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Rook and I must havetaken a long time in the shower, because when we make our way into Oliver’s room, Ollie has already been cleaned and changed into a pair of pajama pants. He’s still unconscious, he’s paler than normal, has deep, dark circles under his eyes, and his hair is soaked with sweat. Surprisingly, Enzo is conked out on the bed beside him. He looks just as pale as Oliver and is also drenched in sweat.
The guys step aside so that I can sit in Oliver’s desk chair that they’ve moved to the head of his bed. I sit down and take Oliver’s hand in mine. I don’t like how cold it feels. “Is he okay?” I ask.
“Only time will tell,” Parker—who’s finally awake—murmurs. “He has to purge the bad magic from his system before his body gives out.”
Terrance shakes his head and glares at nothing in particular. “Enzo said the spell on that blade would have killed damn near anybody. It’s a miracle he’s still holding on.”
I feel like someone has just reached their hand into my chest and ripped out my heart. “But he will, right? He can beat this?”
Parker swallows and has to clear his throat before he can speak. “If anybody can, it’s Oliver.”
Tears spill down my cheeks. I squeeze Oliver’s hand and bring it to my lips. “You fight this, Ollie. You’re not allowed to die on me.”
Parker squeezes my shoulder, and I reach up to cover his hand with my free one. I sniffle once and look at the other man out cold on Oliver’s bed. “What about Enzo? Is he all right?”
Terrance nods once and sighs. “He’s just exhausted. The magic poisoning Oliver is so strong Enzo almost couldn’t heal the stab wound. It took everything he had to finish the job. But now that it’s healed, it should make it a little easier for Oliver to fight the magic.”
Something warm spreads through my chest. I’ve never been more grateful to the quiet, mild-mannered shaman. “How long will he sleep?”
“Probably all night,” Nick answers. I’d forgotten that he was here. “He drained himself completely.”
I watch Enzo for a minute. His breaths are deep and even. He looks exhausted but still peaceful. “Maybe we should put him in one of the spare bedrooms and let him get a good night’s rest.”
Terrance scoops Enzo up in his arms like a child and carries him out of the room. Once he’s gone, I take his place lying beside Oliver and start running my fingers through his hair. For all that his hands are cold and clammy, his forehead is burning up. It’s like he’s fighting off some nasty disease. “Could someone get some cool towels? He’s so hot.”
Charlie walks off, presumably to get what I asked for. Parker takes a seat in the chair I vacated and takes hold of Oliver’s hand. I’m touched by the gesture. Parker meets my eyes, and an understanding passes between us. He cares for Oliver just as much as I do. He’s every bit as worried as me. I glance around the room and realize that all of my guys are upset right now. Maybe they don’t love Oliver quite as much as Parker and I do, but Oliver is clan. He’s family. And everyone is feeling his hurt.
Charlie returns with a couple of wet cloths. As I lay them across Oliver’s forehead, Nick finally breaks the silence. “Nora…what happened?”
I can’t look at him. If I do I’ll get angry, and I can’t deal with that drama right now. I use a second cloth to wipe Oliver’s face and his neck. “We were attacked. A sorcerer. He was waiting for us when we exited Wulf’s place. Oliver knew him. At first it seemed like the guy had some kind of personal vendetta against Oliver, but then he mentioned needing to take me to his employer.”
“A mercenary, then,” Illren says.
I meet his gaze. “An assassin, I think. He meant to kill Oliver. His name was Devon Mitchell.”
Illren’s brow furrows, and he nods. “I have heard of him. His loyalty is to the highest bidder. If he went after you, then there is a contract out on you. I will look into this.” He pulls out his phone and leaves the room.
“What happened to Mitchell?” Nick asks. “How did Oliver get stabbed, and how did you kill him?”
I pinch my eyes shut and fight off a shudder. I’m going to have to tell them the truth. But what will they think of me after they know? Will they be disgusted with me? Afraid of me? Because, honestly, I’m both.
“Oliver barely blocked his first attack, and I was afraid he wouldn’t be able to fight, but then the guy made the mistake of threatening me. After that, it went fairly quickly. They fought, but Ollie handed him his ass in like a minute. It wasn’t even funny how easy it was for him.” A smile ghosts across my face, and I comb my fingers through Oliver’s hair again. “My man is a magical badass.”
Nick sits on the foot of the bed and blinks at me like he can’t believe what I just said. “He fought him using magic?Offensivemagic?”
I smirk. “He didn’t even break a sweat. It was like once he decided he didn’t care if Mitchell lived or died, all of his fear and self-doubt were gone and he became this man I’ve never seen before. He was strong and confident, almost cocky. The fight was over in seconds.”
Terrance, whom I didn’t hear return to the room—he’s one sneaky bastard for being such a damn big troll—frowns and says, “Then how did he get stabbed?”
The smile falls off my face, and I have to swallow back bile. “That was my fault. When we tried to question Mitchell, I lost control of my power again and it distracted Oliver. Mitchell stabbed him while he was focused on me.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, but tears leak out of them anyway. It was my fault. Oliver’s fighting for his life because of me. Charlie, knowing exactly what I’m feeling, sits beside me on the bed. He makes me sit up and wraps his arms around me. “This was not your fault, Nora.”
I pull out of his embrace and shake my head furiously. “It was. I lost control of my power. Again. Just like I did with you. And then when Oliver went down, I snapped.”
“What happened?” Gorgeous asks again.
I shrug. “I was so angry. I sort of went into this rage and just let go any hold of my power. My siren took over, and she…she…” I force myself to meet his gaze. I look around the room, meeting everyone’s curious stares. I deserve whatever condemnation comes my way when they hear this. “I ate his soul.”
