Page 33 of Dark Shaman: Love Found (The Children Of The Gods #99)

Then, the impossible started happening right in front of his eyes.

The blood flow ceased, and when Bridget wiped it off with gauze, Tim saw the edges of the cut starting to pull together like petals of a flower closing for the night. In seconds, only a thin white line remained where the cut had been made, and then it also faded to match the surrounding tissue.

"Five seconds total," Roni announced .

"Holy shit," Tim breathed, staring at his healed hand.

"Welcome to immortality, Tim," Bridget said formally, though her eyes were warm. "You must be very close to the source." She cast an amused glance at Roni. "You two might be related. Perhaps Tim is your cousin."

"What are you talking about?" Tim asked. "How can I be his cousin? Didn't you compare my blood to your database?"

"I did, but I'm only concerned with the maternal lineage. Your ancestor could be a male god. I'll let Roni explain."

When she collected her tray, it was the sign for everyone to erupt in congratulations.

"Don't let it go to your head," Roni said as he took Tim's hand and shook it. "You're still an ass."

Come to think of it, he and Roni had a lot in common. They were both cranky assholes.

"And you're still a punk. So, how can we be related?"

"It turns out that my great-grandfather is a god, and he was quite active. He might be your grandfather or great-grandfather as well."

"What do you mean he's a god? I thought all the gods except for the Clan Mother were gone."

"Not all," Roni said cryptically. "Frankly, I don't think we are related. Maybe there is another god roaming the world that we don't know about." He rose to his feet. "It's time for a toast, people. "

After everyone was holding a paper cup with whiskey in their hands, including Magnus's teenage son, Kian stepped forward.

"To the newest member of our community." Kian raised his cup. "May Timothy find a home, a family, and a purpose in his new life."

Another round of cheers and congratulations ensued, and then people started filing out, leaving Tim and Hildegard alone.

"Happy?" she asked, packing up his belongings into the bag that Thomas had brought.

"Surprisingly, yes. It doesn't happen often that life treats me so well. Kian's welcome to the community was touching. A home and a family. That's wow."

"What about purpose?"

He shrugged. "I already have that, but I didn't have a home and a family."

Her expression softened. "I'm happy for you, Tim. You deserve the best life has to offer."

He snorted. "Do I? Most people would disagree with you."

"That's because all they see are your porcupine quills. They don't see the cute little critter inside."

"Hey, I'm not little anymore."

She smiled. "What, no objections to being called cute? "

"Not when it's coming from you. You can call me cute."

"Just not little?"

He smirked. "There is nothing little about me, darling."

Hildegard laughed. "Fates, I'm going to miss you."

"I'll miss you too," he said with much less amusement.

He was going to miss this. Miss her.

"All set," she announced when his belongings were all packed. "I'll call for the cart. You are not strong enough to walk to Thomas's place yet. Besides, you have no shoes."

"Right. Thomas's house." Tim stood, testing his balance. "I guess this is goodbye then."

"Don't be dramatic. You'll be here tomorrow for physical therapy."

"How? I can barely walk, and as you've pointed out, I have no shoes."

"Right," she agreed. "Thomas's house is on the other side of the village. You'll have to be transported every day for therapy. I'll have to come get you."

"That would be sweet of you, Hildie. If it's okay for me to say that you are sweet."

His heart made a happy little flip. He'd been afraid she would pass his physical therapy to the other nurse. Knowing that he would be seeing Hildegard every day for the next few weeks made saying goodbye easier .

She frowned. "You know what?"

"What?"

"This is stupid. Why don't you move in with me?"

Tim felt like he'd been hit by lightning. Discovering that he was the grandson of a god couldn't have delighted him as much as Hildegard's invitation.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes. My roommate moved out and I have an empty room in the house. It will make rehabilitation much easier when you are right there with me."

"Makes sense," Tim said, proud of being able to keep his voice level and not screeching like a teenage girl who had just made the cheerleading squad.

Hildegard wasn't inviting him to share her room, but it was a step in the right direction.

"I should warn you," she said. "I'm not easy to live with. I work strange hours, I do yoga at dawn, and I listen to true crime podcasts while cooking."

"I'm sarcastic before coffee," he countered. "I sketch obsessively. I leave cabinet doors open when I'm distracted."

"That's grounds for eviction."

"You won't evict me."

"No?" She stepped closer. "What makes you so sure?"

Instead of answering, Tim reached into his bag and pulled out the portrait he'd drawn of her. He'd meant to give it to her earlier, but the moment hadn't been right.

"Because I have a bribe." He offered her the sketch.

Her intake of breath was sharp and satisfying.

He knew he had outdone himself with her sketch. This time, he hadn't needed instructions from someone else to give life to a portrait. He knew Hildegard inside and out, and he'd captured everything—her strength and vulnerability, her spunk and her kindness. She was incandescent.

"Tim..." Her voice cracked.

"I knew that you wouldn't evict me once you saw this."

She pressed the portrait to her chest, leaned over, and kissed him. It was only a peck on the cheek, but it was priceless to him.

"Get your bag," she said. "You're coming home with me."

"Yes, ma'am."

As they walked out of the room that had been his for over three weeks, Tim marveled at how much had changed. Before, he'd been a bitter guy with trust issues and a chip on his shoulder. Now he was an immortal with a home, a purpose, and a woman who saw past all his defensive walls.

"By the way," she said. "I should mention that I practice my true crime podcast voices. Full dialogue, different accents."

"I sometimes wake up in the middle of the night and sketch furiously. The pencil scratching on paper could madden a saint. "

"I reorganize furniture when I'm bored."

"I eat cereal for every meal because I don't like cooking."

"Then you are in luck." She wrapped her arm around his middle. "I'm a great cook."

He lifted his eyes to the ceiling. "I've died and gone to heaven. Thank you, God."