Attraction.
Heat.
Jealousy.
Possession.
Fear.
Worry.
Dedication.
Devotion.
Need.
Whoa.
Shea was an expert when it came to shields. She had to be. Ever since she was a young witch and she discovered that she could feel people’s pain and their stronger emotions, she’d built up her own, strengthening them, bolstering them, using them to keep her separated from the rest of the world.
With the flood of Colton’s repressed emotions, she decided in an instant that she was a fucking amateur. How could one person feel so much without her ever guessing? Even the glimpse she picked up on that night at Bloodlust paled in comparison to this poignant moment at her bedside.
Colton’s shields, she marveled, must h
ave been damn near impenetrable.
And he’d just lowered them to finally let Shea in.
That, more than any of his pretty words, made her accept that he wasn’t just saying it to say it.
“You mean it. You… you really do.”
“I’m single-minded. I spent months tricking myself into thinking that I was no good for you. I’m done with that bullshit. You were meant for me, and selfish or not, I’m going to do whatever I have to prove to you that I’m the only mate meant for you.”
And the gleam in his icy eyes was his wolf’s dare for her to prove him wrong.
She swallowed weakly, then leaned back into her pillows. “Well… okay, then.”
* * *
They discharged Hudson the day before Shea.
He disappeared. No surprise, there. The biggest one was that he didn’t slip out of the hospital before the doctors had signed off on his chart.
Colton offered to go after him. Something monumental had changed between them after her brush with death. She could sense that he was torn: one part of Colton was eager to stand by his promise, to do anything to prove to Shea that she was worth taking a chance on him, while the other bayed and whined at the idea of leaving her behind for even the quickest of hunts.
He had meant it when he told her he was going to prove his feelings for her. He didn’t need to—as an empath, being blasted with his emotions was more than enough proof for Shea—but Colton was nothing if not stubborn.
He hadn’t left her bedside in three days.
Shea couldn’t help but remember the three days she spent in his room when they were little more than strangers. As the pain began to fade, as she felt a kinship to the unconscious man who made such beautiful works of furniture, she had let herself believe that he was the one she’d been waiting for. The man who wouldn’t see her as a failed witch, who would actually look past all of her issues because the magic inside of him—his beast—insisted that he would have to.
Of course, then he’d finally came to, blanching when he recognized her face, snarling when he noticed that she’d lost her glamour and was wearing her purple eyes openly. It didn’t matter what his wolf said because, hell, failed witch or no—Shea was still a witch.
So what if she was the one recuperating? She liked it so much better this time around anyway.
Content and secure in his presence, Shea was finally able to let herself relax. It was a mixed hospital with a good amount of Para staff. The wards were already so extensive; her grandmother’s left another layer of protection. Even if she believed for a second that Colton wouldn’t save her from any threat, the power in the wards assured her that there was no way that Julian could come for her—or finish the job with Hudson.