Broken Warrior (The Weavers Circle 1)

Chapter 26Three weeks laterClay smiled at Dane’s back as his soul mate slowly made his way through the chaos that cluttered up the attic. It had been a long road returning to their sense of normal. After dropping the kidnapped woman at the hospital, they rushed to the plantation house so Dane could see to all of Grey’s burns and Clay’s broken ribs.

Naturally, the aunts were already there waiting for them. To Clay’s shock, there was no lecture on the stupidity of what they did or how much they risked. The worried looks had been enough.

But Clay couldn’t regret it. They’d gotten rid of Cor and a lot of pestilents. The last remaining Weavers had a shot of reaching the plantation house somewhat safely. They needed a real fighting chance to end this permanently.

Unfortunately, it took Dane the better part of two days to heal Grey, due to the extensive nature of the burns and smoke in his lungs. Clay hadn’t been able to lend much in the way of powers, thanks to pain from his own broken ribs and a few other smaller fractures and contusions. Baer had made it out of the fight with only a few minor scrapes and burns.

For the first week, the aunts remained at the house, offering Dane guidance on using his new power. But regardless of what brilliant ideas they came up with, each night Dane fell into bed completely drained. Flo seemed confident that Dane’s powers would grow in strength with time and use. It couldn’t happen soon enough.

Dane’s work was a painful thing to watch. His lover gave every ounce of himself to take away Grey’s pain and still could not heal him completely after a day. And then he’d reach across their bed, no longer strong enough to hold his eyes open, to try to heal Clay.

It was becoming easier to see why the Circle had failed so many times in the past. They’d never had a healer like Dane before. Any of those early battles for them could have turned deadly at the drop of a hat. And even if only one of them was lost, it meant fighting an endless battle just to hold the pestilents at bay until the last Weaver returned twenty or thirty years later.

How many times had one of them been maimed or crippled in battle, hanging on by only a thread? How many times had they lost hope completely?

If any of his brothers were lucky enough to find their soul mates, he prayed that one of them turned out to be a healer like Dane. His lover couldn’t handle all that was coming his way alone.

Even after the last of the injuries were healed, Clay didn’t know how to heal the damage done to Dane. He slept for days just to regain his strength. When he was finally stronger, there was a new haunted look to his gaze. He clung to Clay, refusing to let his soul mate out of his sight. He didn’t need to have Grey’s skills to know what was passing through Dane’s mind. Fear coated the back of Clay’s throat for days.

Fear of Clay dying.

Fear of the pestilents murdering Clay and Dane not being there to save him.

Not being strong enough to save him.

For that first week, all Clay could do was hold Dane and promise that he wasn’t going to die. He kept Dane close as he returned to the practice field and tapped his powers to search for more pestilents.

But the searches proved to be fruitless for now. If there were any pestilents in Georgia, they were at least a good distance away. The Weavers had bought themselves some time. They could at least do things like make grocery runs and have nice dinners out of the house every once in a while.

It was only when Grey started spending some time with Dane alone that Clay saw an improvement in Dane’s moods. He didn’t think the Soul Weaver was tinkering with Dane’s brain so much as helping to talk him through his fears. If Dane was their in-house doctor, then Grey had become their in-house shrink, whether he wanted to or not.

Today, though, was the first day of their little world feeling back in balance. Dane had returned to working on the house and was more comfortable about putting physical distance between himself and Clay. Not that Clay minded being attached at the hip to his lover. But he didn’t want it with a constant look of fear.

Light streamed through the windows, highlighting the cobwebs and the dust flying around in the air. Clay stood in the attic, taking in the covered furniture, all with a thick layer of dust. Nothing in here had been moved in over thirty years. Mind-boggling.

He could make out an armoire and a few tables, a full-length standing mirror. There were cabinets and a piano. Bed frames.