Mated By Fate by Christa Wick

Chapter Six

Rousedfrom a deep sleep by a single sharp knock, Lana jumped out of bed, the duvet and top sheet clutched to her chest. Seeing the doorknob turn, she dropped the bedding and grabbed the silver picture frame.

Denver had his hands up in a placating gesture before the door finished swinging open. "Esme needs your help with two injured wolflings dying in the front room."

"Dying?" Her question came out as a shout, but then she read his body language. And he hadn't come racing down the hallway, either, or thrown open the door. He had knocked. And now, instead of an impatient glare urging Lana to move her ass, his gaze was averted.

"Well, Bucklee and Otter are whining like they are. Also, you might want to put on a bit more clothing."

Looking down, Lana remembered the basketball jersey she had gone to sleep in. It stopped a few inches above her knees and exposed too much side boob.

She scooped up the linen robe Esme had provided, shoved her arms through the sleeves, then cinched and tied the sash around her waist.

"Better?" she asked, passing him on her way into the hall.

"Barely," Denver groaned. "It would require a hundred more washings before I couldn't smell her on it."

Moving toward the front of the house, Lana dipped her head to hide a grin. The big jerk's groan had nothing to do with her. It was Esme's scent gripping him by the balls.

Her glee at Denver's discomfort evaporated the instant she reached the living room. She had noticed the massive coffee table upon her arrival. It had an antique crank to adjust its height and was fashioned from a single slab of walnut that was about three feet by eight. Seeing it now, she realized its primary purpose had nothing to do with evening cocktails or any other abundance of guests.

Esme or Denver had since raised the top slab until it was waist high. On its surface was a writhing, groaning male, somewhere in his late teens or very early twenties by Lana's estimate. Esme had her hands against his stomach, blood all but spurting through her fingertips to spread along the table and drip onto the floor.

Sprawled on the couch, another male of similar age held a blood-saturated compress against his shoulder, his complexion growing paler by the second. Denver went over to him and helped keep pressure on the wound.

"Sorry," Esme said through clenched teeth. "My mother is on her way, but I need help now. These idiots have clearly been playing with datura, both wine and ink in quantities large enough to inhibit their ability to shift. And that was before the drunken knife throwing contest. If they could shift, they'd heal quicker."

Before Lana could even wrap her head around the fact that either of these two males might shift in front of her, Esme grabbed her hand and placed it against the stomach wound. Lana responded with a reflexive jerk, her mind jumping directly to the fear of what disease she might contract from touching a wolf's blood.

Did they catch viruses or harbor them as some kind of host?

"Don't worry," Esme soothed. "I can cure humans, too. Right now, I need you to feel the push and pull of what I'm doing. This type of healing is pure energy. Their body knows exactly what to do with it even if they are half pissed."

Push and pull?

Before she could voice the question, Lana felt a sharp, electric zap as Esme touched the back of her hand. Blue light crackled where Lana served as some kind of conduit between the witch and the wolf.

"Can you feel it pushing into you and flowing from there into him?"

"Yes," Lana whispered, her throat suddenly dry.

"Good, now try to actually pull it from my touch."

Lana shook her head. Did the young man have time for such lessons?

Lessons that surely were bound to fail.

From the couch, the other wolfling moaned.

"I can't heal them both in time," Esme warned. "Close your eyes and picture drawing a threaded needle through a piece of cloth."

Lana formed the image in her head, gave a little tug and felt the power flowing from the witch increase.

"Harder," Esme coached.

A sharp exhalation escaped the witch at Lana's second attempt.

"Good," she said after recovering her breath. "Go to Denver now."

Right before she could touch the young wolf, Esme added to her instructions.

"Make sure it's Denver you pull from…"

The face staring up at her from the couch looked like a scared rabbit as she went to touch him. She hesitated long enough for Denver to growl, place the palm of his hand against the back of hers and force contact with the patient.

For a second, she felt like she was drowning—or more like someone had aimed a firehose at her back. Glancing at Denver's face, she detected a secret, one she didn't have time to solve if she was going to save the young wolf.

"Push it into him," Denver rasped.

Lana drew from one, forced it into the other, felt the firehose abate to something she could manage. She sensed the flesh beneath her touch mending as the young male's color improved. A glance over her shoulder at Denver revealed his shocked expression. Catching her gaze on him, he quickly covered his reaction by growling at the two young wolves.

"Damnable cubs! As if the clan doesn't have enough enemies, you had to go after one another?"

"Let me see," Esme said, the request softly voiced.

Lana eased her hand back, disconnecting herself from Denver's energy in the process.

The witch offered a beaming smile before turning her attention to the patients with a fury of blue light crackling around her.

"Finish healing on your own," she rumbled. "It'll do you good to work off whatever punishment Coop metes out while you're still weak and hurting. If you don't like that option, you can always ask my mother."

Groans of protest arose from both males at Esme's last option. Rising slowly, they eased their way around Denver and the witch as they headed for the front door. Beyond the porch, a battered pickup truck waited with one door open, blood darkly glittering on the seat. Esme's patient, the one who had seemed closest to death, eased himself into the passenger side of the cab. The one Lana had healed climbed into the driver seat and started the vehicle.

It rattled and belched a stream of black smoke for a few seconds, and then the two disappeared down the road.

"I don't suppose you can call your mom off?" Denver asked as he drew a roll of paper towels and a spray bottle from a kitchen cupboard.

"I can sure as hell try," Esme answered, her face scrunched up as if she had something foul in her mouth. Her hands patted rhythmically against her hips as her head moved slowly from left to right. Then her arm shot out. "Can you hand me that?"

Following the direction of Esme's extended finger, Lana's shoulders slumped.

"Oh, you mean 'call her,' call her."

For one second, witch and wolf were united by laughter, his a deep-chested bark of noise and Esme's like the gentle lapping of water on a pebbled beach. The next second, their mirth instantly evaporated as the chimes on the front porch began to dance. Their charmed music meant someone was coming up Esme's drive.

"Too late," Denver grumbled, crossing the room to thrust the paper towels and spray bottle at Lana before he quickly disappeared out the front door, his deep baritone ringing behind him. "Ding-dong, the witch is here."