unfamiliar Jeep Cherokee turned into the neighborhood street and approached too slowly. Josiah readied for possible battle until the SUV turned into the driveway for the rental and light from a nearby streetlamp fell on the driver.
It was Molly.
He didn’t remember leaving his car. The next thing he knew, he had muscled into the open space left by her open car door and was staring down at her.
He’d seen dead bodies and victims of violence before, both in crime photos and in real life. He was no stranger to the pallid complexions, the bruising and contusions, the lurid appearance of blood. He’d witnessed dismemberments and the gruesome results of what happened when coyotes and other wildlife feasted on a body.
But there was always an extra punch when violence hit someone he knew. His gut tightened as he looked at what Sullivan had done to his beautiful wife.
She looked dead pale, with dark hollows like bruises ringing her eyes. Blood had dripped from a scalp wound into one eye, and the opposite cheekbone was swollen and discolored. She held herself like every movement, every breath, was an agony. He’d had broken ribs before and knew just how bad she felt. God only knew what other damage she had sustained.
But he was jolted to see that somehow none of the visible wounds detracted from her beauty. She held herself with such fierce stoicism that, if anything, she looked even more beautiful than ever.
She looked like a warrior. Like a survivor.
Something powerful and unrecognized welled up. He didn’t understand it, and when his eyes dampened, that shocked him more than anything.
It was a relief when she passed out. His brain rebooted, and he could think again. Scooping her up, he carried her to his car and buckled her into the front passenger seat. Then he grabbed her purse, phone, and car keys and raced back to his Audi, climbed in, and drove to the safe house.
This time he followed more safety precautions than usual and drove a circuitous route. That meant the journey took twice as long, and all the while he whispered deflection spells until they were as safe as he knew how to make them. Only then did he pull behind the country house. Easing Molly’s lax form back into his arms, he tucked her possessions on her abdomen and carried her down to the basement.
Once he’d laid her on the bed, he cast a spell of divination. The areas of damage lit in his mind like flares. She had a concussion, two broken ribs, and some hellish contusions. Her left shoulder was strained badly, but there was no real damage to the joint.
She also had some internal bleeding, but it wasn’t life threatening and had almost stopped. And she should probably get stitches for her head wound.
Sullivan had used some kind of club, because the bruising and contusions striped her body in livid bars. The beating spoke of rage and cruelty. If Sullivan’s goal had been to knock her senseless, a simple blow to the head would have sufficed. He had wanted to inflict maximum pain and damage.
Josiah balled his hands into fists. He despised men who beat those who were not as physically strong as they were. “If she didn’t already kill you, I will,” he whispered to the absent man. “And I won’t just murder you—I’ll crucify you.”
He could be patient. If there was one thing he knew how to do, it was how to wait for the right opportunity.
But right now he needed to focus on more urgent matters. His magical talent didn’t lie in healing, but he knew basic spells to mend damage, and that was really all she needed. It would also be a kindness to cast them while she was still unconscious.
He took several photos quickly in case she decided to press charges, and then he started with the head wound since that injury concerned him the most. It was still seeping blood, so he carefully pinched the torn skin together and held it with his fingers while he cast spells, pausing only long enough to verify that her body had absorbed one before moving on to the next.
She began to stir, and he muttered a mental curse. Healing damage was a painful business as the magic forced the body to knit together. They weren’t going to get lucky tonight. The discomfort was bringing her around.
Gingerly, he lifted his hand away from the head wound and inspected the area. The edges held, at least