The second I see it, I scream, “Stop!”
He falls to the ground, eyes closed. I shift my feet to go to him, but I can’t. The ritual won’t let me. In frustration, I strike the hammer against the anvil. Sparks fly, and a small golden circle appears in front of me. The fucking gods and their schemes. I need to get to Hawthorne. I scream and rage as I hit it again and again. The circle widens.
A blue and gold panel appears. Small and rectangular with a golden lock on it. I reach into the circle and grab it. The second it’s in my hands, the fire dies, and the floor rumbles. Dropping the hammer, I rush to Hawthorne, put the panel on his chest, and drag him to safety. The anvil and hammer disappear into the floor’s dark depths.
Breathing hard, I lay my head on his chest and listen.Thump… thump.Slow but steady. With a trembling hand, I brush the sweat-drenched hair back from his face and place a kiss on his lips.
“Thank you.”
32
PHAEDRA
Quickly packing everything up, I stash the panel in my backpack and slip it onto my shoulders, then call Charlie. I’m stronger than a human, but I can’t carry Hawthorne and all this gear from here to the distant parking lot and into the Range Rover before the sun comes up and tourists fill the area.
“Need evacuation assistance,” I tell him, explaining where we’re at and what’s going on. “We can take the vehicle back to the airstrip.”
A second later, he steps out of a portal, picks up Hawthorne, and follows me to the SUV. “Damn, he’s heavy. Guess I should be thankful it’s not the big guy. What is he, anyway?”
“Who? Gatlin?” I ask absentmindedly. Not once has Hawthorne moved, and I’m really starting to worry.
He nods.
“Gryphon,” I murmur as we trudge down the hill. “We’re going to need a safe place to go. Somewhere he can heal.” I shovea weary hand through my dark hair. “How long would it take to get to Rome?”
“If I pushed it, maybe a little over an hour,” he replies with a sideways glance. “I know a healer there. Discreet. Want me to call her?”
We reach the vehicle and carefully load Hawthorne into the backseat. “Thanks, that would be great.”
Not once does he stir on the way back to the plane, nor all the way to Rome.
When we arrive, the healer, a Fae named Arlie, is waiting for us. Tall, with long blond hair and mercurial silver eyes, there’s a peaceful essence about her. She examines Hawthorne while I pace back and forth.
“He’s in the between,” she informs me in a soft tone. “It’s a state elves and Fae enter into when their magic is depleted.” Her gaze meets mine. “I’ll give you a tonic for his physical body, but his magic needs time to regenerate.”
She hesitates, then grabs my hand. “Don’t let him stay in this state for too long. We can get lost in the aether. Do whatever it takes to bring him back.”
I blow out a breath. Time. My friend. My enemy. “How?”
“Talk to him. Invigorate his senses. Taste. Touch. Smell. Remind him of his life. Nature helps. Take him outside,” she replies, her gaze full of warmth. “Listen to your heart.”
I haven’t listened to that organ in a long time. “I’ll do my best.”
She leaves, and Charlie helps me load him into the passenger seat where I can keep an eye on him while I drive.
“I’ve got it from here,” I assure him, not wanting anyone to know where I’m taking him. Safer that way. Hawthorne’s too vulnerable in this state. “Thank you. I really appreciate your help.”
Charlie’s mouth compresses, and he stares at me for a long minute. “I don’t know what you’re caught up in, but be careful. The council follows its own agenda. Latest chatter predicts an uprising, which won’t be good for anyone. Remember, Maverick and I are a call away. Don’t hesitate.” He awkwardly pats me on the back and boards the plane.
The drive takes forty-five minutes to reach the villa I bought in the early 70s when modernism was on the rise. Minimalist in design and built with natural materials, the place is both airy and functional and surrounded by trees. Bonus, it’s all on one level.
I pull into the driveway and take the gear into the house first. Coming back for Hawthorne, I contemplate how best to get him inside and realize the fireman’s carry is my best option. Thankfully, the seat is high enough to give me leverage and hoist him onto my back.
Once inside, I maneuver to the long couch in the living room and lay him down. I’ll need to move a bed into the room later, but for now, this will have to do. I return to the vehicle and lock it up.
Back inside, I lay my hand on his chest, checking it for the millionth time. His muscular chest rises and falls, and I exhale in relief. My gaze falls on the white streak in his mahogany hair, and I finger it gently.I wonder if this is permanent.
Jamison hasn’t answered any of my calls or texts. Granted, my wording has been vague, but too much is at stake to reveal Hawthorne’s condition or our location. I hope he gets back to me soon.
