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The overwhelming scent of pungent smoke reaches my nose and I open my stinging eyes to see the bowls of ingredients have ignited. Hopefully, that’s a sign that this is almost over, that the pain will end soon.
I breathe in deep, like they’d told me, taking the smoke into my lungs, not fighting it, still trying to breathe through the pain that is wracking my body. But with each breath, the pain grows rather than abating. Before I can stop myself, I let out a whimper of agony. The chanting stops. Only Fielder’s voice remains steady, keeping the spell alive when I suspect it would have failed.
Thank god for that, because I don’t want to go through this again.
“That’s not supposed to happen,” Hardin murmurs, his words send a shot of fear through me. Even if it’s not them doing this, is someone else? Did someone put a different spell on me? One that keeps protections from taking root?
I think they’re trying to decide if they should continue, but Fielder’s steady chanting prompts them on. The intense pressure grows and grows right along with the pain until I’m trembling and swaying and hardly able to keep my feet. And then it suddenly stops, along with the chanting.
I collapse when the magic releases, falling to my knees and breathing heavily as tears stream unchecked down my cheeks. “What did you do?”
“You weren’t supposed to fight it, Sweeney,” Fielder growls, gathering me onto his lap as the others crouch next to us.
“I-I didn’t,” I gasp out, pressing my face into his chest and breathing deep. His slightly floral masculine scent wraps around me, and the pain in my head eases, finally. “At least I don’t think I did. I wasn’t trying to fight it.”
Gideon’s hand tips my chin toward him, so I meet his gaze. “You did beautifully, Ro. I don’t think it was you that was the problem.”
Fielder’s arms tighten on me when I tremble, my muscles exhausted after being held stiff for so long. “What do you think was the problem, then?”
He shakes his head as Hardin smooths a hand over my hair. “Maybe one of us? Maybe someone else? An existing spell?”
“You can’t say for sure?” Merritt asks, sounding sleepy. I pull my head up from Fielder’s chest to look at her. Dark circles line her eyes and her head is drooping toward her chest.
My eyes find the clock on the oven. Holy shit. “That spell took two hours?”
Ezra shakes his head, picking up my hand to press a kiss to my palm. “We did three spells in two hours, which is actually pretty good. The one we had to do after Morgan tried to siphon you lasted for four hours.”
“Four hours?”
Fielder’s arms tighten on me. “We would have chanted all fucking night in order to save you, Sweeney. Four hours was nothing.”
I frown. “How long does it take for a siphoning spell to be created?”
“Days.” Hardin’s fingers comb through my hair. “How Morgan did it requires letting the potion sit for three days in moonlight. She mixed all the ingredients, chanted over it, and set it on a windowsill for three nights.”
“And each night she would have needed to stir it and chant over it again,” Merritt adds from where she’s slumped against the couch.
I hum in my chest and take a full breath that doesn’t make pain radiate through my body. “Feeling better?” Ezra queries.
I nod. “Is there a way to figure out what went wrong? If it hurts that much when we have to renew the spells, I’m-I’m not sure I can go through that.”
Fielder pulls back enough to see my face. “We’ll work on figuring it out. Or find a way to renew the spells without it hurting you, Sweeney, I promise.”
Hardin hums in his chest and shakes his head. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Harris.” He looks at me, his fingers stroking through my hair again, before coming to a rest on a spot just behind my ear. “You have a mark here now.”
“What?” I squawk and scramble to my feet to look in the mirror Merritt put by the front door. I tilt my head and frown. “I don’t see anything.”
Hardin leisurely moves up behind me and strokes his finger over the spot again. “It’s there.”
Ezra joins us, leaning close to my skin. “Yeah, it’s probably the communication rune.”
Hardin’s hand curls around mine, bends all my fingers except my pointer and then he brings it to the spot he’d caressed before. The skin there is just barely raised, like a scar, and I can just make out the lines and swirls of it.
“You have one on your foot too,” Merritt comments, standing up. I note how she sways on her feet and I hurry over to her, worried something’s wrong.
“Are you okay?”
She gives me a tired smile. “I’m good. I just…” her cheeks go red. She shakes her head, embarrassed. “I don’t have as much power as them. It takes a hell of a lot more out of me to do spells, and if I had tried to do this on my own, it never would have worked.” She looks over my shoulder at the guys behind me, a small smile curling her lips. “Thank you for dragging me along through the spell.”
