Page 17 of The Witch’s Shifter (Season of the Witch #3)

Aurora

“THEY SHOULD BE BACK BY now, shouldn’t they?

” I ask Harrison for what must be the hundredth time.

As usual, he’s lying on the kitchen table, sprawled out in a patch of yellow sunlight streaming through the window.

A few silky cat hairs drift through the air when he shifts to get more comfortable. “Do you think they’re okay?”

There was a storm yesterday, a big one. It poured for what felt like hours, and the deluge left the ground muddy, with plenty of puddles for the hens to splash in.

I watched out the window, just like Rowan said, until the sun set and I could no longer see the tree line through the darkness.

Now I’m standing in the same exact spot, arms crossed, the scent of blackberry cobbler filling the kitchen around me.

Rowan has had his eye on those blackberry bushes for months, and they’re finally ripe.

What better way to welcome him home than with a steaming cobbler?

Assuming he arrives home sometime soon. ..

Yet another wave of worry crashes over me. What if he got hurt? What if he found Faolan and they attacked each other? What if they’re both lying at the bottom of a ravine somewhere, washed away by the storm?

I lift a hand to my mouth and gnaw on an already-ragged thumbnail.

Harrison opens one green eye to regard me. “I’m sure they’re fine. They’re both perfectly capable of being out in the woods. Especially the wolf.”

The way he says it, I can detect the hint of disdain in his voice. But I can’t even let that bother me now. Once the men are home in one piece, we can figure out how we’re all going to get along. Until then, I’ll just keep pacing and staring out this darn window, hoping to see a flash of—

Red. There. On the tree line.

I don’t wait another moment. Hair loose and feet bare, I throw open the kitchen door and hurry out into the cold wet grass.

Despite the late-morning sun, yesterday’s rain still clings to the ground, and the earth is muddy beneath my toes as I run for the forest as quickly as my pregnant body will allow.

Sure enough, it’s Rowan stepping from the shadows of the trees, a wounded Faolan limping alongside him. I throw my arms around Rowan’s neck, causing him to stumble, and breathe in the scent of rain and salt and pine clinging to his skin.

“You’re back,” I whisper against his throat.

His laughter is light, and I can feel it rumble in his chest. “Did you miss us?”

“I was so worried. That storm...” Pulling away, I look into his green eyes, then glance at Faolan. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” Faolan says at the same time that Rowan replies, “He’s injured.” The men exchange a sharp look, but they’re not at each other’s throats, so whatever happened, they seem to have worked through some things.

“Come inside.” I back away from Rowan and beckon them to follow me. “You could both use a bath.”

“And hopefully something to eat?” Rowan says.

I smile. “I have just the thing.”

AFTER BOTH MEN HAVE SCRUBBED themselves clean and are dressed in fresh clothes—Faolan wearing yet another outfit of Alden’s—I serve them each up a plate of blackberry cobbler.

They must be hungry, because they eat without even coming up for air.

While watching them, I note that Harrison has once again disappeared. My chest feels hollow as I cast my gaze out the window for him, but I don’t find him. I don’t want Faolan’s presence making him feel uncomfortable in his own home. It’s something that’ll certainly need to be addressed.

There is much to be addressed now that Faolan is back.

Rowan lets out a contented sigh and stretches his arms over his head.

“What did you think?” I ask, sweeping his and Faolan’s dishes from the table, delighted to see they didn’t leave even a crumb behind.

“You’ve ruined all other cobblers for me,” Rowan says. He gives me a sleepy smile. There are circles under his eyes, dark against his pale skin.

“You look like you need to rest,” I say.

He yawns, proving my point.

Then his gaze slides to Faolan, who’s not said more than a few words since getting back.

“I think I will.” The wooden floorboards creak as Rowan stands up, and then he pulls me in for a hug. In my ear, he whispers, “If you need me...”

I don’t need him to finish the sentence. Nodding, I return his embrace, then press a kiss against his freshly shaved cheek. “Go get some sleep.”

Rowan sinks to one knee, and Faolan watches through heavy-lidded eyes as Rowan presses a kiss to my belly, his hands soft and warm through the fabric of my dress. Then Rowan stands and departs the kitchen. His steps ascend the staircase, and I just barely hear the click of the bedroom door.

Now Faolan and I are alone.

He sits at the tiny kitchen table, dwarfing it in the same way Alden does. His hair falls across his shoulders in a sleek straight veil of black. Without looking at me, he traces a whorl in the table with his finger. They all do that when they’re trying to avoid my eyes.

“How badly did you hurt yourself?” I ask.

One of his shoulders lifts in a shrug.

From here, I can see the wound on his neck, and it appears to have reopened during his frantic flight from the cottage. It wasn’t even the worst of his wounds, so I imagine the others are in an even poorer state.

“Will you let me look?”

His finger stills in its tracing of the tabletop, and he finally looks up and meets my eyes. “Why?”

That one word sends a bite of irritation through me.

“Really?” I toss the rag I used to dry the dishes onto the countertop, then prop my hands on my hips. “Because I care, Faolan. Is that so hard to believe?”

He narrows his eyes a bit but doesn’t look away. “Yes.”

It seems he’s going to continue to be difficult. Very well.

My feet and back are starting to ache from all my pacing today, and I ease myself into the chair across from Faolan. Despite my fatigue, I’m not letting this conversation go. “Why is that hard to believe?”

“Because you already have two other men.” He says it so nonchalantly, as if there’s nothing else to be said on the matter.

“I thought I was your mate?” I ask, arching a brow at him.

I played his words over and over in my head last night as the rain pelted the rooftop, but I’ve still not come to terms with the whole thing, or how I feel about it. I still only vaguely understand what it means—for him and for me.

At my words, he grumbles deep in his throat. “You are. But that doesn’t mean you can’t reject me. It’s rare, but I’ve seen it happen.” Now his gaze flicks away from mine, and a muscle in his jaw ticks.

“Do you truly believe I’m rejecting you?” The laugh I let out is small and soft. “I just fed you blackberry cobbler; that’s a specialty of mine, I’ll have you know, and I don’t share it with just anyone.”

Finally, his lips twitch up on one side. It’s not a smile, not quite, but it’s progress.

“Faolan,” I say softly, which draws his blue-eyed gaze back to mine. “I don’t know how this is all going to unfold, and truthfully, at this point I’m more worried about Harrison than anyone else...”

Faolan arches a black brow but doesn’t say anything.

“But I want to at least try. And I’d like to start by having a look at your wounds. So, would you please...?” I gesture to his borrowed tunic.

For a few moments, he just stares at me, looking like he’s trying to decide whether to cooperate or not. Then he sighs, stands, and strips the tunic off over his head.

And oh my goddess.

He was shirtless the entire time he was here, but watching him take his clothes off like that, it does something to me, sends a burst of heat curling through me. His bare skin is umber brown and glows with a healthy flush in the kitchen sunlight.

But he’s hurt—badly. Worse than when he left here. Diving through the window left innumerable cuts and scrapes all across his body.

“Sit down,” I say, pushing to my feet with a grunt.

“No, you sit.” Faolan steps toward me. He puts his hands on my shoulders and eases me right back down into my chair. “Tell me where everything is. I’ll get it.”

I explain where the clean cloths and bandages are, and he fetches them all without complaint, then spreads them out on the table before me.

“And I’ll need the yarrow and slippery elm from that shelf.” I point. “The mortar and pestle are there. And a small bowl of water as well.”

As he grabs the items and pours warm water into the bowl, I watch the muscles in his arms and back move beneath his skin. Even injured as he is, he’s still a sight to behold.

“Anything else?” The water sloshes a bit in the bowl as he sets it upon the table.

“That’s good for now. Bring your chair over here.”

Doing as he’s told, he slides the kitchen chair over and settles his weight upon it.

I start by assessing everything. The wounds from the glass are numerous but not as deep as I expected.

Once I clean them up and put a salve on them for quick healing, they shouldn’t need much additional care.

The wounds on his chest, shoulder, and neck are worse though.

They were doing so well, healing up as he rested, but now they’re torn open and tender once more.

They’re not bleeding, but they’re worse off than when he left here.

Faolan watches me quietly as I add slippery elm bark and yarrow to my mortar and begin grinding it up with the pestle, adding a few drops of warm water at a time.

I continue working at it until it has formed a thick paste, then gesture for him to scoot a bit closer.

I’m reminded of doing something similar not too long ago, when Alden hurt his thumb and I wrapped it for him.

“What’s this for?” Faolan asks, blue eyes wary as I lean forward, the poultice thick on my fingertips.

“It’ll help your wounds heal. It’s antiseptic and will bring inflammation down. Just sit still.”