She pivoted to return the dropper to the bottle and tightened up the seal. She then took the bottle back to her fridge and tucked it carefully toward the back.
Returning to the table, she drew several deep, purposeful breaths, then held the last one. She picked up the spoon with its two tiny drops of emerald flame and lowered it into the liquid.
The moment the droplets hit the potion, they partially aerosolized then shortly afterward dissipated. She’d only made the mistake once of breathing during the process of adding the drug. She’d awakened on the floor with a high that had lasted the rest of the night. If she’d been a druggy, she would have been in heaven. Instead, she’d wept for her stupidity.
As she stirred the mixture, she finally allowed herself to breathe. The drug was now incorporated into the infusion. She drew close and opened her nostrils. The same scent returned of lavender, marigold and hyacinth only heightened.
She closed her eyes and there it was, a kind of brightness within her mind. At the same time, because the drug took on the essence of the other ingredients, she felt waves of healing flow and knew she’d succeeded.
Sheba’s tail twitched and as if to confirm the efficacy of the infusion, she meowed once.
“Yes, I agree. This will help Braden heal.” The entire four days Braden had been in her apartment, Sheba hadn’t been far from the wolf, something that surprised Maeve. Sheba was known for ignoring everyone. But not Braden. Maeve had often found her curled up on the end of the bed as though guarding him.
She transferred the infusion into a separate black crockery that used a tea-light for heating. By means of a small tray, she carried the infuser up the spiral stone steps and into her living room. Maybe emerald flame would take Officer Braden the rest of the way and bring him out of his coma.
As she entered the darkened room, she moved to the left of the bed. She carefully avoided hisIVand set the tray on the nightstand. She had to push the metal lamp almost to the edge to make room.
Once she knew the tray was secure and the tealight doing its warming chore, she stepped back around theIVand drew close to the bed. She allowed herself this much, to look at the wolf.
Braden was as handsome as any movie star. He had strong, angled cheekbones and a straight nose. His jaw was firm, his overall look rugged, tough. Braden was both.
He had wavy black hair to his shoulders. As a pack alpha, he’d once had long hair well down his back, though she’d never seen it. In his grief, he’d cut it short when his wife died, though it had since grown out a bit.
He was a good man. A strong leader.
And he was built.
She drew close and pulled the sheet back to look at his wounds. Her brows rose. They were much better. In fact, at least half of them were gone. This was new.
Relief rushed through her. Braden really was out of danger. He’d made his return trip to the land of the living and was self-healing. Tears touched her eyes.
Four days to bring him back.
She took hold of his hand as she had a hundred times over the past days and nights.
She’d shared her bed with him. It had been the only way to keep him calmed down. Her touch had soothed him and for reasons she couldn’t explain, it had become the most critical drive in her life to keep him alive.
Suddenly, he opened his eyes and shifted his head on the pillow. He blinked once very slowly. Though his voice was hoarse, he managed, “So how did I end up in your bed?”
But he smiled.
