Captive Mate - Eliot Grayson Page 0,30

like he was dying. He probably was dying, if I knew Parker; that asshole wouldn’t use half-measures.

And Matthew wasn’t disappointed, he wasn’t angry.

He thought it was worth it.

He thought I was worth it.

I ran to him. Not away and into the woods, or around the whole milling crowd of angry weres and into one of the SUVs, but to Matthew, weaving around Ian and skidding to a stop by Matthew’s side. I dropped onto my knees next to him, just in time to catch some of his weight as he listed over.

He was breathing heavily and his skin had gone ashy gray.

“You were faking it, gods dammit!” I shook him. “Snap out of it!”

His lips quirked. It wasn’t much of a smile. Lines of pain were etching into his face as I watched. “I was half faking it, and now I’m not faking it at all,” he muttered. “Something — on his claws.” Ian’s hands landed on me, roughly tugging me away, but Matthew looked up and said, “No, dammit, let him stay. Do your job and get — them — out of here.”

Ian snarled and disappeared, and then there was more background noise: Ian shouting at Parker that they’d cheated, that this wasn’t a fair fight and Ian was going to rip him to pieces, Parker shouting back that if Matthew died the fight hadn’t been settled and I was his to take, Fenwick chiming in, Jennifer and Paul saying — something. I didn’t care.

“You’re not healing,” I said. Blood poured out of his wounds, faster than it should have even without a werewolf’s healing abilities. “Can you focus? Do you know how to control it?” Some alphas could do that, and — gods, couldn’t Matthew be one of them, for fuck’s sake? Some little piece of good luck —

“No,” Matthew gasped, and he fell over.

I lurched after him, trying to ease him down to the ground, but he was so heavy it was more me falling with him. Nate landed on his knees on Matthew’s other side, his eyes wild. Our eyes locked over Matthew’s body.

“He’s not healing,” Nate said.

“Yes, you’ve been exceptionally on-point with stating the obvious today,” I shot back. “So fucking heal him, warlock.”

“I can’t unless I know what they did!” Nate protested, his voice going up an octave. “And maybe not then. I’m not much of a healer to begin with! I do — energy flow.” He sketched his hands in the air frantically. “Forces, wards, objects — not healing.”

“Healing is energy flow!” Was he that untrained? That fucking useless? I’d been knocked out of the fight the other night by someone who couldn’t even do this? “Find the source of the infection, or the toxin, whatever it is, separate it out from the natural processes. Its energy is different. You’ll see it. Eliminate it. Use a flow of fucking energy to do it, but now, Hawthorne, or I think —” I looked down at Matthew, my chest clenching. His eyes were shut and his breaths rasped in and out of his throat. “I think he’ll die.”

And I’ll die too, when your mate kills me.

Somehow, without noticing, I’d clasped Matthew’s hand in mine. His fingers were cold and limp. I flashed back to lying on his bed with him, his warmth surrounding me, his body burning so much hotter than mine. He’d threatened me, told me he’d take me whether I wanted him or not if it was what was best for his pack.

And then he’d fought for me. He might be dying for me.

Too many thoughts, too many feelings, all battling in my overwhelmed mind, trying to coalesce into something clear. An entropic system seeking temporary order before it spiraled into total decay.

Nate closed his eyes, laid his hands on Matthew’s chest, and went very still. I couldn’t see what he was doing because I was still blind. My fingers twitched with the need to take over and do it myself, because nothing was happening.

“Hawthorne?” Nothing. “Nate?”

He shook his head and his eyes popped open. “I can’t find it,” he said, and now he sounded on the verge of tears. “I can’t do it. Ian!” he called out desperately. “Ian, come here, right now! Dor, I need you too!”

I started; I’d almost forgotten anyone else was there. Everyone was still shouting, but the Kimballs were shoving Parker into one of the cars. Dor was standing in front of Fenwick with his sword raised, still looking like all he needed was a cup of