Page 5 of Shift of Heart (Shifter Lords #1)

Chapter

Three

T he siren might be a pain in the ass, but her gelato was magical.

Literally and figuratively. If not done correctly, using lavender in any food product could make it taste like soap.

I knew this from unfortunate experience.

Sirena’s gelato had the perfect hint of floral with a burst of sunshiny citrus flavor.

Combined with the smooth creaminess of high-quality cream and vanilla bean, I went to heaven while sitting on a park bench.

When I finished and was about to toss the container into the recycle bin, a gaggle of fae children rushed past, magic sparkling around them.

To a human, the group would seem like adorable, borderline cherubic children with perfect curls and rosy cheeks, and laughter that sounded like bells.

To someone with my abilities, all I sensed was danger.

I didn’t like most fae, even though I was one of them.

They were too tricky, too fickle, too violent, and too.

..eager. Fae children were better than adults, but they had zero restraint, and their magic was still unformed and wild.

I pulled my legs in tight to my body and sat still on the bench while they passed me.

Just when I thought I was in the clear, one of them brushed a little too close and made skin-to-skin contact.

Magic skittered over my arm, sparking in my blood.

Normally, I’d be able to control my shift, but the moon hung heavy in the sky tonight, and the tight grip I kept on my dangerous magic had already slipped once tonight after the shifter had touched me.

My already tenuous hold loosened. Fangs poked from my gums, and my eyes turned the strange crimson and gold of my mixed heritage.

I lurched to my feet, turning away before I made a spectacle of myself, and fumbled over to my bike.

The fae children didn’t turn back, giggling as they ran through the square, completely oblivious to what they’d done. But I had to get out of here before anyone started asking questions.

Shifters’ eyes could be many colors, but never gold. Only the Shifter Lords’ magic was gold, and no one could explain it because the color was normally reserved for divinity. If anyone spotted me losing control, especially a shifter, I’d be marked for death.

I hissed in pain when I banged my shin painfully against the bike pedals. A few people turned to stare when I muttered a too-loud curse, but by then, I was speeding away, headed straight for the woods.

The wonderful thing about Joy Springs was most of the town had easy access to a large, forested area, kept green by the numerous earth witches living in town.

I didn’t know much about how it operated, but the shifters needed space to roam and preferred green things, and the witches could easily provide it.

They agreed on a barter, but no one knew what the shifters did for the witches.

Since the agreement had been going on for at least a hundred years, it must be worth it.

I parked my bike about half a mile inside the woods, using the kickstand to keep it upright, next to a massive oak tree. Lying my hand against the rough, lichen-covered bark, I soaked in the tree’s unforgiving but gentle strength, allowing it to calm me.

It took a few minutes, but eventually my eyes reverted to their normal azure blue and my fangs retreated back into my gums.

I blew out a slow breath and pressed my forehead against the tree. “Thank you,” I whispered.

The tree’s magic pulsed against my skin in welcome. With a smile, I pushed away and turned my attention to my bike, unsnapping the basket from the handlebars. I needed to forage anyway, and tonight’s full moon was the perfect time.

Magic soaked into the forest, the moon’s rays a soothing balm to my shaken countenance. I’d almost lost control twice tonight, something that hadn’t happened since the first few months after my involuntary change. What was going on with me?

I headed deeper into the woods, the basket’s heavy weight bumping against my thigh. Moonlight filtered through the thick tree canopy, casting the forest in a wash of dappled silver sparkles.

Full moons were my favorite time to gather things for the shop and for my own personal use.

Unusual flowers bloomed during this time, and rare mushrooms burst from the ground, there and gone again in the space of a few hours.

I inhaled the deep and loamy scent of fertile ground and rare blooms, smiling as a sense of rare peace settled into my soul.

For the next few hours, I busied myself with gathering and communing with the forest, ensuring I asked permission to take its bounty before using my amethyst-tipped silver athame to gather only what I needed, leaving the rest for other witches and spirits, and to ensure the continued health of the plant.

As I explored, day blooming flowers opened, sensing my presence and welcoming me into their home.

I used a silver spoon I always kept in the bottom of the basket for gently extricating mushrooms from the ground, keeping them separate from the blooms and wild herbs.

Ash was a whiz in the kitchen with any type of fungi.

I was no slouch in the culinary arts, but he had a legitimate magical touch with anything I brought home after an evening spent in the forest.

When my neck and back ached from all the bending and crouching, I straightened with a deep sigh, and a wide smile stretched my lips.

A soft sound, not from animal or insect life, came from several feet ahead. I froze, body poised to run, when the noise came again.

Another groan of pain sounded before falling deathly silent.

The forest went still. Against my better judgment, I crept forward on silent feet.

One of my fatal flaws was being unable to stand anything in pain.

Human, animal, or creepy crawly alike, it hurt something inside me to walk away when I could help.

The absence of further noise made it difficult to find where the sound had come from, but I stayed on the path, eyes sweeping back and forth for any disturbances in the soil and leaf cover.

Eventually, I came to an open clearing. The scent of blood hit me first, and I stopped, eyes once again sweeping the area.

I closed my eyes and sent my senses out, searching for any heartbeats lingering behind. But there was only one, which was far too slow, coming from a prone figure lying a few feet away.

Swearing under my breath, I turned to run. I couldn’t afford trouble in my life, not when I was barely holding things together five years later. But I couldn’t do it. Whoever was lying there was a person.

I squeezed my eyes shut and blew out a breath. Knowing I’d regret it later, but unable to resist the tug drawing me to the prone figure, I set my basket down and hurried over.

The person was male and powerfully built. Something had ripped his clothes into shreds. What was once a pair of blue jeans lay in tatters against his golden skin. His t-shirt was ripped in half and lying in shreds around him, deep claw marks pulsing with poisonous magic.

A soft ‘oh’ of horror escaped me at his condition. I reached out and touched his skin, closing my eyes to get a read on his injuries, and almost jerked them away when I realized the male lying before me was no person at all.

He was a shifter. A powerful one.

Our magic stirred against each other, a sense of recognition I didn’t understand. He felt familiar somehow, but I knew I’d never met him.

I could still run. No one would know. I’d go back to the shop and never mention this to anyone. My life would return to normal.

But …

But as my power seeped into his skin and I mentally catalogued the shifter’s injuries, one thing became glaringly apparent.

If I didn’t intervene, he would die.

And it would be my fault.

Not completely. I wasn’t the one who attacked him. But leaving him to die when I was more than able to help felt akin to doing the same thing as his attackers had done, in a more passive way.

Foreign magic beat in the claw marks, a strange poison seeping through the shifter’s body, overpowering his innate magic and preventing him from healing. I’d never sensed it before, but the feel of it made me want to snatch my hand away from him and run.

The rest would have been minor injuries if not for the poison. Several broken ribs, a broken leg, numerous abrasions, a concussion, a dislocated shoulder, and more. The more injuries that assailed my magic, the more empathy I felt for this stranger.

Someone or something wanted him dead and had damn near succeeded.

And that thought made me hesitate. One wasn’t a daughter of the gods without believing in Fate and all its fickle tendencies. A demi-goddess did not believe in coincidence.

Had I been drawn here on this night and for this purpose?

If so, why?

Should I leave him to his inevitable death, or was there a reason I felt the urge to heal him?

The shifter’s heartbeat trickled toward true death. I swore again, did a final sweep for prying eyes, and allowed my magic to rise in full force, something I hadn’t done since the attack.

A gentle wind blew through the trees, sweeping my hair away from my face.

Magical, night-blooming, rare flowers sprang from the ground, encasing the shifter and me in a glowing circle.

The earth reached for me, yearning for the healing touch of my power.

I sank to the ground beside the shifter and kicked off my shoes, ensuring the entire bottoms of my feet were in contact with the ground.

Magic rose from deep within the heart of the world, traveling through my feet and legs, my pelvis and waist, through my heart and head, and swept out through my fingers.

I glowed a soft pink and green, the color of watermelon tourmaline mined straight from the heart of a mountain, then reached for the wounded creature.

Healing magic swept through his body, touching every single wound, old and new. Even so close to succumbing, he fought against death with a furious rage.

This power was the secret I guarded with my life, the one that would make me hunted if anyone ever knew. I was a Floromancer, but I was so much more.

My power could heal any wound, no matter what caused it.

Divine weapons could not overpower my healing touch.

I could reverse someone’s age, taking them twenty, thirty, or more years in their past, reverting their body to their youth.

This was a secret I’d never divulged because it could get me killed.

No one, not even my mother, knew this about my power. I hadn’t even known about it until a few months after the Chimera attack.

But this gift had a couple of fatal flaws. I was completely vulnerable when using it and for at least an hour afterward, and if anyone knew about it, life as I knew it would end.

I’d discovered it by accident when Hazel, the witch who’d saved me after my attack, was mortally wounded. She’d stumbled into her small cabin in the woods and bled out on her wooden floor, and I’d reacted without hesitation.

When Hazel woke, she found me fused to her wooden floor, my body having grown roots to the earth below. She’d asked me a dozen questions, and I pretended not to have a clue what happened.

I hadn’t used the power since.

But something drove me to save this man, and, though I might regret it, I poured magic into his veins, sweeping away his hurts, and forcing the magic out of his body and into the earth, where I destroyed it with barely a thought.

And as I did, my thoughts floated, becoming one with the shifter.

He had a prior hip injury from what looked like either an attack or fight, something so severe not even his shifter magic could heal completely.

I blasted away the arthritis inside the joint and loosened the pins holding him together, forcing them out of his body and onto the ground.

He had a deep scar on his upper thigh, close to the femoral artery, another death blow he’d somehow managed to survive. I cleaned up the scar tissue and moved on.

After a ragged gasp of air and a final expulsion of foreign magic, old scar tissue, and bone fragments from his body made the earth shudder, I cut off the connection and tried to stand, hoping I could at least get back to my bike.

No dice. I managed to get to my feet but only made it a few steps away before I swayed and went to my knees, exhaustion overpowering me. Seconds later, I sank into the earth, the forest’s cool embrace healing my body as my fingers and toes grew roots.

I sank into Mother Earth’s power, the gentle touch of her womb soothing my exhaustion, forcing me into a deep slumber while my magic replenished.