those only bloom around strong emotional connections.
They're practically shouting right now. The same flowers bloomed when Ivy and Rafe were here together. "
"That's ridiculous." Delilah stepped away from the flowers, but they stretched toward her, following her movement. "I barely know him."
"Sometimes time isn't the measuring stick." Zelda's eyes glinted with knowing amusement. "Those flowers responded the moment you mentioned his name."
"I didn't—" Delilah stopped. Had she spoken his name aloud without realizing?
A nearby vine suddenly twisted into what looked suspiciously like the letter S, then quickly unraveled when Delilah glared at it.
"Your plants need to mind their own business," she grumbled.