Page 16

CHAPTER 16

J onah woke slowly, acutely aware of how much his body hurt, especially his back and skull, but numbly grateful it wasn’t the gut wrenching agony from earlier.

He blinked rapidly until his vision cleared and stared in surprise at his bedroom ceiling. He could have sworn he was at Elora’s apartment and he swallowed his disappointment.

He should be grateful he had a home as nice as this one and not wishing he could pack up his shit and live in Elora’s tiny apartment with her and her grandmother.

He pushed back the covers, muttering a curse at the flare of pain in his right hand. He studied it, grimacing at how swollen and bruised it was. Fuck, it was definitely broken. He climbed out of bed and went to the bathroom, left handedly fumbling through brushing his teeth and using the toilet before gritting his teeth and washing his hands. His right hand pulsed with an intense pain that made him feel nauseous, and now his skull and back were starting to throb, too.

His eyes were bloodshot, his usual stubble was a day away from a full-on beard, and he was so pale he could be mistaken for a vampire. He studied the dried green paste on his forehead before he turned and looked over his shoulder. Paste matted down the hair on the back of his skull, and his back was covered in it, although a bunch had flaked off. His skin underneath looked angry and a little raw, with the puncture wounds ringed in bright red. But it was no longer oozing pus, and the nausea in his stomach was from his broken hand rather than the fae’s poison.

The dried paste was itchy as hell, and he considered trying to shower but cringed at the thought of how painful it would be on his hand. He would wait for Caleb to get home and ask him to help -

Caleb is never coming home, remember? You’re all alone and always will be.

He stared at himself in the bathroom mirror as the nausea intensified and the quietness of the house smothered him like a blanket. He gripped the sink with his left hand and took a deep breath. Okay, Caleb wasn’t gone forever. He just needed to see that he was under the fae’s influence. As soon as Jonah was healed, he would rescue Caleb from the fae, and things would return to normal.

Normal? Buddy, things will never be normal again. You suddenly can’t shift, which is terrifying and weird, but also means you can’t do fuck all to save Caleb. Without your shifting ability, you’re just as average as a human against the fae. And Elora might have helped you last night, but she didn’t stick around, did she? Why would she? You’re a walking disaster.

He blew his breath out in a shuddering sigh. He couldn’t blame Elora for bailing, but, fuck, did it hurt that she was gone.

He left the bathroom and stared at the bed with the smears of green paste on the sheets. Fuck it, he’d lie in one of the guest beds and absolutely not obsess over how he suddenly couldn’t shift.

He walked out of his room and headed toward the closest guest room. The nausea was even worse now, and his headache had returned. A throbbing, pulsing agony at the back of his skull that worsened with every step he took. Shit, he really needed to get some Advil or -

He froze, his head cocked to the side, and the pain and nausea dimmed as his adrenaline kicked in. There was another muffled thud from downstairs, and he stared at the staircase before turning and walking toward it. He descended the stairs, every nerve on high alert. The noises were coming from the formal living room, and he reached for his gun before scowling in annoyance.

He’d forgotten his gun upstairs. Hell, he’d forgotten to put on fucking pants and was about to confront a possible thief in his goddamn boxer briefs. What the fuck was wrong with him?

You nearly died yesterday? Your brother abandoned you, and so did the woman you love? You can’t shift, your entire life has been a complete waste, and you’re going to die completely alone?

It would be helpful if his existential crisis could give it a rest for one fucking minute.

He paused on the bottom stair before rolling his eyes and heading toward the living room. He was being ridiculous. It wouldn’t be an intruder, and even if it was, he had weapons stashed all over the damn house. Hell, there was a twelve-inch Bowie knife hidden in the bookshelf just inside the door of the living room. But more likely, it was Caleb here to get his things, and this would be the perfect time for Jonah to convince him he couldn’t return to the fae. Caleb might suddenly be pissed at him, but even he wouldn’t stay with the fae after he saw what they did to Jonah.

He stepped into the living room, his eyes widening in shock.

“This is fine. Everything is fine!” Elora shouted as bright blue flames shot three feet into the air from the small cauldron she stood over.

“It is not fine, Elora!” Cece shouted back before grabbing a fire blanket and elbowing Elora out of the way. She threw the blanket over the cauldron, smothering the fire, then examined the side table the cauldron sat on. “We’ve burned the shit out of this table. Jonah will kill us when he sees it.”

“No, he won’t.” Elora scrolled across her tablet. “I’m making this to help heal him.”

“This table looks super expensive,” Cece said worriedly.

“Everything he owns is super expensive,” Elora said as she read the tablet screen. “Maybe we can buff the char marks out before he sees them.”

She frowned as she stared at the screen. “Shit, I can’t figure out what I did wrong. I mean, it’s supposed to flame a little, but not like that. Maybe I added too much inglewort to it?”

Cece peered over her shoulder. “Did you add the daisy petals? I don’t remember you adding them.”

“Oh crap, no,” Elora said. “Okay, that must be what went wrong. C’mon, let’s try it again.”

Cece pulled off the blanket, peering into the cauldron before coughing and waving her hand in front of her face to dissipate the thick smoke that emerged from it. “Maybe we should take a lunch break. You haven’t eaten all day, and your magic always goes a little wonky when you’re hungry.”

“His hand is broken, Cece,” Elora said. “It has to be so painful for him. I’d really like to get this made before he wakes up. We might even be able to heal it before he wakes. Then, it won’t be as painful for him as it’s healing.”

Jonah could feel a giant and, no doubt, ridiculous looking grin erupting on his face. His formerly pristine and sterile living room smelled like smoke and herbs, and it looked like Elora had brought every candle, spell book, and random jar of liquid from her apartment. They were strewn about the room haphazardly. One of the jars dripped a thick purple liquid that he was pretty sure was eating into the hardwood.

A few potted plants, no doubt from Cece’s house, were sitting on the floor along with a big leather bag nearly bursting with packaged dried plants. Another small cauldron sat next to the bag, along with a mortar and pestle.

Elora’s suitcase was open on the leather couch, her clothes mostly hanging out of it, and her spare robe draped across one couch arm.

They had dragged in the side table from the foyer and turned it into a makeshift altar. It was covered in drips of candle wax, and there was a big burn mark next to the cauldron.

His grin widened as he thought of the look on his interior decorator’s face if she could see the table now. She had paid nearly three thousand dollars for that side table.

“I really think you should eat first, Elora,” Cece said firmly. “It’s almost three in the afternoon, and, again, your magic gets a little… weird when you’re hungry.”

“I agree,” Jonah said before Elora could reply.

The two witches whipped around to face him, and he grinned at Elora. “Do I have to remind you of the time you tried to do a gravity spell on an empty stomach and nearly set the couch on fire?”

“Jonah, what are you doing down here?” Elora hurried forward. “You should be upstairs resting.”

“I woke up and heard a noise downstairs,” he said.

“Yeah, but you knew it would be me,” she said.

“I thought you had left,” he admitted, making her scowl.

Christ, she was even gorgeous when she scowled.

“I wouldn’t leave you,” she said. “You’re injured, and you need me.”

He cupped her face, his fear and loneliness banished by her warm presence. “You’re right. I do need you, little witch,” he said, his voice low and tender.

She stared at him, her cheeks a soft pink and her full lips slightly parted. Before he could give in to what he wanted and kiss her, she stepped back and cleared her throat, glancing at Cece, who stared at them with amusement. “Right, um, I’m just working on a paste that, combined with a spell I found, should heal your broken hand.”

“Thank you, Elora,” he said.

“You’re welcome.” She rubbed her hands nervously over her robe. “Um, Cece made the paste for your back.”

“Thank you, Cece,” he said, smiling at her.

“Of course. How is it feeling? Still sore, I imagine,” she said.

“Yes, but it’s much better,” he said. “Right now, it’s my hand and my head that hurt the most.”

“You have a horrific head injury,” Elora said, “but Cece’s paste will help that, too. She’ll make a fresh batch this afternoon, and we’ll put it on your back and skull again, okay?”

He nodded. “How long have I been out?”

“About sixteen hours,” Cece said.

Elora gave him a tentative look. “Do you feel dizzy or sick to your stomach?”

“A little,” he said.

“What about confused?” she asked.

“I don’t have brain damage, Elora,” he said with a grin.

“You’re not wearing pants, Jonah,” she said.

He glanced at his body, amused by how Elora’s gaze landed on his crotch and then immediately skittered away. “I rarely wear pants in my own house. That’s not a brain damage thing, it’s just a Jonah thing. Sorry.”

“Hey, I’m not complaining,” Cece said.

“Cecelia,” Elora said.

“What? If I had a body like that, I’d walk around half-naked all the time, too,” Cece said.

“Are you hungry?” Elora asked.

He wasn’t, but he wanted Elora to eat, so he said, “A little.”

“Okay, well, let’s make some soup or something,” she said. “Then you can go back to bed, and we’ll work on the spells. Oh, and Charissa dropped off another potion for you. It’s a general healing one, and she said it would taste awful, but I really want you to drink it, okay? Her potions are much more powerful than any healing one I could do.”

“Sure, I’ll take it,” he said.

“Good.” She glanced around the room, her cheeks going pink again. “Sorry about the mess and the, uh… smoke.”

He laughed. “It’s fine, little witch. But remind me to grab the fire extinguisher from the kitchen before you make your potion again.”

“It’s a paste, not a potion,” she said, “and I’m sure I won’t make the same mistake this time, but your point stands. We’ll bring in the fire extinguisher, just in case.”