Page 32 of Eternal Light (Fated in the Stars #5)

Healing Light Dispels The Shadows (Grayson)

It’s terrible watching Gideon and Leo lead Jay from Ansel’s room. Partly because Grayson doesn’t want any of them out of his sight—but also because they’re going to Nix and Luca, and Grayson has chosen to stay behind.

The Broken Bond Syndrome is worse than it has ever been, and while he hasn’t been officially admitted to the hospital, Finn looks about ten seconds away from hauling him down the hall and into a bed.

Added to the general feeling like shit, he can’t think about what his mates will face in freeing Luca and Nix without shouting in frustration.

But it’s really no decision at all. He can’t leave—because Grayson is acting as a tether for Ansel’s soul.

When Grayson had taken his first look at the unconscious child, he’d known right away that something was eating away at his soul. He’s only a child.

Ansel’s bright soul had been all but eclipsed by a pulsating, oily mass; its black, slick fingers were still plucking away bits of Ansel’s luminescent life force. Someone is feeding on this boy, and by the looks of what remains, they’ve been doing so for a long time.

The word miasma came to mind, whispered into his head as if he’d known it all along but was just now remembering.

There hadn’t been much time for him to poke and prod at it, but he’d managed to pinch a tiny bit of the remaining bright light and pin it down with his own rose-colored light.

Only time and The Goddess know if it’ll be enough until they can get someone magical—who knows what they’re doing—in here.

Without being asked, Rowan had shifted back into his wolf form.

A beautiful, iridescent shimmer had settled over his red fur.

He noses at Winnie’s fingertips as they trail over the side of the small bed she shares with her brother—fresh tears dried upon her cheeks, her lemon scent rife with grief and sadness.

She comes awake with a small shriek, baring her teeth. When she sees Rowan, she sheathes her claws.

“Ro! Where did you…Oh. Finn, isn’t it?”

“And this is Grayson. Ro scented you in the elevator and insisted we come here. This must be Ansel.” Finn gestures to the unconscious child.

“Yes, I came back from work and it was worse. They…they say he won’t be here long.”

Grayson could see why, too. There’s just the smallest glimmer of life left in the boy’s soul.

It’s as if someone is drawing on it with voracious intent.

Reaching out again, Grayson draws on The Plain in tiny increments; any active, offensive intent to use his magic causes the miasma to avoid direct contact but also speeds up its activity. Good to know.

He feels his knees hit the floor, and then Finn is lifting him into the chair closest to the bed.

“Shit. Is he okay?” Winnie asks, and he feels her small hands place a child-sized cup of water in his hand.

The cup has tiny fish swimming on the outside.

“He’s really not. Can you keep an eye on him, Rowan? I’m going to see if I can get him some fluids.”

Finn places a small, kidney-shaped basin in his hand, so he’ll have somewhere to puke up the water he just drank. Yay.

But Rowan puts his nose up under his shirt at his side, right up against his skin.

He feels a little bit better after the contact, and he’ll take whatever comfort he can get against the fire ants racing along his skin and the never-ending flashes of heat.

Once Finn has left on his medical mission, Winnie sighs.

“He’s a doctor, too? Le sigh. Guess I’ll keep track of the two of you, because you look almost as bad as I feel.”

That must be pretty bad.

“Your brother is in trouble,” he manages, swallowing back his nausea. He needs to call Nimue and Ignatius.

“He’s really sick, for sure. Has been since before my dad lost his ever-loving mind and then died robbing a freaking bank. Fucker.”

Something about that tickles Grayson’s memory…why does that sound familiar?

“I’m sorry. He wasn’t himself before he died?”

“Nope. Dad was broken when my mom died. They were…fated…so it was really bad. We lost our house, and then he lost the car dealership, too.”

She runs her fingers through her brother’s bangs and pushes the hair back from his forehead, adjusting the blanket over his frail torso.

For a minute, only the sound of the ventilator fills the space before she continues.

“Then one day, he came home with loads of cash. Guess the bank where he died probably wasn’t the first one, eh?”

There’s a growl from Rowan, and then Finn is rolling an IV stand in, along with two bags of fluids. He washes his hands at the sink and pulls on some vinyl gloves.

“Just me. Hey, Gray, I’m going to put this in, and then you should feel a bit better.”

Grayson can’t get his arm out fast enough; he’s all for feeling better, even though he won’t really be better until he can get his hands on Nix. Maybe his mouth, too, for good measure.

“We need to call Nimue,” he mutters, just as Finn sets the cannula in the back of Grayson’s hand and gets the fluids flowing.

His mate freezes and meets Grayson’s eyes. “Magic?”

At Grayson’s nod, Finn pulls off his gloves and throws them in the waste bin.

“Magic?” Winnie’s voice rises with each word. She’s suddenly standing between them, arms at her sides and claws out.

“What is wrong with my brother?”

Finn holds his hands out in front of him.

“We’re on your side. My mate is a magic user, and he can tell that Ansel’s illness is magic-related.”

“You’re lying. He’s Were. You’re Were,” she says angrily, her previously sweet demeanor replaced by a fiercely protective warrior.

“I can’t expect you to believe me, but I am a doctor—and I am bound by the Oath, even here. I cannot lie to you about the health of a patient on these premises. Do you believe that?”

She hesitates, and Rowan puts his head up under her arm. He leans in a little, and she sighs.

“If Rowan thinks you’re legit, then I believe you.”

“Ansel is sick because of bad magic, Winnie. I can see it.”

Her eyes flash to her sibling as if she can somehow see what Grayson sees.

“Get it off.”

“I can’t. I’m not skilled in the way it would take to get the magic off…safely.”

Or in any magic at all. It rankles, but it won’t be true forever.

She deflates a little and sinks her fingers into Rowan’s ruff.

“Is it a sickness? Like a magical disease? How would he even get it? He’s not magical.”

Whatever Finn put into the IV slows the nausea that has been riding him for the last few hours, and the pain he hadn’t even known was pounding in his head. It’s a sweet relief, leaving a surprising calm.

“No, he’s not, but someone magical is using his soul like a battery, and he’s running nearly on empty.”

Winnie gasps, eyes wide.

Grayson hadn’t meant to be so blunt about it.

“Shit, I’m sorry. That came out all wrong.”

Finn slaps a hand over his face. “That’s my fault. That’s a heavy sedative on top of the antiemetic. He’s usually much more…”

“Diplomatic?” Winnie adds. “I don’t get it. Can anyone just go around using people as magical batteries? That sounds like it would be bad magical PR.”

“It most definitely is not allowed—and not easy, either. I think we should call my mentor. She could take a closer look. Maybe figure out who could have done this and why it’s happening to your brother.”

“Yeah, okay. It’s not like I have any options…Ansel doesn’t have very much time.”

“I’ll call. You stay put.” Finn points at Grayson. “Rowan, make sure he stays down.”

Rowan snorts before he jumps up onto the chair with Grayson and attempts (unsuccessfully) to curl up like a giant lap dog. It’s impossible since Rowan—the man—is bigger than Grayson, and the overwhelming mass seems to have translated over into Rowan—the wolf.

Grayson gets a wagging tail to the face for his disloyal thoughts before Rowan settles his butt on Grayson’s lap, completely blocking his view of Winnie.

“Does he do that often? He has to know he’s too big.”

Grayson pokes his currently canine mate, and Rowan leans to the side, resting an elbow on the arm of the chair.

“He does not. He’s not been a wolf very long, but so far he’s taken to it like a champ.”

“Uh…say what now?” She raises an eyebrow, and for the second time, Grayson wishes he could think before he speaks. It’s a novel state of being, given that for most of his life, he’s thought out every single thing thrice over.

“Rowan is a Were, but also a wolf.”

“No…way. You’re a person?”

“Way. He’s a six-foot-five, 230-pound drummer. Until today. Now he’s all that and a giant-wolf-pain-in-the-ass. Okay, maybe he’s always been that last part. It’s just the wolf part that’s new.”

Winnie freezes, and her eyes get hazy as she thinks back over her first meeting with Rowan. A myriad of expressions play out over her pretty features until her eyes snap back into focus, only to narrow on Rowan.

“That was your phone. You were ticked because I called you pretty, but dumb.” She barks out a laugh. “You drooled on me.”

Rowan huffs with embarrassment.

“Oh god, I rubbed your belly and kissed your nose. Dude, not cool.” She very kindly doesn’t call out the licking, and that’s probably for the best.

Rowan turns, still in Grayson’s lap, and hides his nose in Grayson’s neck.

“He’s shy about it, I think. Maybe it’s because he’s not wearing pants.” That earns Grayson a nip to his throat from Rowan and a giggle from Winnie.

“Well, I can’t say I’ve ever had a day like today. Lost my job because I was late, came back here to find everyone confused at Annie’s turn for the worse, met a hot doctor, a Were magic-user, and a Were-wolf.”

Her good-natured smile fades away.

“Do you think your friends can help him?”

“If anyone can, Nimue can. Or she’ll know someone. They won’t take this lightly.”

She nods and sits cross-legged on the floor, patting the ground beside her, encouraging Rowan to get off Grayson’s lap and lie down.

Both of them seem to forget—again—that Rowan is a person behind those big ears and puppy-dog eyes.