Page 155 of Shifter Situations

The power nor the agony mattered as I grew weak—weaker than I’d ever been before.

But I couldn’t stop. I wouldn’t.

I thought of his laughter, his sarcastic replies, and the things that I didn’t know about him. I closed my eyes, focusing on all the little touches we’d shared, his hands roaming over my arms, his lips a breath away from my ear as he whispered to me.

I wouldn’t stop until I had nothing left to give.

My chest imploded, white-hot pain ricocheting through my body, and I screamed. Everything seized up for… Time. My breathing stopped. My heart didn’t beat. My muscles tensed, and I tipped over, curling into myself with my hand barely touching Palmer.

This was the worst death I’d ever experienced.

And it wasn’t even mine.

The guys came rushing out of the backdoor, the sound of their footfalls freezing at the edge of the patio. That was when the dam decided to break. I began to sob uncontrollably, trying to explain what was happening, but I couldn’t make the words make sense.

No one spoke, not that I would have heard them.

Briggs wrapped his arms around me, pulling me off the ground and cradling me to his chest as I shattered beyond repair.

Vaughn dropped to his knees, working his healing magic. His hands lit a light blue color as he pushed his icy fae power through my mage. When my fae rocked back on his heels, I saw his chest deflate as he sighed.

There was no relief in that motion.

I was too worried, too consumed, to even pay attention to what they were saying around me.

I only had ears for an intake of breath, a faint heartbeat, my mage’s lyrical voice.

A quiet whisper pierced the anguish in my heart—my mind. I sucked in a deep, shaking breath as I gazed down at Palmer. Scrambling out of Briggs’ arms, I landed on the ground with no grace at all, but I couldn’t care less.

“Stop crying, Love,” he rasped, wincing as he coughed. “That’s not the kind of tears I like to see.”

I put my hands on the raw, pink skin of his cheeks and tried to smile in relief, though I was sure it was more of a grimace.

“I killed you,” I confessed, gasping for air.

“Aye, I know,” he admitted.

I rested my forehead over his heart, torn between laughing, screaming, or sobbing more. “Don’t ask me to do that ever again.”

“I promise, but I don’t feel like I’ll need to. I think it worked.”

My head popped up, and I glared at my mage, wanting to scowl and bitch too. I just didn’t have it in me.

He grinned weakly, the slightest lifting of the corners of his lips as he held his hand out for me to take. I happily obliged, twining my fingers with his while being cautious of his healing skin.

I needed to feel his warmth against me, to be surrounded by his leather and teak aroma, to see the storm clouds swirl in his gray irises.

“What worked? What exactly were you two doing?” Stone asked.

“Palmer wanted to get rid of the tracker the angel put on him,” Novak explained. “I didn’t think it was worth mentioning. They seemed like they had it all under control.”

“We did,” I mumbled, dropping my head into my free hand to squeeze my temples. “Until he died.”

“The audacity of you, Palmer,” Novak declared theatrically, squinting his eyes at my mage.

I glanced around at each of them, feeling too raw, too emotional, to say more than, “You do not get to die. Ever. Any of you.”

“It’s like she cares about us or something,” York whispered to Novak.