62. Zair
Zair
This Is Not the Time for Feelings
“There!” Dylan shouts, pointing ahead.
Relief slams into me, chased hard by fear.
Thea leans out from an alley, but she looks worse than she did in astral form.
Her face is swollen and mottled with bruises.
There’s a brace on her arm and there’s blood on her shirt.
She ducks out of sight, like her injuries don’t matter as we skid to a stop.
Dylan, Mavrik and I leap from the car, rushing into the alley. “Thea!” I call, my voice caught somewhere between desperate hope and sheer dread as we close the distance.
Then I see Benson and the worst-case scenario stops being theoretical.
Where Thea looks like she had the crap beat out of her, Benson looks like he had his life-force drained. His face is pale and missing all the mischief and energy that usually defines him.
He’s barely conscious, sagging in her arms, deadweight, like he’s already gone. Dylan and I move fast, pulling him between us. I feel his pulse, weak and erratic.
“What happened to him?” I demand, my voice sharp with fear, as I start scanning him with my healing magic.
“He had on a witch cuff since we were taken,” Thea says tightly, her voice trembling with barely contained fury. “They suffocated his magic.”
“Get him in the car,” I grit out, my pulse hammering in my ears. “I’ll try to heal him as we go.”
“I didn’t try,” Thea says quickly. “I knew I’d make it worse. My magic’s volatile after being cuffed.”
“You got him out,” I reassure her.
We load Benson into the back seat. Thea sliding in beside him. She doesn’t let go of his hand, her thumb tracing small circles over his skin. Dylan floors it; the car lurches forward, the engine growling as we speed away from the warehouse district.
I immediately start sending healing energy into him but it doesn’t seem to be doing much.
“What happened?” Dylan demands, his voice tight with concern.
“What day is it? What time is it?” Thea’s voice is low, strained.
“Sunday afternoon,” Mavrik replies. Thea curses under her breath. Benson’s chest rattles with a harsh cough, and blood drips from the corner of his mouth, staining his pale skin.
Thea struggles to keep her composure as she watches him weaken further.
“He had them on too long,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper, like admitting the truth makes it even worse. She looks at me, her eyes pleading. “Will you be able to heal him?”
I meet her gaze, startled by the naked terror I find there. Then it hits me. The desperation. She knows he’s dying. I press my hands to Benson’s chest, sending everything I can into him, trying to reignite his spark. But it’s too fragile. I feel the magic in my hands waver.
“I’m not strong enough,” I admit, the words heavy with failure.
“Should we pull over and I try?” Mavrik asks from the driver’s seat. “I’m not very good at healing.”
“You can take my energy,” Thea says, holding out her hand.
The air leaves my lungs.
“Thea…” I whisper. Witches don’t offer their energy lightly. It’s more than sacred. It’s soul-deep, the ultimate act of trust.
Her expression doesn’t falter.
“You need more to help him, don’t you?”
I hesitate, staring at her, my heart in my throat. “Do you even know what you’re offering?”
“Yes,” she says firmly. “I’m a little low, but take what you need. I trust you.”
“I’ll stop him from going too far,” Mavrik promises from the front seat.
My hand trembles as I take hers, letting the connection form.
She winces when I squeeze and I realize belatedly that her arm must be injured if they gave her a brace.
But then her energy floods into me, and I’m overwhelmed.
Wildfire and starlight. Mine. It’s like my soul recognizes her before my mind can catch up.
The truth crashes into me; it’s her.
My mate.
The weight of it sinks in, a pull in my chest, deep and undeniable. This is why I’ve been so drawn to her. A magnetic force that binds me to her in a way I can’t escape.
I shake the thought away, forcing my focus back on Benson.
He needs me now, not my spiraling heart.
I can’t ignore the power as it surges through me like nothing I’ve ever felt.
I’m a strong witch, or I thought I was until she offers me more power than I’ve ever had access to.
She said she was weakened. How does she deal with this much magic all the time? No wonder it slips out.
I push the energy into Benson’s fading spark, coaxing his magic to respond. Slowly, I feel it stir. The sputter of life that had nearly guttered out is reignited, his magical essence pulsing back to life. His skin begins to regain color, and his breathing deepens.
His eyes slowly open, unfocused but warm.
“Not dead,” he mutters weakly.
“‘Fraid not, B.” Thea smiles softly at him, brushing his hair from his face.
“How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been hit by a bus.” He cracks a tired grin, his lips dry and pale.
I let out a soft huff of laughter, more habit than humor. “Yeah, you look like it.”
The car jolts as Dylan parks outside the Thornfell health office, beside the Otherfell entrance.
Ollin is already running toward us. I really wanted to hate him.
The whole protective act, the familiarity with Thea.
But he’s good. Efficient. Focused. I’m not ready to call him a friend, but I’m starting to see why she does.
“You found them,” he says, eyes scanning the group before landing on Thea. A loud growl escaping his throat as the color drains from his face.
“I’m fine, help B,” she orders him and he does as she tells him.
“They had cuffs on him,” I tell him quickly, already pulling Benson out of the car. “We need to get him to the health office. Now.”
Ollin and Dylan each grab an arm and practically carry him. I want to argue, but the two shifters are stronger than me.
“You don’t have to do all this,” Benson mutters.
“Shut up,” Dylan says, his tone lighter than the moment deserves, though his eyes stay locked on Benson with sharp, quiet worry. “Let us carry your sorry ass for once.”
I stay by Thea’s side as the group heads toward the health office. Her steps are uneven, breath shallow. She stumbles on the curb.
“Hey,” I say softly, catching her elbow before she hits the pavement. She winces again. “Let me heal you.”
“I’m fine,” she mutters, glaring up at me. “I can wait until B is healed.” When she stumbles again, I ignore her objections and lift her into my arms.
“Did I take too much?” I ask, alarm spiking in my chest.
“No,” she exhales, the word barely a breath. In that moment I know: she was holding on just long enough to make sure Benson would live.
We reach the health office and Ollin shoulders the door open. The scent of magic hits us immediately, cool and metallic. The healer is already moving.
“Over here!” she calls, clearing the nearest cot.
“Witch cuffs,” Mavrik says as they move. “Over two days. They drained his magic to the edge of collapse.”
The healer gestures frantically to the cot. Ollin and Dylan lower Benson down as gently as they can. He still flinches, hissing through his teeth.
“And her?” the healer asks, gesturing to Thea in my arms.
“Just a few bruises, worry about him first,” she tells the nurse.
“Put her on the other cot,” the healer says briskly, already focusing on Benson.
I lower Thea gently onto the mattress, brushing hair from her eyes.
“Rest,” I order her, and she closes her eyes without protest. I sit beside her, wrapping my hand around hers as the healer’s magic flares gold over Benson’s body.
I exhale as color returns to his face and his breathing begins to steady. But the image of him coughing up blood in the car is carved into my memory.
I glance down at Thea.
My mate.
The thought pulses through me: terrifying, electric, and undeniable. But not now.
There are battles to fight before that one.