Wiz rose from a sitting position and barked.
AJ stirred in her sleep, curled into a tighter ball, and settled in a more comfortable position, but Stryker remained stone still.
Rowan’s name on her lips, Morgan flung open the door.
As he stood framed in the doorway Rowan was covered with gray ash and soot, his clothes torn. When his gaze locked on hers, his disheveled appearance paled in comparison to the condition of his eyes. He was in pain. A pain that went beyond the flesh. Pain that was heart deep. Her breath faltered. Tear-like trails of blood etched down through the hollow expression on his face.
“What has happened?”
He winced and gripped the door jamb. “Explosion. Evidence destroyed,” he said as he collapsed in her arms.
****
Rowan was alive. That was all Morgan cared about. But his eyes… Fear closed around her heart. They resembled the condition of Stryker’s eyes. “Please, Goddess. No!”
Morgan pulled him into the room and over to the sink, ripping off his shirt and flushing his eyes with cool water. There were minor cuts scattered over his chest and shoulders. They would heal. She was not so sure about his eyes. Only when the redness around them dulled did she turn off the flow of waterand guide him over to the sofa, pouring the strength and force of her healing touch into and over him.
When she felt she’d purged the worst of the poison, she relaxed enough to speak. “What did you learn at Stryker’s house?”
He eased her hands away gently. “Nothing good. Stryker’s house reeked with poison. The smell and the blue fog were everywhere. That’s what burned my eyes. But the house that was destroyed wasn’t Stryker’s,” he said, his voice strained. “I was with Lyons. We were investigating a lead on the Eye Doctor serial killings and about ready to make an arrest when the house exploded.”
Morgan’s hand trembled as she slipped her hand into his. She didn’t want to ask about the poison in Stryker’s house. She sensed he was circling around the topic because he didn’t want to face the truth head on. She kept her voice low and gentle. “Is Detective Lyons all right?”
Rowan squeezed his eyes shut and gripped the arm of the sofa as though fighting off a wave of pain. “Not a scratch. He and his men were still in the car. The only people killed were those in the house. We’re back to square one.” He kissed the back of her hand. “Thank you for your healing touch. My eyes are better,” he said, trying to stand. “Need to get back…”
His eyes weren’t better. She knew it and he did as well. The redness had only dulled. Whatever was poisoning him was pushing back. His whole body shuddered, and he would have pitched forward had she not been close enough to hold him still. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she guided him to a reclining position. She refocused and summoned her inner strength, praying for guidance, calling on the force and power of water to prevail against an unseen enemy that was poisoning his body.
Morgan wished she knew more about the poison. She felt lost in a dark forest without the stars to guide her. Seconds foldedinto minutes. The effort to heal him drained her strength but she persisted. She would not let it win.
Wiz padded over, turning first toward Rowan and then Morgan. He settled by Rowan’s head, keeping his eyes trained on Morgan. A surge of power passed between her and Wiz. He had been with her when she had ministered to Stryker. At the time, she had felt a surge of power as well but had not made the connection that it had originated from Wiz.
Morgan breathed in the energy Wiz offered and, lifting her arms, continued to pull the poison from Rowan’s body.
Time moved slowly as dawn’s awakening light strengthened to welcome the day.
An hour later, she felt the cold tendrils of the poison’s hold weaken, retreat, and finally dissolve, and she sank to her knees with words of thanks on her lips. Her gaze traveled over his bare chest.
Thick bands of Celtic spirals circled his shoulders. Ogham lettering, in neat, even rows, spread over the right side of his chest, retelling a history of battles lost and won, and the dates he’d accomplished each stage necessary for becoming a full Wizard. His accomplishments mirrored those of a decorated soldier, yet it was the brand she’d placed over his heart that held her attention. It pulsated with an iridescent silver-blue, a stark contrast to the ebony-black tattoos covering his body.
Morgan reached up to touch it, but Rowan opened his eyes and entwined her hand in his. His smile resembled a small boy’s who was caught in mischief. “I’m burning for you, even when I’m on the brink of death.”
She turned away before he could see the fear mirrored in her expression. “Do not speak of death. You are too stubborn to die. And I’m too stubborn to allow it.” Morgan slipped her hand from his and reached for a jar of ointment on the table beside the sofa. She needed a distraction from her thoughts.
Sexual attraction was not the only reason for the brand’s glow. Did he know what else it could do? Her hands trembled, making it difficult to open the lid.
He reached for the jar and opened it, handing it back. “You saved my life and all I can think of is taking you to bed and making love.”
His gentle tone warmed her heart and reminded him of the man she had fallen in love with all those years ago. “Hold that thought. But I would not be a good healer if I encouraged you to overtax yourself. For now, you must rest.” She gave him a nod and forced a smile while she concentrated on the ointment. She struggled with the warring emotions of relief that he was recovering and regret that there were so many secrets between them.
She applied the ointment over the lids of his eyes. Could she tell him? Would he believe her if she did? Or would he resent the connection between them even more if he knew of the child they’d created in love. Or the hidden secrets of the brand she placed over his heart? Male Wizards were fiercely independent. How would he react, knowing there was a possibility her brand had protected him until he could reach her? She was drowning in secrets.
“You should have come straight here from Stryker’s house,” she said under her breath, leaving an ocean of words left unsaid. She couldn’t tell him. Not yet.
Rowan tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You are a woman of contrasts. Gentle as well as strong. I wanted to come, but when I received Lyons’ call saying it was urgent, I made a choice. What I found out was worth the risk.” He paused, and his glance traveling toward Stryker’s room. “Oculist stones still exist. They’re the main ingredient in the poison.”
The jar of ointment slipped from her hand. Rowan caught it before it hit the floor and set it on the table.
She glanced toward Stryker as Rowan had seconds before. “The Talons and the Grey Council told us—promisedus—that the Oculist stones were destroyed.”
