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Chapter 9

Ivy couldn’t believe what was happening. How was it happening?

Paul had begun to fade again. It had terrified her and she’d grabbed his arm in panic and suddenly, he stopped fading. Now she couldn’t let go. Something in her was feeding into him. Holding him here. Stopping him from becoming a shade. Whatever a shade was. She hadn’t heard the term before but from the sound of Mariella’s tone, it wasn’t good.

Paul had stilled when he looked down, his shock rushing through her, punching the breath out of her lungs. He didn’t want her to touch him. It hurt him. She wanted to let go, his desperation to get away from her slashing at her, hurting so deep it made her wolf whimper and howl.

But she couldn’t let go.

What the hell was going on?

‘I don’t know,’ Mariella said and Ivy realised she’d asked the question out loud. Or had Mariella heard her thoughts—she didn’t know what the McClune witch’s talents were. She hadn’t listened as the group had chatted earlier, her attention too bound up with watching Paul, being aware of Paul. She had meant to watch him, but the way all her senses—wolf and human—focused on him was unnerving.

And now this. ‘I don’t feel very good,’ she said as her head swam with the enormity of it.

‘She’s feeding me too much energy,’ Paul said. ‘Ivy, you have to let go.’

‘No. She can’t. If she does, I fear we’ll lose you.’

‘You don’t know that. I can keep myself here.’

‘You didn’t even know you were fading.’

Ivy’s gaze slammed from one to the other as they argued until finally, she broke through their voices and gasped, ‘Get help.’

Mariella surged out of the spring and began to run down the hill, calling for help.

Water lapped around Ivy, the push of it battering at her, making her lose her contact with the wall—the only thing keeping her upright. She began to slide down as the waves caused by Mariella’s departure faded. It was so warm. So gentle as it moved against her, around her. She could just sink down and down and—

‘Ivy.’

Paul’s arm slipped around her shoulders, pulling her up, holding her against him. Support. Comfort. She wanted it. Longed for it. She looked up at him, her vision swimming as if she was drunk. ‘Thank you.’

‘Don’t thank me. I’m so sorry, Ivy.’

‘Why are you sorry?’

‘This is my fault.’

‘What are you … talking about?’ Why was it so hard to get the words out?

‘Hubris. I’m being punished for it. You’re being punished for it.’ He brushed damp hair off her forehead and cupped her face. ‘I thought I was saving you. I thought I could change things.’ He barked out a laugh. ‘But Fate truly is a bitch.’

She reached up and touched his dear face—dear face? The thought surprised her but she couldn’t deny the truth of it. She loved his face. ‘Don’t talk like … that. The Fates … will hear you.’

‘Ivy.’ He leaned down and pressed his lips to her forehead. ‘It’s way too late for that,’ he said against her skin.

She wanted to ask what he meant, but her mind was such a muddle now and her lips suddenly refused to form words. She was sleepy. So sleepy. Her eyelids started to close.

‘Ivy! Stay with me. Don’t you leave me. You can’t leave me.’

Her wolf whimpered inside her, clawing just under her skin as if wanting to get out, but somehow unable to manifest the change.

There was shouting, running feet. Water splashed around her, over her, lapping up to her chin,

‘Ivy!"

Stellan? That was Stellan. Why did he sound so panicked? He was never panicked. He was a guardian. They were trained to keep their cool.