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“By all rights, your blast should have hit me, perhaps killed me. Shock had nothing to do with your energy missing me?”
“I don’t think so, except he made me so mad and taunted me into blasting out all my anger. Once I did, he stood back and watched. Mathias was hurting you after he’d already—” I drop my gaze to Marrok. His stillness gouges at my composure and renews my fear. I sniffle back tears as I sidle closer. “Now that Marrok can die, what will happen to him?”
“You’re going to cure him by focusing on healing thoughts instead of anger, then pouring that power into Marrok.”
With a gasp, I jerk away. “No! I either killed Mathias or ripped out all his magic with that blast. I couldn’t—”
“You seriously wounded him, but the bloody sod is still alive and had at least enough magic to teleport from the tunnel and take the Anarki with him.”
“Maybe Shock did that.”
Bram shrugs. “I can’t say which side Shock truly supports, but only Mathias can control the Anarki. So unfortunately, he’s alive and well. But you debilitated him today, not forever, but for a while. I’m still calling that a victory.”
Is it? Power surged through me, and I wished Mathias dead when I blasted him. I stunned him enough to flatten him and make him bleed.
But not enough to put an end to his reign of terror.
Everyone, especially the Doomsday Brethren, are still in danger.
“Not much of one.”
“I disagree. Mathias was at death’s door. His signature was nearly blank. That indicates very weak magic. You damaged his power—at least temporarily. Maybe even permanently. Who knows? Any way you cripple him is beyond helpful. Mathias without power is no one.”
Maybe Bram has a point. “Isn’t it odd that I performed big magic before transition?”
“You mean that powerful?” Bram hesitates. “Yes and no. Your magic was both stronger and more complex than a witchling should be capable of. Even beyond what some mature witches can manage. You’ll be extraordinary someday. And everyone in that tunnel took notice.”
The unmistakable nods of agreement among the others in the room convince me he’s right. And I want to be reassured that I can pull off Bram’s grand plan to save my mate…but another glance at his pale face has fear squeezing my heart all over again. “Will my powers be enough to heal Marrok?”
“It’s worth giving a go. At the very least, your concern will transmit through your bond and bolster his strength.”
“W-what if I accidentally hurt him?”
“Do you love him?”
Isn’t it obvious? “Of course.”
“Then you won’t hurt him. You can’t. Your love can only heal him.”
“You’re sure? I’m inexperienced. I don’t know what I’m doing—”
“Magic isn’t merely about spells. You can learn those—and you must. Casting is about the power of the witch or wizard, which you clearly have. It’s also about passion and intent. You intended to hurt Mathias, and you violently wanted it. So you did. Now, concentrate on healing Marrok, and pour yourself into the yearning for his recovery. I don’t know if you have healing magic, but as I said, at worst, your touch will reaffirm your bond and strengthen his will to live.”
I stare at my mate, lying so still. His breathing has grown more ragged. He’s paler than a deep winter snow. No more time to argue or worry. Yeah, Marrok wants to end his life, but I know my big warrior. Falling to Mathias in defeat will bug the shit out of him. I have to try bringing him back, then let him choose his fate.
Life…or death.
Closing my eyes, I settle my hands on his chest.
Chapter Sixty-One
One touch, and the power of our bond comes to my rescue. The weakness I’ve been fighting dissipates, infusing me with new vitality. I direct that power back to Marrok, providing a loop of emotional fuel.
Then I focus my thoughts on healing. My wishes swirl with my concern, warming and growing, gentle yet strong. I add determination. Then I douse it all with love.
Like a vacuum cleaner, my chest sucks up the energy from the rest of my body until it swirls like a vortex. It rolls together, straining for freedom. Then suddenly, it reaches critical mass and rolls down my arms and into my fingertips. The same sizzle and burn that happened in the tunnel accompanies this exchange of energy. It floods Marrok. He jerks, bucks, and groans, but no matter how I tremble or feel my consciousness slipping, I focus my whole being on healing him. I don’t stop until I have nothing left to give.
But a glance tells me nothing changed. He’s still at death’s door.
