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It’s something mated pairs can do… if they have magic to share.

So I use that and continue to heal her.

More black, thick like tar, seeps out of the wounds. Her skin doesn’t knit together for a long time. The black liquid continues to leave the wounds and soak into the couch cushions beneath her. Only when her blood runs red again does her skin start to repair itself.

For some reason, I can’t make myself stop. Not this time. Not until it’s almost fully healed, and the marks are the shiny pink of new skin.

Her magic has ebbed to barely a whisper inside me, but it’s still sweet and light. And I find myself wanting to hold on to that tendril, to not waste the precious, if undeserved, gift.

I lean forward. My forehead touches her shoulder. But only for a moment. Then I cover her with a blanket and stand.

It’s time for vengeance. But not for me. For us.

Chapter 17

Astra

Iwake up swinging.

Someone catches my fists, folding my arms to my chest. My heart thunders, and I blink, dazed. It’s dark in the room. I’m no longer on the kitchen table, and it’s not a witch in front of me.

It’s Kian.

My eyes fill with tears.

Kian, who I ran from. Who I left behind with Cecelia, who shouldn’t have been able to find me. Who has a space dedicated to him under my ribs, who I can feel next to me as surely as I can feel my own heart beating.

Mate, my soul whispers.

The mate I nearly destroyed because I trusted a coven over him.

A lump forms in my throat.

His eyes hold all the pain that I went through, and I can just tell that it wasn’t a one-sided event.

“You okay?” His voice is low.

I shake my head, and the welling tears spill down my cheeks.

Sorry doesn’t seem like it will cover it.

He sighs and pulls me into him. I don’t have the chance to brace. He wraps his arms around me tightly, banding one across my lower back. The other cups the back of my head.

Wait. I don’t hurt.

He guides my head to his chest and strokes my hair. He’s not wearing a shirt, so my cheek is on his bare skin. And somehow, that’s better. Like something can heal inside me, too.

It’s too tender. Devastatingly so.

“Did I call to you again?” I sniffle and wipe my nose.

“You did.”

“Sorry.”

He leans back slightly, his brow furrowing. “Why are you sorry?”

“I—”