“Thank you,” I whispered.
He put the lid on the bottle, set it to the side, and settled onto his knees, sitting back on his calves. “How do you feel?” His eyes probed mine, as though he wanted to be sure I was telling the truth when I answered.
“Weak, a little shaky,” I replied honestly. “What happened? Where are we?”
“Do you remember your injury?” he asked.
My brow furrowed as I tried to clear the muddle of my mind. I felt as though I’d taken a sleeping potion and awoken too early. Everything was fuzzy and disconnected.
Then I lifted a hand and pressed it to my side. The skin felt tender and fragile, as though it were newly healed.
“That…creature,” I said. “It managed to get through my shields.”
Macgrath nodded. “Yes. You were healing but slowly.”
I focused on him then, his features growing sharper the longer I looked. The haziness was gradually lifting. “You healed me, didn’t you?” I stared at him for a few moments. “You have magic in you. How did I not see it?”
His eyes narrowed. “I didn’t want you to. I didn’t want anyone to see it. You know as well as I do that witches don’t trust anyone who has been turned, even if they were once part of their coven. Vampires can’t be trusted since so many of them forced humans and witches with power to turn against their will. I don’t advertise what I can do because I don’t want the attention or the suspicion.”
He was right. Though I didn’t necessarily share the views of witches, I knew that many wouldn’t trust a vampire who’d once been a witch. For some reason they seemed to believe that the vampire would then try to convince them all to turn. Or do it by force.
Though the vampire council in Texas had outlawed the practice of turning magical-wielders against their will a century ago, covens still warned their children about the dangers of vampires.
I also knew why Macgrath had hidden it from me. He likely thought that I would have used it as a reason to drive a wedge further between us. And he was right. A few days ago, I would have.
But tonight, everything was different.
I saw the look on his face when I hit the ground after the creature wounded me. I remembered the gentle cradle of his arms as he carried me to the front porch so I could help Kerry save Savannah.
Even though I hadn’t realized it at the time, I felt safe with Macgrath. I trusted him to hold me and to care for me.
In the luminous glow of moonlight, he looked different. Younger, more vulnerable. Even in his alertness, his predatory nature seemed to be suppressed.
It reminded me of something. Someone. But I couldn’t quite bring the memory to the forefront of my mind.
Without thinking, I reached out and my fingers touched his face. His jaw was rough with a five o’clock shadow as the tips of my fingers brushed from his chin to his ear and then back down to his chin and finally to his mouth. My middle finger traced the line of his bottom lip, the contrast of his warm, soft lip to the scrape of stubble made the fine hairs on my arms lift and a shiver travel down my spine.
Macgrath sucked in a sharp breath, his lips parting as he looked at me, his eyes beginning to glow. We stared at each other, unblinking and poised on the brink of something beyond either of our control.
“What are you doing?” he whispered.
I shuddered again as his mouth moved against my fingertip, brushing the sensitive pad. I moved my hand then and trailed a path over his jawline, down the corded muscles of his neck, and to his chest.
I had no idea what I was doing, only that I didn’t want to stop.
Macgrath’s body tightened as my hand dipped beneath the vee neck of his t-shirt to trace the line of his collarbone. His skin was hot and lightly dusted with hair.
He reached up and took my hand, pulling it out of his shirt and pressing it to his sternum. “Ava,” he murmured.
I closed my eyes and my head fell forward until it rested against the back of his hand where it held mine to his body. In that moment, the way he said my name told me all that I needed to know.
He ached for me as much as I ached for him. He was as wary as I was and afraid to trust, not just someone else, but himself.
I didn’t resist when his other hand came to my cheek and lifted my head. Macgrath’s face was much closer now, the soft glow of his eyes touching my forehead, cheeks, and lips as his gaze moved over my features. Our lips were only a few inches apart.
“Ewan,” I whispered. I don’t know why I said his given name. I usually called him Macgrath, mostly to keep distance between us.
His hesitancy disappeared then. The hand cupping my cheek moved to my hair and he gathered it in his fist, tilting my head back. His other hand lifted my arm, wrapping it around his neck so that our upper bodies were crushed together.
