This Dark Wolf (Soul Bitten Shifter #1) - Everly Frost Page 0,22

a glow that will confirm my suspicion. “You’re hiding your power from me.” My mind works quickly. “Like you protected your conversation with Tristan from me when we first arrived.”

“Yes, sweetheart. I’m a witch.” Helen meets my wary gaze with a nod as she glides into the room. “And a damn good one. My magic ensures that the true nature of this entire house and its grounds is hidden from the outside world. Only a trusted few can come and go from here at will.”

I narrow my eyes at her with suspicion. Jace drove the SUV straight inside without stopping or asking permission.

My question is scathing. “Tristan Masters is one of those trusted few?”

Helen makes a humming sound in the back of her throat. “I understand why you might find that hard to believe, given his reputation and the circumstances under which he brought you here. But, please, sit.”

The door closes quietly behind me as soon as I step fully into the room and walk toward the examination table. Helen is already striding toward the book and wand, which float toward her at the same speed so that they meet in the middle. She plucks the wand out of the air but allows the book to continue to float beside her.

I prepare myself for more unexpected occurrences as I clutch the blanket and sink onto the edge of the examination table, intending to perch on it.

Sitting on it is like falling through cotton wool and ending up on the floor.

My stomach lurches, my reflexes trigger, and my hands shoot out to clutch the edge of the table. The blanket falls from my shoulders in the process. I didn’t actually move, but it felt like I fell through space.

Helen spins and races back to me, the book flying with her so it ends up floating close by as she leans toward me.

She searches my face, lowering her wand. “I’m sorry, Tessa. Are you okay?”

The room stops spinning, and I can finally feel the solid examination table beneath my backside. “What was that?”

“This table has a number of spells woven into it. They’re meant to be undetectable. You shouldn’t have felt them. The table amplifies my power and helps me understand your wounds. Sort of like an x-ray machine. I had it calibrated for a—” She bites her lip.

“A shifter?” I ask, sarcasm dripping from my tongue. “Except that I’m not a typical shifter, am I?”

“I’ll know more soon,” she says. “You shouldn’t experience that falling sensation again.”

“Great.” I eye her warily as she pulls a bottle of water from one of the cupboards and brings it to me.

While I drink the entire bottle, she consults her book, pursing her lips as she flips through it until she settles on a page that appears mostly blank.

She clears her throat as she approaches me and raises her wand. I flinch when she reaches for my face, but my reaction doesn’t stop her from sliding her fingers through my hair. Drawing my tresses back, she exposes my face and all the ugliness of the bruises across my temple, neck, and shoulder.

“With your permission, I need to see all of your wounds before I can treat you. Will you remove your shirt, please?”

Reluctantly, I peel off my torn flannel shirt, leaving myself dressed only in my broken bra. Scrunching my dirty shirt in my fists like an object of comfort, I try to ignore Helen’s reactions.

She blinks at all of the bruises both old and new spreading across both sides of my torso before she zeros back in on my face. For a second, her eyes go blank, as if she’s accessing her power—maybe the power in the table, the book, the wand, or all three.

Refocusing, she busies herself around me, apparently deciding that my head wound needs treating first.

For the next half an hour, she works on my injuries, muttering spells while her wand glides around me and the lamplight makes me increasingly sleepy. When she touches me, her hands are gentle, feather-light, and soothing. Every now and then, she goes to the cupboard and pulls out random-shaped bandages and solutions in bottles that she places or smears on my skin. One of the solutions smells like pineapples. Another like pink candy. She tells me that the bandages are waterproof and won’t wash off in the shower.

I suspect that she’s using magic to keep me calm and soothe my pain while she works. It’s possible that I should fight it, but I don’t want