Page 132 of The Other Side

“Oh my God,” Drum gasped. “How the hell did you do that?”

He pushed himself upright without hesitation. No grimace. No protective hand over his ribs. He twisted left, then right, bent to touch his toes, then straightened again. The bruises had gone. His mouth fell open. So did Osian’s.

“No pain.” Drum stared at Kit in utter disbelief. “You mended my ribs?” A broad, dazzling grin split his face. “You mended my ribs! Bloody hell. Thank you!”

“You’re welcome.” Kit smiled back, but there was something guarded behind it. “Now do you understand why I can’t be a doctor?”

“But you’d be brill—” Drum stopped mid-sentence and sat down again. “Ah.”

Realization struck Osian at exactly the same moment.

“You couldn’t explain why your patients were suddenly, miraculously healed.” Osian carried the coffees over. “If people discovered you could cure them with a touch, you’d be…”

“Swamped. Hunted. Kidnapped. Turned into a cash machine. Worshipped as the new Messiah. Arrested. Dissected.” Kit gave a tired laugh that held no amusement. “Probably all of those.”

He looked down at his hands. “And the worst part is…I feel guilty. I could help so many people. But every time I heal someone, it takes something from me. My power fades a little more and I become…less, somehow.” He swallowed. “It’s an awful thing to admit, but sometimes I wish I couldn’t do it.”

“Did your last pack know?” Osian asked.

“No. I helped a few children in the hospital where I worked, but when I started to draw too much attention, I left. My alpha was furious with me for losing his large share of my salary. Another reason for me to get beaten up.”

Silence settled over the room.

Osian caught Drum’s eye. The relief of seeing him pain-free was already giving way to something heavier. He felt desperately sorry for Kit.

“So,” Drum said quietly, “you’re not just a weredog.”

Osian set the warm croissants and plates on the coffee table, helped himself and sat down.

“What are you?” Drum asked. “Is it okay to ask? I don’t know the etiquette. I’m sorry.”

“If people don’t want you to know what they are, they won’t tell you,” Osian said.

Kit shrugged. “My mum was a witch. My dad was a weredog. Mum was a healer and when she died, she passed her power to me. Something that morphed into the ability to heal those who might die.”

“It’s a lot of pressure,” Drum said. “Thank you for helping me. I’d have healed. You could have left me to do that. But I do appreciate what you did.”

“You wouldn’t have healed. You had a slow bleed. It would have killed you.”

Drum and Osian looked at each other in shock.

“The hospital might have caught it,” Kit said. “If you’d stayed in.”

“Did you know before you came today?” Osian asked.

“Not until I touched Drum.” Kit took a slow breath. “I actually came about something else. I wanted to ask you about Will.”

A flush crept across Kit’s cheeks. Osian saw it instantly. Oh. Kit’s hope that his loneliness might be about to change. His heart gave an unexpected lurch.

“I called Will when I saw the blood in the cottage,” Osian explained. “He drove me to Sparlow, then gave Kit a lift back to Pine Cottage to track your scent.”

“I like Will,” Kit admitted softly. “A lot. I want to help him.”

“You think you can cure his cerebral palsy?” Osian asked.

Kit nodded. “Yes. But should I?” His words came out in a rush. “I don’t want him to think I see him as broken. I don’t. I mean… I’d love to make life easier for him, but not because I think less of him. Gods!” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m making a complete mess of this.”

“We know what you mean,” Drum said gently.