Her Second Chance Shifter by MacNaughton L

Author:MacNaughton, L.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Remette
Published: 2023-12-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

Seeing Brock laying motionless on the floor, Viola fought to keep from getting swept away in a wave of panic. Her heart pounded in her chest. The rush of blood in her ears made her own voice sound distant as she called Brock’s name over and over. A painful pressure built up inside her, and she realized she was forgetting to breathe. She let out an explosion of breath and gulped air.

Stay present, she reminded herself, echoing the lesson Itannia had taught her all those years ago in the faerie realm. Forget the past and ignore the future. Focus on the problem. Solve what’s happening here and now.

She knelt at his side and checked his breathing and his pulse. He was still alive. At least for the moment.

She firmly grasped both sides of his collar and yanked them apart, exposing the muscled expanse of his chest. Buttons flew off and clattered across the concrete floor.

She pushed the fabric back far enough to see the wound on his shoulder. Someone had wrapped it with gauze, but there were two distinct spots soaked through with dried blood, ringed by a still-wet substance that was a foul-smelling oily yellow.

Careful not to touch the wet part, Viola peeled back the bandage. The sight made her gasp. Her stomach turned over with revulsion.

Two swollen puncture marks seeped a ghastly putty-colored substance. The tissue around the wound had turned dark, and the blood vessels around it were inflamed and discolored.

It looked for all the world like a snakebite. Yet her intuition told her it was something even worse. She held her palm an inch over the wound and closed her eyes, forcing herself to calm down. Magical energy flowed through her as she reached out with her senses, straining for any arcane insights.

She got only a fleeting impression of darkness and cold, of feral rage and inhuman thirst. It wasn’t much, but she recognized it. It left the same distasteful metallic tang in the back of her throat as the winnowing coin.

This wound was inflicted by a cursed blade. No ordinary medicine could cure it. She would need to use magic.

As she tried to figure out her next move, the door to the hallway swung open. A slender man with jaw-length black hair and fashionably sculpted stubble sauntered in carrying a cardboard box. Seeing them, he stopped in his tracks. His intense gaze ricocheted from Viola to Brock and back. He was sharp, she could tell. Understanding dawned on his face.

Before he started asking questions, Viola pointed at Brock’s suppurating wound. “What got him?”

“Somebody stabbed him.” He had a faint accent she couldn’t place. “Who are you again?”

“Viola.”

“The Viola?” He let out a low whistle and shoved the box onto a nearby shelf. “Brock told me you were—” He visibly stopped himself from saying more. Instead, he pointed at his own chest. “I’m Zane.”

“Charmed,” she said. “Zane, do you know who stabbed him?”

He looked up and to the side, as if she had asked him a trick question.

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