Page 170 of Echoes of the Banshee

“Your… eyes were on fire,” he murmurs, almost dreamlike.

“I know,” I say softly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He laughs one weak, broken breath. “I saw your skull.”

I really hope he doesn’t remember this because I don’t have time to process what just happened. The minutes crawl. I force myself to stay calm, but inside, the dread itches under my skin. I scan the street again. Still empty.

I hear footsteps once; hold my breath. Just a man with a cart, trudging past.

Ten minutes, maybe more.

I wrap my arms around him as I realize he’s freezing, so I channel a trickle of warmth into him. I’m scared to heal him. Between how volatile I am and how bad I am at healing. But I can keep him warm.

“Almost there,” I whisper. Whether to him or myself, I’m not sure. And then finally an engine.

I shift B gently off me, easing him against the wall. I bolt upright, pain lancing through my side as I stumble to the alley mouth. Dylan’s SUV screeches around the corner.

I raise my good arm, waving wildly. The car brakes hard, tires shrieking. I whirl back to B.

“They’re here.” My voice cracks with relief. “You’re going to be okay.”

And then I see Zair’s face and everything in me starts to unravel. I’ve been running on fumes, barely holding it together. I grip the last thread of strength, just long enough to know B’s safe.

Zair

This Is Not the Time for Feelings

“There!” Dylan shouts, pointing ahead.

Relief slams into me, chased hard by fear. Thea leans out from an alley, but she looks worse than she did in astral form. Her face is swollen and mottled with bruises. There’s a brace on her arm and there’s blood on her shirt. She ducks out of sight, like her injuries don’t matter as we skid to a stop.

Dylan, Mavrik and I leap from the car, rushing into the alley. “Thea!” I call, my voice caught somewhere between desperate hope and sheer dread as we close the distance.

Then I see Benson and the worst-case scenario stops being theoretical.

Where Thea looks like she had the crap beat out of her, Benson looks like he had his life-force drained. His face is pale and missing all the mischief and energy that usually defines him.

He’s barely conscious, sagging in her arms, deadweight, like he’s already gone. Dylan and I move fast, pulling him between us. I feel his pulse, weak and erratic.

“What happened to him?” I demand, my voice sharp with fear, as I start scanning him with my healing magic.

“He had on a witch cuff since we were taken,” Thea says tightly, her voice trembling with barely contained fury. “They suffocated his magic.”

“Get him in the car,” I grit out, my pulse hammering in my ears. “I’ll try to heal him as we go.”

“I didn’t try,” Thea says quickly. “I knew I’d make it worse. My magic’s volatile after being cuffed.”

“You got him out,” I reassure her.

We load Benson into the back seat. Thea sliding in beside him. She doesn’t let go of his hand, her thumb tracing small circles over his skin. Dylan floors it; the car lurches forward, the engine growling as we speed away from the warehouse district.

I immediately start sending healing energy into him but it doesn’t seem to be doing much.

“What happened?” Dylan demands, his voice tight with concern.

“What day is it? What time is it?” Thea’s voice is low, strained.

“Sunday afternoon,” Mavrik replies. Thea curses under her breath. Benson’s chest rattles with a harsh cough, and blood drips from the corner of his mouth, staining his pale skin.