small cry when it happens, then clap my hand to my mouth as if I can take it back. He hits the wooden slats of the porch hard on both knees. Ridge and Archer both try to catch some of his weight before he crashes down, but pain flashes across his face. His strength is really waning now, and it sets off a burst of panic inside me.
I knew he was pushing too hard. It takes every ounce of my willpower to stay back and let the other men help him back to his feet. Even if I did go to him, he wouldn’t accept my help. Honestly, the idea of facing yet another rejection from him is enough to keep me standing on the grass with Trystan.
The door to the cabin creaks open, and a tall, willowy woman with flyaway gray hair, vivid golden eyes, and deep creases in her face stares out at us. She’s in pink sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt, and clearly wasn’t expecting company.
“Archer,” she greets the blond man. Then her gaze slides over to Dare. “What’s this?”
“He needs help,” Archer replies, readjusting his grip on Dare as his head lolls. “Can we come in? I’m sorry we couldn’t give you more advance warning.”
The woman waves off his apology then steps aside, pulling her door wide open. Archer and Ridge turn sideways to guide Dare into the dim interior, and Trystan holds out a hand to indicate I should go ahead of him. The wooden porch steps bend and creak beneath me, and I pass by the woman with a polite smile.
The cabin is clean but sparse, with brightly painted, unadorned walls, a single couch, and a hallway that leads to several open doors. The woman shifter passes me on silent bare feet and holds out an arm to indicate one of the doors. “In here. Tell me what happened.”
I stay back by the doorway as Ridge and Archer lean forward to let Dare fall onto the bed. He’s barely conscious now, his eyes nothing but slits and his breathing ragged. Archer bends down and pulls his feet up onto the bed, pointing out the massive wound on his leg. He gives her a quick explanation of what’s going on. He mentions Dare got in a fight with some witches, but he conveniently leaves out the fact that the injured man went looking for them.
The healer chews her lip as she listens, her eyebrows rising and falling as she absorbs Archer’s words. Then she turns to examine Dare, poking and prodding at the wounds the men have done their best to dress. Finally, she straightens and nods grimly at Archer. “He’s in rough shape, but I think I can help him. I need some time.”
“We’ll leave him here,” Archer says. “I’ve got to see my father about some things. I’ve been away too long. Do you need anything?”
“No, I have everything I need. I’ll get him back on his feet in no time.”
Archer nods, and then he and Ridge turn away from the bed and head back toward me. I watch the healer bend over Dare, talking quietly to herself as she examines his wounds more closely. Hopefully she’s as good as Archer swears she is.
“Where’s Trystan?” Ridge asks me as they join me at the doorway.
I shrug. “Lost him on the way to the bedroom.”
“We’ll find him on the way out,” Archer murmurs, casting one more glance back at the healer. “Let’s go see my father.”
10
Sable
The late afternoon air is hot as we leave the healer’s cabin.
Part of me wants to remain behind and keep an eye on Dare. Not just because we’re leaving him half-conscious and with a total stranger—which would be grounds for absolute terror if I were in his shoes—but because I feel somewhat responsible for his current state.
But I know if I say that out loud, I’ll get a lot of blowback from the other three men about how it’s nobody’s fault but Dare’s for running out into the wilderness and picking fights with witches.
Maybe it’s because I’ve done my fair share of dealing with shitty things in my life, but I’m more inclined to see that Dare’s behavior had a trigger, and that trigger was me becoming a witch. So in a roundabout way, it is my fault. I’m still hurt over him running away, and over the way he’s rejected me even being near him since he showed back up. Mostly though, I hurt for him and the