Primal Bonds

  “No, lass, they won’t.”

  He fell silent, concentrating on the traffic bottled up on the interstate. In impatience, Sean shot off the freeway to take a back highway that headed straight south.

  The clinic lay just inside the city limits of San Antonio on the southeast side. Not many places treated Shifters, and ones that did were quickly deserted by their human clientele.

  Sean parked in the clinic’s small lot and came around to open Andrea’s door for her. She handed him the sword, which he strapped to his back, and they went inside to the clinical smell of disinfectant.

  Shifters were clumped inside the waiting room—they’d be friends and members of the clan. When they saw Sean walk in, his big sword on his back, some turned away and murmured prayers; others simply looked at him. They all knew what his presence here meant.

  Andrea walked beside Sean without meeting any gazes. She saw nostrils widen, eyes snap to her as they smelled Fae, but no one moved to stop her. They wouldn’t while she was with the Guardian.

  Dylan waited for them near a nurses’ station in the hall beyond. The nurse there, human, came out from behind the desk when Sean and Andrea entered, her already fierce expression turning to one of outrage.

  “You can’t go in there,” she snapped at Sean. “Not with that.”

  She held out her hand as though Sean would meekly unstrap the Sword of the Guardian and give it to her, like an unruly pupil handing over a toy to his angry teacher.

  Sean walked by her without a word, and Dylan fell into step with him.

  “You can’t go back there! I’m calling security.”

  Andrea turned back and stepped squarely in front of the woman, putting just enough growl into her voice. “Leave it.”

  The nurse stared, stunned. Andrea smelled her fear but also her cunning. She’d be on the phone as soon as Andrea moved to follow Sean.

  Swallowing a sigh, Andrea gripped the nurse’s wrist and yanked her along with them. The nurse’s protests died when they walked into the room at the end of the hall, which was full of Shifters and the smell of impending death.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The grief in the room was palpable. It was difficult not to feel anything but compassion when Andrea beheld Sean’s cousin Ely lying in the hospital bed, his face sunken, his Collar a dark streak on his pasty throat. Tubes snaked into his arms, human machines gently beeping around him.

  Ely wasn’t much older than Sean, maybe at his century mark. His mate curled on the bed next to him, a ball of misery. Four younger men and a young woman—Ely’s cubs, she guessed by their similar scent—stood in positions of resigned grief. An older man waited on the opposite side of the room, just as grief-stricken. Ely’s father.

  Andrea tasted rage against the humans who had done this. No Shifter of venerable years should have to watch his son die; no cubs should have to watch their father cut down before them. And no mate should have the love of her life yanked away from her. The woman’s grief would bury her for years. It had already started.

  Sean moved to the side of the bed and touched Ely’s shoulder, his voice softening to gentleness itself. “Now, Ely, lad, what did you do to attract all those bullets to you? Magnetized yourself, did you?”

  Ely smiled, his face drawn in pain in spite of the liquids that dripped into his arm. “That’s me, Sean. Too damned attractive.” His whisper rasped. “Thank you for coming.”

  Andrea watched Sean suppress all his own rage and grief to caress Ely with a reassuring hand. “Look who I brought with me,” he said. “The pretty she-wolf that lives next door to me. Glory’s niece, the one I mate-claimed. Isn’t she a fine one?”

  Sean stretched out his arm, indicating that Andrea should come to him. Andrea had to let go of the nurse, but Dylan moved to block the nurse’s retreat. She’d never get past Dylan.

  Sean drew Andrea to him, arm around her waist. Ely’s mate lifted her head in anger.

  “The half Fae,” she spat. “Get her out of here.”

  Sean ignored her. “Let Andrea touch you, Ely. She can ease the pain.”

  Ely dragged in a shallow breath. “Hell, I’m all for that.”

  Andrea felt the waves of outrage from Ely’s children, from Ely’s father, even from the nurse. Collars or no, these Shifters were on the verge of violence. If Andrea made one wrong move, they’d take her down. They might do it anyway, angry at her for being here at this private time. If Andrea had any sense, she’d shake off Sean, rush back out to the truck, and take off. She’d heard the River Walk was nice this time of year ...

  But Andrea couldn’t walk away. That was the problem with the healing gift—she couldn’t look upon Ely’s suffering and turn her back on it. She’d never deny a man relief from pain just because his family’s anger made her uncomfortable.

  Sean eased the blanket from Ely’s torso and parted the hospital gown, and Andrea stifled a gasp. Ely’s pale abdomen was crisscrossed with pink puckered wounds held together with steri-tape where surgeons had tried to sew his shredded insides back together. Half his stomach had been gouged out by the look of things, and unhealthy red streaks striped his stomach. This man was chopped up, infected, dying.

  His hurts were well beyond Andrea’s gift. The most she could do was ease Ely’s pain, perhaps make his death easier. She glanced at Sean, and he gave her the faintest of nods, telling her he understood.

  Andrea let out her breath, ducked out from under Sean’s arm, and laid her hands very carefully on Ely’s abdomen.

  Ely grunted, and the machines beeped faster. The sons and daughter started forward, only to be curtailed by Dylan.

  “Let her do what she can,” Dylan ordered. He outranked them, and the others fell silent.

  “Go on, love,” Sean said softly.

  Andrea closed her eyes. Whenever she used her healing gift, she visualized a snarl of threads that she had to untangle and lay straight. Sometimes it was easy to unravel the hurt, as it had been with Ronan last night, sometimes impossible.

  Ely was pretty tangled up. From the shredded mess inside him, Andrea could tell he hadn’t been shot with a simple pistol. An automatic weapon had done this, probably with bullets that expanded on the inside and did bad things. To think, humans put the Collars on the Shifters.

  Andrea pictured herself working out the threads, one by one, as though she pulled apart a mangled attempt at a complicating knitting pattern. This would take time, and she wasn’t certain Ely had time. The man bravely sucked in breath after breath, but despite whatever painkiller he’d been given, Andrea knew that it wasn’t adequate for the high metabolism of a Shifter. His pain had to be intense.

  With her eyes closed and the healing flowing, Andrea could see the faint aura of each person around her. Ely’s fire was at the lowest ebb, warmed somewhat by his mate’s next to him. The sons, daughter, and father had formed a circle around the bed, ready to begin the ritual of grieving. Dylan, a hotter fire, still holding the quivering human nurse, stood behind them.

  And Sean? He was like a living flame. There could be no doubt to anyone with the slightest hint of magic that Sean Morrissey was Goddess blessed. Andrea had a vague idea of how Guardians became Guardians—the sword passed in a ritual to an of-age member of the clan who was closely related to the old Guardian—a son or nephew or grandson—but there must be more to it than that.

  Sean was an upright fire, the sword a gleam of brightness on his back. He had no Fae blood in him, but even so, the glitter of magic wound tightly through him, independent of the sword.

  Andrea’s sudden insight told her it wasn’t just the Sword of the Guardian that sent the Shifter into the afterlife. It was the combination of the sword and what was in the man, the Guardian himself. Did Sean know that?

  Ely’s wound was impossible. Andrea knew she’d never be able to help him, not in time, and the thought filled her with despair. She’d have to open her eyes, raise her head, tell the family he was about to die. Ely’s glow dimmed even as she thought it, his tiny fl
ame almost burned out.

  The sword glistened on Sean’s back, its magic like hers, singing to her.

  Andrea snapped open her eyes. “Sean,” she said in a quiet voice. “Draw the sword.”

  Ely’s mate moaned; his daughter clung to one of her brothers. Sean’s lips tightened.

  “No,” Andrea said quickly. “Not for that. Not yet. Just draw the sword.”

  Sean frowned at her, but he whispered a prayer and drew the blade. The metal rang in the stillness, and Ely opened his eyes.

  “Sean.” Ely smiled. “Thank you.”

  Andrea lifted her right hand and wrapped it around the blade. Sean blinked, checking his start so he wouldn’t cut her.

  The edge nicked Andrea’s palm anyway, and the trickle of blood that followed warmed her skin. She closed her eyes, pulled on the Fae magic of the sword, and twined the threads of it with her own.

  It hurt. Andrea swallowed pain as her magic wove with that of the sword’s. The sparkling threads dove into her, gleefully wrapping her in a gleaming wiry mesh.

  Andrea’s blood turned glacial. Her nightmares were like this, a cocoon of burning threads that tried to bind her, to suffocate her. Whatever was in her nightmare wanted her death.

  She realized after a few seconds of blinding panic that what happened to her now was different. She’d never had the feeling in her dreams that it was her own healing magic, similar to the magic of the sword, that was trying to kill her. The mesh that attacked her in the nightmares came from something else, something horrific.

  Drawing a steadying breath, Andrea directed the bright threads from herself and the sword straight into Ely’s abdomen.

  And the wounds began to heal. Strand by strand, the bright magic of the sword and her gift untangled the snarl of Ely’s hurts and rewove them into smooth, healthy tissue. Muscle and bone, blood and organs, all moved and changed under her touch.

  She’d never heal him completely; Andrea knew that. Ely would not leap from the bed, yank the tubes out of his body, and dance out the door in his hospital gown. But the healing had started, the magic giving the natural process a huge boost. With Shifter metabolism as strong as it was, Ely would continue healing on his own and live. His mate, children, and father would not have to perform a grieving ceremony today.

  The machines started beeping a different tune, and the nurse exclaimed. Dylan let her go as Andrea opened her eyes.

  Ely was regarding Andrea over his half-healed stomach, his eyes wide. His face was flushed, lips healthy red, gaze Shifter strong.

  Andrea let go of Sean’s sword and sat back, blowing out her breath. The nurse fiddled with the machines in amazement, not bothering to explain to the rest of them what the change in numbers and sounds meant. Andrea’s hand stung where the sword had cut it, but the threads of magic had flowed away and dispersed.

  Ely’s mate was crying, clinging to Ely in joy. Ely stroked her hair but was staring over the foot of the bed at Andrea in amazement.

  “What did you do to me, Fae-girl?” he asked, voice ringing. “That fucking hurt!”

  Sean walked Andrea out of the clinic with his hand firmly on her shoulder. Andrea’s eyes were dark with shock in her white face, her gait unsteady. But his girl held it together while they passed all those Shifters in the waiting room, who rose to watch them go by.

  They’d all heard what had happened, and the weird thing was, they supposed Sean had worked some kind of miracle. But Sean knew it had been all Andrea. He’d felt the magic of the sword change when she touched it, felt the magic remake itself. The sword had helped drive life back into Ely, to seal his soul to his body.

  Sean had no idea how that had happened, and by the look on Andrea’s face, she didn’t understand either.

  The Shifters reached out to Sean. “Guardian,” some murmured. They touched him as he passed, but Sean kept walking, acknowledging them but not stopping.

  “Goddess bless you, Sean Morrissey,” one man said. His mate, in the circle of his arm, brushed a hurried finger over Sean’s sleeve.

  Sean and Andrea made it out of the clinic into the crisp air of a day turning cold. Texas winters were like that—a morning could begin warm and fine and end up bloody freezing by nightfall.

  Dylan’s white pickup waited incongruously in the lot. When they reached it, Andrea collapsed against it, breathing hard in relief. Sean stashed the sword in the cab and went to her, rubbing her chilled arms. “You all right?”

  “I don’t know. What the hell happened in there?”

  “They think I worked a bloody miracle. You and me together.”

  “Didn’t we?”

  Her body was tight, her eyes flicking from feral wolf to human and back again. Sean had felt the sword’s magic go into her, had felt the tug of it through the hilt, pulling on his own flesh. It had been strange, frightening, and heady at the same time.

  “You worked the miracle, Andrea.”

  She shook her head, her warm ringlets brushing his hands. “I just used the sword to enhance my magic. The sword’s a Fae artifact; its magic is the same as mine. Maybe that’s what happened.” She shivered. “Stop looking at me like that, Sean. You want me to have answers, and I don’t.”

  “There’s more to you than meets the eye, Andy-love, that’s for damned sure.”

  Andrea gave him a shaky smile. “And you still want to claim me as mate?”

  Fire streaked through his body. Andrea had saved Ely’s life, had given Sean’s cousin the chance to see his children mated and his grandchildren grow up. She’d made certain Sean hadn’t had to lift the sword and drive it into Ely’s heart. Sean could now ride home with his arm around his girl, happy and warm, not scoured empty inside, drained by grief. She had given him that gift.

  “Hell, yes.” Sean slid his arms around her until her soft breasts pressed his chest. “You’re a beautiful woman, Andrea Gray, even if you are a damned Lupine.”

  “Go on and flatter me, now.”

  Sean laughed. It felt so good to laugh. He scooped her to him and pressed a hard kiss to her lips.

  She tasted like orange juice, sensuality, and sex, plus the sparkling of magic still flowing between them. Sean caressed her mouth open, tongue sliding inside to be met with the hot strength of hers.

  Unlike their leisurely kiss in his driveway, Sean sought her with a kind of desperation that was echoed in her. He felt her Faeness in the fine bones under his fingertips, the satin of her skin. So delicate, and yet at the same time, so damn strong. The little noises she was making in her throat drove him wild.

  She hooked her fingers around his waistband, hips moving as she kissed him. She might not realize she was rubbing against him, but his hard-on responded.

  “I’ll flatter you more than that when you’re in my bed,” he said. “With me seeing if I can feel that magic deep inside you.”

  “Hormones,” she murmured.

  “What, love?”

  “Shifter males are a walking mass of hormones.”

  Sean stroked his fingers over her throat. “Is that why your own pulse is beating so fast? Don’t pretend you’re above a little mate frenzy yourself.”

  “I’d never be in a mate frenzy.” She licked across his mouth. “I’m much too sensible.”

  “Oh, yes?” He felt the grin spread across his face. “Andy-love, one day soon, we’ll have a chat about female and male lust.” His gaze swept to her bosom bared by the V neckline of her shirt. Her skin had broken out in goose bumps in the cold—she had dressed for the warmer weather of this morning. “It’ll be a fine talk.”

  “Keep dreaming, cat-boy.”

  Sean laughed again. She loved to tease him, and he loved being teased by her. It felt good to laugh now that the pall of death had lifted from his heart.

  He shrugged off his leather jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. The coat was covered with his scent, and now she would be too. You can deny it all you want to, lass, but your frenzy’s as hot as mine.

  Sean held the jacked by t
he lapels and bent to kiss her again, just as Dylan came out of the clinic and made for the truck.

  The tightness in Dylan’s jaw told Sean that he’d seen the kisses. Sean had made the mate-claim without asking Dylan’s opinion, which Sean knew had to sting. Dylan had slipped in the hierarchy recently, and Sean’s claim without consulting his father had driven that fact home.

  Without saying a word to either of them, Dylan climbed into the passenger seat of the pickup, moved the sword, and waited.

  Sean pressed one more kiss to Andrea’s mouth and released her. She stepped away and shot him a challenging smile, though she didn’t shrug off the coat.

  A tingle of anticipation heated Sean’s blood as he stepped back to let her scramble into the pickup. He still hadn’t recovered from the body blow he’d received when she’d walked toward him across the bus station, beautiful and elegant and unafraid. He wanted to hold her hard, stroke fiercely into her mouth, learn every corner of her. At the same time he determined to reward her well for the beautiful gift she’d given him today. For the first time in all the years that he’d been Guardian, he’d been able to watch certain death back away and life blossom in its place.

  Sean examined the sword later that night in the living room while Connor lounged on the floor, pretending to watch television. Liam was working at the bar, and Kim had gone there with him after winning a heated argument. Liam had wanted Kim to stay safely home; Kim had insisted on going to the bar to make sure he didn’t do anything stupidly dangerous, like dive in front of bullets.

  Liam had finally conceded. He’d asked Sean to stay home and look after Connor, who was furious at being forced to remain behind. Though he seethed, Connor wouldn’t disobey Liam’s direct order. Andrea had the night off, so Sean had no problem staying here where he could also keep an eye on the house next door.

  The sword looked no different than it had before. Long ago, the Shifter Niall O’Connell and his Fae mate had forged the sword, he working the metal with his amazing artistry, she weaving Fae spells into it.