“Yes, the priest,” he replied through gritted teeth, already halfway to the door, “if I’m right…”
“Julian,” she said, tears of distress welling, “what are you talking about? Please, you have to tell me what’s wrong with him!”
“I’ll be back soon,” Julian said, hand on the door. “Watch over him,Luna.”
And just like that, he was gone.
Layla blinked back her tears, turning back to Dominic, panic clawing her throat.
“Dominic,” she whispered, leaning close. “Please. Wake up.”
Nothing.
The sound of his breathing was static, rasping, sometimes stopping for so long she thought it had ended entirely beforestarting again in a weak gasp. His skin was cold, his lips pale. His skin was ice-cold to the touch despite the warmth of the room.
She pressed her palm to his chest. Beneath her hand, his heart fluttered like a dying bird.
Layla’s throat tightened.
She didn’t know what that meant. Didn’t care. All she knew was that he was slipping away.
She looked around the room, her breath shaking. All the noise and commotion were coming from downstairs. She was alone. No one would see her here. No one would hear her.
Her fingers brushed the inside of her coat, finding the small, worn pouch she kept hidden, a piece of stitched leather holding a few dried herbs, a cracked flint, and the thin coil of twine she used for her spells.
Her hand hesitated.
If anyone found out—
No. It didn’t matter.
Her gaze fell back to Dominic.
He looked almost peaceful now, like a statue, every sharp angle of him rendered with strength and precision. But she couldfeelit, the wrongness humming through him. His energy, the wild, living thing that defined every shifter, had dimmed. It felt muffled, distant, as though buried deep beneath the skin.
Layla took a slow breath, her throat tight, and whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Then she began.
She pulled the twine from her pocket, unraveling it with shaking fingers. It was blackened from use, rough to the touch. She wound it in a loose circle on his chest, her movements jerky.
She wasn’t sure if she’d even be able to do the spell; she so rarely performed magic away from her altar, but she had to try.
Her voice trembled as she whispered the invocation, the old words spilling from memory. The air seemed to shift, faintly trembling, a pulse of something unseen pressing against her skin. It was a simple spell. A healing spell. One she’d only ever performed on herself.
It was hard, doing the calculations in her head as she spoke. Dominic was so much bigger than her, his alpha nature so different from whatever it was inside of her. She needed to balance her words, her energy, to make sure she didn’t do too much or too little.
With a deep breath, she pressed her palms to his chest, “Please,” she murmured, “let this work.”
The warmth began almost instantly, soft at first, then stronger, blooming under her hands. The energy threaded through her, slow and tentative, then faster, flooding the connection between them.
Her heartbeat quickened. She felt her body respond to it, drinking in the magic and pouring it out again, a rhythm as old as breath.
Beneath her palms, Dominic’s pulse began to stutter, reacting to her touch. The bond between them flared, bright and sharp, sending a shock through her chest. She gasped and nearly drew back, but forced herself to stay still.
His energy pulsed against hers, chaotic, burning, too strong.
The connection wasn’t clean. Shifter magic and witchcraft were so different. The power recoiled, sparking through her arms, leaving a trail of cold fire in her veins. But she kept herfocus. She’d spent years forcing the two natures to bend to each other, to accommodate each other.
