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Dad approached the reception desk and exchanged a few words with the nurse on duty. Then he turned back and motioned for us to follow him. The nurse had a slightly dazed look in her eyes, and I knew my father had used compulsion on her. It was after their usual visiting hours, and normally, only immediate family members were allowed in to see patients.
I spotted Angela’s parents and sister first. They were huddled inside the room, all seated around her. Angela lay on the narrow bed; her vibrant red hair that was normally tied up in a brightly coloured scrunchie lay dirty and limp against the white pillow. There was a large dressing on her neck where she’d been wounded. As soon as I made eye contact with her mother, Laura, emotion swelled in my chest. My tears started falling before I could stop them.
“I’m so sorry,” I cried. “I should’ve taken better care of her.”
“Oh, honey, don’t blame yourself. No one could’ve predicted this,” Laura said as she pulled me into a hug. Angela’s father and sister remained silent, and I couldn’t tell if it was because they were too upset to speak or if they were mad at me for not protecting her from being attacked. Either way, the guilt was real.
“The doctor said she’ll recover, but she lost a lot of blood. She’ll need to stay here until she’s well enough to come home.”
“Has she woken yet?” Dad asked gently.
Laura shook her head. Dad stepped forward and took her hand into his. “Be sure to call me as soon as she wakes. We’ll find the person who did this; mark my words.”
“Thank you, Ethan.”
I spent another little while in the room with Angela’s family before it was time to leave. Thankfully, Nic hadn’t tried to broach a conversation about our kiss, probably sensing it wasn’t the right time. I couldn’t think about anything except for Angela. She looked so small and powerless in that hospital bed. I wished there was some spell that could magically transport her back to full health. Witches didn’t have fast healing like other supernatural species. In that respect, they were very much human.
This made me think of Peter. He was so much more mortal than I was. I might live to be five hundred, but Peter would only get a paltry century if he were lucky. He would grow old and frail while I remained youthful and strong for far longer.
Then I recalled what my mother said about the possibility of Peter elevating his magic and becoming a sorcerer. That would render him immortal. He would live forever, and I would be the one to grow old and weak while he remained unchanged.
These thoughts drifted through my mind as I crawled into bed and shut off the lamp. With my room encased in darkness, I closed my eyes and turned over, expecting it would take a long while to fall asleep. It didn’t. I was out like a light, but my sleep wasn’t restful. I was plagued by nightmares, visions of a faceless devil attacking Angela. Lulling her into a false sense of trust and then brutally assaulting her.
The scene replayed over and over, heightening my sense of panic. Then, the nightmare faded, and my panic drifted away. I was surrounded by a warm, comforting presence. My panic and fear and anger disintegrated until there was nothing but peace and serenity left behind. It felt like there were loving, protective arms wrapped around me, soothing away all my tension.
Soon, the peace and serenity evolved into something altogether different. Peter’s musky amber scent filled my senses, tinged with that trademark smokiness that I now realised came from his teleportation magic. My nipples beaded, my core tightening as a feeling of deep eroticism took over. I squirmed closer to it, reaching for the thing that had turned my nightmares into some kind of abstract sexual fantasy. There were no erotic images, just a feeling of intense arousal and deep, unquenchable need.
I was happy to remain in that state, frustrating as it might be, until something stirred me. I wasn’t sure if a noise woke me up or what, but I blinked my eyes open only to find that someone was in my bed.
I shot up and turned on the lamp. Peter was under the covers, fast asleep. I stared at him for several long moments before he stirred. The light must’ve woken him because he sat up and looked around my room in confusion. He rubbed his forehead, then finally lifted his gaze to me, and his brown eyes widened in confusion. We were both asking ourselves the same question.
How on earth had he ended up in my bed?
13.
I watched as he opened his mouth to speak. Don’t say anything out loud. My dad will hear you, I warned in panic, a panic reflected in his eyes.
