Season of the Witch (Claws Clause 2)
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Behind the need to help, the fear, and the worry in her eyes, Colt saw a love so deep reflected in her gaze. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
Wright was on his back Blood was everywhere, but up close Colt could see some light in his glassy hazel eyes. She was right. As he gasped, short, shallow breathes, gargling on the blood and choking on the oxygen, he was undeniably still alive.
Maybe she could save him...
When Shea dropped to her knees behind the cop, Colt took up position behind her, keeping his hand on her shoulder as he offered her his strength.
She started the healing. As Colt watched her work, he picking up on a different note in Wright’s scent that had him wondering if she was wasting her time.
Julian wanted to grow the family...
Shea laid her hands on the back of his neck, careful not to reach around and touch the jagged hole in his throat. Her hands started out in a magenta glow, turning purple after a few seconds. Colt didn’
t know if he was doing this right, but he tried to push as much of himself—his affection for her, his will to see Wright up and walking again—down the bond.
The glow took on a pale blue tinge.
“It’s working,” she said excitedly.
He pushed even harder.
Colt could feel her weakening, but it was nothing like the time she nearly killed herself over Hudson. Whether it was his help or she’d finally learned her limits, but she was drained by the time she finished the healing—but she was still conscious.
When she was done, Shea took her hands back, settling them on her thighs as she leaned her head up against Colt’s. She sighed. “He’s gonna live.”
“Yes,” Colt said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “But as what?”
Epilogue
The first thing Adam noticed when he woke up was the strong scent of dog that hung in his room.
One problem, though: he didn’t own a dog.
No cats, either. Not even a hamster.
When he spent every free hour he could on the job, there was no point in having a companion animal at home. He’d only give it half his attention and that would never be fair to any helpless pet.
He’d had a dog once, though. An oversized, shaggy sheepdog that his mother called Max. Any time she gave him a bath, the house stunk like wet dog for a couple of days. This smell wasn’t so bad as that, but there was still no denying that his room had the overwhelming scent of animal clinging to it.
The second thing he noticed was that, despite coming to slowly after such a deep sleep, he was still blinded. It was dark, his eyelashes fluttering against some kind of scratchy material. Okay. So not blinded—but wearing a blindfold?
What the fuck?
He immediately lifted his hands, tugging on the gauzy material. It chafed against his fingertips as he searched for the spot where it either started or ended. When he couldn’t find it, he let out a frustrated grunt.
“Oh.” A soft sound of surprise, the shuffle of quick steps coming closer. The dog stink wafted past him as a clean, woodsy scent moved in to take its place. A female scent since it was a woman who whispered, “Oh, no. No, I wouldn’t do that.”
The instant he heard her, Adam stopped fighting with the blindfold. His heavy head spun, his thoughts racing as he tried to figure out what the hell was going on.
He didn’t have a dog. He sure as hell didn’t have a woman living in his house, either. He’d thought that, with Eva, maybe… but he’d been wrong about that, hadn’t he? Bad enough he couldn’t remember crawling into his bed in the first place—a dense black cloud seemed to have taken the place where his memories should’ve been—but now he woke up to discover he wasn’t alone?
It wasn’t a stranger. Adam recognized that voice. He’d only met Colton Wolfe’s witch mate a couple of times, but he remembered the breathy quality to her sweet voice.
What was Shea Moonshadow doing in his room? Unfortunately for Adam, he’d had some experience dealing with a bonded shifter. If Shea was here, Wolfe wouldn’t be too far behind.
Well, that at least explained why he thought he could smell a dog...
He didn’t want to yell. Close to a decade on the force taught him to gather facts, to observe what was going on around him before he went wild, shooting from the hip. Too bad that, thanks to the blindfold, that was impossible.