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She fell beside Roark once again, hearing Rein send away the Blood Coven. “Nico, tell Kole to begin the roundup of Aeternals loose on Earth. The spell will compel most of them to return on their own. Of course, the stronger assholes and predatory wildings may ignore the call.”
Along with Alarik, Braelyn remained, but Indigo barely recognized their presence. Only the unconscious male mattered. She caressed his cheek with the back of her fingers. His skin was icy as if frost crawled over it. Despite his immortality, she feared the extreme cold could be a sign of true death approaching. “Leave us,” Indigo ordered.
Braelyn squeezed her shoulder, a kind though useless gesture.
Once she was alone with Roark, she conjured a pallet. Levitating his two-hundred-and-eighty pounds of dead weight, she settled him onto it.
Once he seemed comfortable, she stretched out beside him, a leg thrown over his thighs, an arm slung around his waist, her hair freed from its braid to cover him as he liked. She added heavy blankets when her teeth chattered from the cold seeping through his clothes. More blankets. She had never felt such ice. It spread across her skin, traveling through her veins. She shivered but held Roark close. She would never let him go.
Night crept into the valley, the only light a full moon. She closed her eyes, remembering when she had first seen him in the river. Her lips curled into a smile while she recalled their adventures. The hunt for Blood’s Kiss, his shameless flirting, her body’s response to the male despite her deep mistrust of him, the sight of him flying into the sky as he revealed himself as Ohngel.
With each treasured vision, she warmed, passing the heat into his body until his skin was no longer so cold.
What to do?
Her brother was a powerful healer, but he failed to revive Roark. It was up to her. Though she was no slouch in the witch department, her spells rarely mended injuries. Still, she was Indigo. She would approach the problem like a lost object.
Research.
She would consult spell books. She would find mages with unique talents. She would go to the river to search for a clue.
What she would not do was fail.
With plans in mind, she fell to sleep beside the male who stirred the rhythm of her heart.
****
At sunrise, Indigo brought Roark to her apartment at the stronghold. She lay him, still deep in a coma, onto her bed, burying him under a ton of blankets.
She arranged for a revolving door of Blood Coven descendants to sit with him so she could go out.
Margo, first on the list, sat in a chair beside Roark, holding Indigo’s instruction sheet. “Check his pulse at the scheduled times. Feel his skin at regular intervals. It should be warm. If not, call me immediately.”
“No unnecessary touching, Red. No peeking under the covers.” After all, Roark was naked, Indigo having removed his clothes to make him more comfortable.
The descendant tossed a smile at her. “Please. I have my own hot-bodied male. Not to worry.” Too soon, though, Margo’s grin slid into a rueful expression of sorrow for Indigo.
After a shower, she tamed her hair into a braid before portaling to Alarik’s ministry where the largest mage library on Scath was housed. On the table in front of her, she stacked volumes of grimoires. She paged through the current tome, looking for info on comas. After she bookmarked the relevant stuff, she grabbed another volume. Apparently, most witches and warlocks preferred to put someone under. She was searching for only the rare magic explaining how to revive a victim.
Once Indigo gathered the useful texts, she kicked up her feet and began a deep read. She had always absorbed spells with ease, integrating them into her skill set.
Hours later, all the abracadabra memorized, she returned to Roark’s bedside where she would try to awaken him with the newly assimilated incantations. Margo was in the chair, reading something on her electronic pad, laughing. She straightened, a hand clasped to her mouth, a guilty look on her face.
“It’s okay, Red. Life goes on.” Indigo tried to give her a reassuring smile. Likely, she failed.
“Chay texted me. My ylve always makes me laugh.”
“Cherish it. Laughter may be what keeps us sane. It’s what Roark sacrificed for.” She still couldn’t think of him as Ohngel, the fire-winged assassin of the OneCreator. “Never stop.”
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
“I won’t know until I try. You’re off duty. I’ll take over.”
Margo rose, a gentle palm on Indigo’s arm. “I’ll keep my fingers crossed. I want the best for you.”
Indigo watched the redheaded Blood Coven witch head for the door. She would return to her Chay, a happy female. Was it envy to wish the same for herself?
She pulled the chair close to the bed, tugged the covers to Roark’s chin, and brushed her knuckles across his stubbled jaw. He was warm to the touch, his features serene, his lashes creating an arched shadow on his cheeks.
