Waylon and Kieran watch as I approach Gage slowly and crouch in front of him. Based on the accounts I’ve heard about the madness, and the things other mad shifters have done, I should be terrified of him. Or angry—shifters like him wiped out my entire family, after all.
Instead I just feel a deep well of sadness.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I tell him, reaching out to tip his chin up so he looks at me. “I’m just here to help.”
Gage twitches, and I hear a growl. Whipping my head around, I glare at Kieran, who has no right to play the protective mate after everything he’s done.
“I think it’d be easier to do this alone,” I tell Waylon, motioning to him and Kieran. “He needs to feel safe.”
“We’ll give you some privacy,” Waylon says, dragging a reluctant Kieran away.
We’re still exposed, visible to the whole pack, so I wheel a divider curtain over and use it to give us even more privacy. Studying Gage for a long moment, I inhale and taste his emotions on my tongue: grief, sadness, despair, and… longing.
“I’m going to figure this out,” I promise him, reaching carefully to unwind the rope tying him down. “There has to be something.”
Carrie said that fae magic has to have a way to enter the body. If the victim isn’t willing, like I’m hoping Gage wasn’t, then it enters unwillingly, without their knowledge. In the fae realms, this usually happens when a victim eats their food or drinks their wine. Here, the magic has to enter the body through…
“A wound.” I uncover it by turning Gage’s left wrist over. He jerks and snarls at me. I soothe him with my voice, my heart racing as I take in the oozing cut on his forearm.
It looks innocent enough, the kind of thing a shifter’s healing would normally fix. But obviously, this time, it got infected. Not with bacteria, but with magic.
Determined to help him heal, I go to Farroh for supplies, requesting all the ingredients for the poultices and charms Carrie taught me. She looks at me oddly, and when I mention Gage’s wound, she shakes her head. “We tried antibiotics, oral and ointment. Nothing works.”
“Because it’s not an infection—at least, not the typical kind,” I explain, hoping that I’ve guessed correctly. “I’m pretty sure, it’s fae.”
Kieran, who of course has been eavesdropping, jumps in. “I’ll double check to be sure of that. If it smells of fae magic, I’ll know.”
Sighing, I humor him. “Just don’t do anything to upset him. I want him nice and calm while I try to counteract the curse magic.”
“Why would I upset him?”
Of course there’s nothing I can say to that, but it’s no surprise that as soon as Kieran steps around the corner, Gage’s head comes up and he lifts a lip in a snarl. Kieran growls in response, low and threatening, and Gage starts to fight his cuffs, irritating the wound.
“Kieran—”
“Just give me a minute,” he snaps, taking a few big steps closer, setting Gage even more on edge. “If I can just…”
I watch him close his eyes and inhale, his nostrils flaring, the midday sun striking the smooth line of his jaw. Many shifters have special talents, but Kieran’s is rare: he can smell magic. Not just fae magic, which he says has a strong scent, but also witch magic as well.
It isn’t much of a surprise, since his mother came from a line of proud female warriors from Pack Granite. I never knew her—she died giving birth to Kieran—but Carrie said she was a tracker like no other from the time she could walk.
Watching Kieran use hishumannose to detect fae magic, I can believe it. He backs off from Gage just when I think it might be too much for him, and gives me a sharp nod. “You were right. It reeks.”
“Sure that isn’t just your unwashed pits?”
He gives me a look. “We had access to the same lack of running water last night, as I recall.”
“But only one of us was so sweaty during sixth grade PE that he slid down the ropes course.”
I can’t help needling him in moments like this—moments when he reminds me how skilled he is, how much I wanted him to be my mate. Kieran just rolls his eyes, huffs, and walks away. Once he’s gone, I step behind the curtain divider, take a deep breath, and place the palm of my hand over my racing heart.
The sooner this is all over, the better.
So I get to work making various curse cures for Gage. Since the fae magic entered through a wound on his body, and not a direct bargain, I should be able to counteract it. Ringwort doesn’t work, and neither does ice water and rosemary. I spend hours trying different combinations, temperatures, ingredients, and methods of both cleaning and dressing the wound. My eyes are starting to cross when Farroh brings me lunch, and I gulp it down with a thanks.
“We have to up his sedatives again,” she says as Gage starts to twitch and move. “Waylon has tried calming him down through the pack bond, but it isn’t even there anymore. He says it’s like he just… died.”
Not died. Death would be better than this half exile.
