Page 26 of Love the Way You Lion (Rise of the Resistance #3)

The Artist Uses The Cat-Signal

RAFE

H oly hell in a handbasket, she’s sodding out.

Her body is limp in my arms like a marionette whose strings have been sharply clipped.

The room is deathly silent, every shadow inching closer as if waiting to swallow us both.

I can feel the slick of sweat and congealed blood on her uniform sleeve, warm and sticky against my skin.

My heartbeat slams against my ribs like a war drum; my lungs scream for air while I carry her across the creaking floorboards.

Every step echoes, a reminder that time is slipping away.

Thank Christ I hauled that bed inside yesterday—otherwise I’d be on my knees on this scratched hardwood, praying she doesn’t slip through my fingers.

I clear a path through the clutter of suitcases, discarded magazines, and half-empty takeout boxes.

My eyes flick to the window where moonlight struggles through dusty glass, streaking the room with pale blue beams that land on her flushed cheek.

Just another reminder of how quickly things can turn icy-cold when the blood stops moving .

I lower her gently onto the rumpled sheets, gingerly tucking a stray lock of her blond curls away from her face.

The mattress dips beneath her weight, springs groaning in protest. Bile rises in my throat—memories of past failures and empty promises crash in—but I clamp my jaw shut and swallow it down.

I need to focus.

Leaning back, I gather my strength and close my eyes. In the hush of my mind I murmur, ~Night Bloom… I’m sorry to bother you, but the bird will riot if his mate dies. You understand, yes? ~

My heart hammers as I wait, listening for that familiar pull at the edges of my consciousness, a flicker of emerald light brushing across my thoughts. The reply snaps into my skull like static, urgent and clipped.

~Don’t faff about, woman. She’s critical. ~

I blink and glance across the bed at Blade.

She lies still, her dark curls matted with sweat, her shirt torn aside to reveal pale skin pooling bright drops of red.

Anxiety carves deep creases into my brow.

She stirs, forcing out a soft, ragged groan; her eyelashes flutter like wounded birds.

It’s the only thing that keeps me from falling apart.

“I’m fine,” she whispers, voice cracked and distant. “Don’t—don’t freak out.”

I grit my teeth. Fine? She’s halfway to the underworld. I refuse to dignify that protest with an answer. Instead, I tap my foot against the floorboards, each thud a plea for my primary to show. My breathing moves in tandem with my racing pulse, building like a wave about to crash.

And then she’s here—flickering into existence at the foot of the bed, a living embodiment of raw power.

One moment the corner of the room is empty; the next, a reheaded figure stands draped in shadow until she steps forward to get a better look at the room.

Her eyes burn with emerald fire, and concern knits her brow.

I don’t wait for her to size up the situation; I seize her arm and yank her to the bedside.

“She passed out cold,” I blurt before she can ask.

“I have no clue what happened—must’ve been during the fracas in the bathroom.

But look at this wound.” I tug open Blade’s shirt further, revealing a jagged slash at her ribs, blood caked around the edges and seeping between her fingers. “It’s… deep.”

Behind me, I hear the faint whisper of her summoning spell; when I turn, her long red hair is alight with her magick.

She blinks at the wound, expression unreadable, then lets her hair slip from her face.

“You never shout unless someone’s hurt, so I knew it was bad,” Deli says flatly.

In her hand, she conjures a battered leather travel bag—it appears out of thin air, landing on the old window seat with a soft thump.

The bag gapes open, revealing vials of iridescent liquids, cloth wrappings, a small carved mortar, and a dozen ungainly bone tools.

She arranges everything with crisp precision, snapping lids and laying out items in neat rows.

Three cinnamon–scented candles flicker to life beneath her fingertips; she strikes a match for a stick of jasmine incense and places it in a simple clay dish.

The smoke curls skyward, sweet at first, then carrying an undertone of something bracing and bitter.

My primary hums under her breath, the sound low and steady, grinding roots and petals into a fine gray powder that drifts like powdered iron in the candlelight. I can’t tear my eyes away from her movements.

Talia’s head tilts to one side as she finally realizes what’s going on. “Oh, shit. Deli.” She squints, as if reading invisible runes shimmering in the air. “ He’s not…?”

My woman offers my new mate a knowing smile—sharp, half–mocking.

“He’ll be along. I told him to go stew a bit with the others before he came in so his energy wasn’t as disruptive.

” She slides the small bowl she’s filled with powder onto the bedside table, the porcelain clinking against chipped wood.

“You should’ve come to me first, or let Taurus get me,” the kitty chides Talia, her voice low. “This one’s bad—you knew it.”

Blade’s gaze softens fractionally. “Deli, block him out. Please. I don’t want him to know.”

My primary’s emerald eyes flare as she turns her glare on me, silent thunder crackling in the air between us.

Talia’s gaze flicks between us, but I know she sees the reproach in every line of Deli’s face.

“I’ll try,” she sighs, voice suddenly tender as silk, “but I need to focus, and he’ll feel it anyway.

Now I must… touch the wound. It will hurt. ”

Tension crackles between the three of us like lightning, and I flex my fists. “Taurus will be pissed, I’m sure,” Talia warns in a hoarse tone. “The drugs—I got shot up in the bathroom. Some bint associated with our mark, I think?”

My heart pounds in my throat; Blade’s breathing is ragged and shallow. I lean closer to her. “Help her, love. She’s hurting,” I plead softly under my breath.

Blade snaps her head toward me. “Stop—stop saying that! I’m…” Her face flushes white with fury, and then, after a breath, she seems to settle into an uneasy truce. “…fine.”

“He won’t be pissed. She’s skewered—he’ll be furious that she hid it.

” Deli doesn’t wait for our reply; instead, she lays her hands lightly on Blade’s abdomen—her fingertips ghosting over the wound.

The dull ache of her touch makes my prone mate wince.

A ripple of quiet power moves through the room, the air humming like a plucked string.

I swallow. I need my primary to fix Talia. I can’t lose her because of stubbornness when I just found her.

The magical kitty mutters under her breath, reciting syllables older than human speech.

“Torn ligaments, nicked organs, a broken rib… damn.” Her voice turns clinical as she pauses, looking at me.

“Gut wounds bleed but rarely kill. Talia, was that all you remember from when you get shot up? Do you know what they used by any chance?”

Blade groans, bracing a hand above the damp patch at her side. Her lips tremble. “I… I felt… euphoria. Colors… everywhere… couldn’t fight.”

Deli’s gaze sharpens, slicing through the haze of incense. “Immediate or delayed onset?”

Blade presses a shaky hand to her neck, as though seeking to reassure herself she’s still alive. “Immediate. A needle behind my ear.” Her voice cracks and tears slip down her cheeks.

My primary straightens, tension pulling at her shoulders.

“Could be scopolamine, flakka, Seconal… lots of nasty options. I have to flush it out first or she’ll be damaged beyond my ability to mend.

” She looks at me, eyes fierce. “Rafe, bring a bucket—she’s going to vomit and we don’t want it on the floor. ”

I bolt from the room as if struck by a bolt of lightning.

My boots thump the hallway floor as I head for the laundry room.

It takes me a minute to remember how Leo organizes his supplies.

Once I do, I yank a plastic mop bucket from under the sink, heart pounding so hard I fear my ribs will crack.

Something sticky makes my hand skid on the rim—old toothpaste?

Dried blood? Doesn’t matter. I haul it back into the bedroom, trying not to stumble over discarded shoes in the hallway.

The kitty’s altar of scattered herbs, glowing bottles, and chalk sigils radiates energy, pulsing in time with the candle flames. The incense smoke coils around her, thickening the air until it tastes of rain and metal.

And then it happens—Taurus arrives in an infuriated burst of feral energy. The clone steps inside the door, fangs bared as he glares at the room. He fills the doorway with an exasperated growl. “What happened?” His voice is a quiet thunderclap.

To her credit, Deli doesn’t look up; she keeps her eyes on Blade’s wound. “She was drugged and stabbed in the bathroom. That’s all we know.”

His gaze snaps to mine, gold eyes flickering with betrayal. “Why didn’t I know?”

I hesitate, words knotted in my throat. “She blocked you, mate. When I carried her in, I felt her blackout lock you out.”

Deli’s shoulders stiffen; he advances, forehead ridged with anger. “She can’t block me?—”

Blade moans, her voice hoarse but insistent. “Stop, damn it.” She tries to lift herself, pain etching a scar across her features, but I press a hand to her shoulder, urging her to lie still.

“Lie back. I only sensed she was off. Nothing more.” I try to reassure my new mate’s primary, so he doesn’t crash out and make everything harder.

He exhales, the cool press of his palm settling on her leg. “Alright.” His tone is curt, but something softens behind the anger. “But I’m going to murder someone if this isn’t fixed now . ”

The room seems to shrink, the candle flames flaring as Deli lifts her chin. “Both of you— calm down or I will remove you. I’m not joking.”

She’s definitely serious and I’m not going to mess with a pregnant magical shifter who is here to save my mate’s life—that’d be stupid.