Page 41 of Claws for Celebration (Hollow Oak Mates #3)
LUCIEN
T he silence that followed Malphas's banishment was more terrifying than all the supernatural chaos that had preceded it.
Where moments before the clearing had thrummed with dimensional energy and otherworldly screams, now there was only the whisper of wind through ancient trees and the sound of Moira's body hitting the forest floor with a sickening thud.
Lucien's panther exploded into action before his human mind could process what was happening. He crossed the ritual circle in three bounds, dropping to his knees beside Moira's crumpled form with a desperation that made his hands shake.
"Moira," he whispered, gathering her into his arms. Her skin was ashen, cold to the touch, and so pale he could see the delicate network of veins beneath the surface.
When he pressed his fingers to her throat, her pulse felt like the flutter of butterfly wings, barely perceptible even to his enhanced senses.
"Is she..." Twyla's voice broke as she knelt beside them, her fae-blooded healing instincts already reaching out to assess the damage.
"She's alive," Lucien said fiercely, though even as he spoke the words, he could feel their mate bond stretched to the breaking point. The connection that had anchored them both during the ritual now felt gossamer-thin, threatening to snap entirely with each labored breath she took.
"Barely," Elder Varric said grimly, his weathered hands glowing with diagnostic magic as he examined her condition. "The magical exhaustion is complete. I've never seen anyone channel that much power and survive the backlash."
"She did survive," Lucien snarled, his panther rising close enough to the surface that his eyes flashed amber in the gathering darkness. "She's going to be fine."
But even as he said it, he could feel her slipping away from him through their bond. Not dying exactly, but drifting toward some gray space between life and death where her exhausted consciousness could find refuge from the pain of existing in a body that had been pushed far beyond its limits.
"We need to get her back to town," Twyla said, already organizing the supernatural healers who'd begun gathering around Moira's still form. "Elena, can you stabilize her for transport? Cordelia, I need your strongest healing tea ready when we arrive."
The journey back to Hollow Oak passed in a blur of controlled panic and whispered consultations between magical practitioners who'd never dealt with anything like Moira's condition.
Lucien carried her himself, refusing to let anyone else take the burden despite the way his own energy reserves had been depleted by anchoring her through the ritual.
"Talk to her," Twyla urged as they settled Moira in the bedroom above the bookstore, surrounding her with crystals and herbs that glowed with gentle healing energy.
"The mate bond is the strongest connection she has to this realm right now.
Keep talking to her, keep reminding her why she needs to come back. "
Lucien pulled a chair close to the bed and took Moira's hand in both of his, marveling at how small and fragile it looked against his larger palms. Through their bond, he could sense her consciousness floating somewhere distant, untethered from the physical pain but also disconnected from everything that made her herself.
"Hey, beautiful," he said softly, his voice rough with exhaustion and fear. "You did it. Malphas is gone, banished beyond any possibility of return. The entire supernatural world is safe because of what you accomplished today."
Her breathing remained shallow, but he thought he felt the faintest flicker of response through their connection.
"Everyone's so proud of you," he continued, settling into what he already knew would be a long vigil.
"Twyla's beside herself with relief, and Elder Varric actually smiled when he confirmed the dimensional barriers had stabilized.
Even old Mr. Henderson stopped by to ask about your condition, and you know how he feels about magical excitement. "
Hour by hour, day by day, Lucien poured his own life energy through their mate bond, using his panther's natural vitality to anchor Moira's drifting consciousness to the physical world.
The process was exhausting, leaving him weak and shaky, but he refused to let anyone else take over the responsibility.
"You should rest," Elena said on the second day, settling a cup of strengthening tea beside his chair. "Let some of us share the burden. You're going to burn yourself out at this rate."
"No," Lucien replied without taking his eyes off Moira's face.
He talked to her constantly, sharing stories about their first meeting, reminding her of the promises they'd made to each other, describing the future they would build together once she recovered.
Sometimes he thought he saw her eyelids flutter in response, but she remained stubbornly unconscious, her body focused entirely on the monumental task of recovering from magical expenditure that should have killed her outright.
"I've been thinking about what you said," he told her on the third evening, his voice hoarse from days of continuous conversation.
"About wanting to expand the bookstore's rare books section.
There's a dealer in Asheville who specializes in occult manuscripts.
We could take a long weekend, make it a combination business trip and romantic getaway. "
The healing crystals around the bed pulsed with gentle light, their energy slowly helping to restore the magical pathways that Moira had burned out during the banishment ritual.
But progress was measured in tiny increments, each improvement so small that only their mate bond allowed him to detect the changes.
"Twyla's been cooking nonstop," he continued, absently stroking his thumb across her knuckles.
"She says she's preparing for a celebration feast when you wake up, but I think she's just worried and needs something to do with her hands.
Yesterday she brought enough soup to feed half the town, all of it infused with healing herbs and fae blessings. "
On the fourth day, Dr. Simonson arrived from the Cherokee Nation's supernatural council, bringing healing techniques that combined modern medicine with ancient shamanic practices.
She examined Moira with the thoroughness of someone accustomed to dealing with magical injuries that defied conventional treatment.
"Her soul is trying to return," Dr. Chen explained after completing her assessment. "But the trauma of channeling that much power has left her afraid to fully inhabit her body again. She needs an anchor strong enough to overcome that fear."
"What kind of anchor?" Lucien asked.
"Love," the doctor said simply. "The certainty that she has something worth coming back to. Keep doing what you're doing. Keep reminding her that she's not just a weapon or a Guardian Witch, but a woman who is cherished for exactly who she is."
That night, Lucien climbed carefully into bed beside Moira, gathering her close against his chest so she could feel his heartbeat and the warmth of his body. Through their bond, he poured every ounce of love and devotion he possessed, painting mental pictures of the life they would share.
"We're going to have such a good life together," he whispered into her hair.
"Quiet mornings with coffee and books, evenings by the fireplace planning magical protections for the town.
Maybe we'll adopt a cat who thinks he owns the bookstore.
Or a dog who insists on greeting every customer like they're his long-lost family. "
He felt a flutter of amusement through their connection, so faint he might have imagined it, but enough to make hope bloom in his chest.
"You're going to love spring in Hollow Oak," he continued, emboldened by that tiny response.
"The mountain laurel blooms in May, and the whole forest looks like something from a fairy tale.
We can take walks on the trails behind the bookstore, maybe find some of those medicinal herbs Elena's always talking about. "
As the fifth day dawned with no change in Moira's condition, Lucien found himself running out of stories about their future and turning instead to memories of their brief but intense courtship.
"Do you remember the night you first touched my panther form?" he asked, his fingers threading through her mahogany curls. "You weren't afraid at all. Just curious and gentle and absolutely fearless in the face of something that should have terrified you. That's when I knew you were extraordinary."
Elena appeared in the doorway with fresh tea and a concerned expression. "How are you holding up?"
"She's getting stronger," Lucien said, though he wasn't sure if he was trying to convince Elena or himself. "I can feel her fighting to come back. She just needs more time."
"And you need food that isn't delivered by worried townspeople," Elena replied firmly, setting down a tray that contained more than just tea. "Eat something, or I'll have Twyla come up here and force-feed you."
As evening settled over Hollow Oak and the fifth day of vigil drew to a close, Lucien felt exhaustion weighing on him like a physical burden. But he refused to give up, refused to accept that the woman who'd saved the entire supernatural world might not survive the aftermath of her own heroism.
"Come back to me," he whispered against her temple, pouring the last of his strength through their bond. "Come back to us. We're all waiting for you."
Through their connection, he felt something shift, a stirring that suggested his endless vigil might finally be making a difference. But whether that shift meant recovery or something else entirely, only time would tell.