Nora Roberts - The Pagan Stone

And Quinn chimed in, Gage thought. Gang’s all here. Just let me go, for God’s sake. Just let me go.

“We won’t. We can’t.” Cybil leaned closer, but this time her lips rather than her hand laid over his cheek. Blessedly cool. “Please. You have to stay. You have to come back. We can’t lose you.”

Tears spilled out of her eyes, dropped gently onto the wound. They washed through his blood, into the bite, and eased the burn.

“I know it hurts.” She stroked his cheeks, his hair, his screaming shoulder, and wept. “I know it hurts, but you have to stay.”

“He moved. His hand moved.” Fox’s fingers tightened on Gage’s as Gage’s flexed. “ Cal?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Right shoulder, Gage. Start there. We’ve got you.”

He closed his eyes again, but not in surrender this time. Bearing down, he concentrated on the source of the pain, followed it as it spread from his shoulder, down his arm, across his chest. He felt his lungs open again as if the hands that had squeezed them closed now slipped away.

“His pulse is stronger!” Layla called out.

“His color’s coming back, too. He’s coming back, Cyb,” Quinn said.

From where she sat on the ground, cradling his head in her lap, Cybil leaned back down, watched his eyes. “It’s almost over,” she crooned. “Just a little more.”

“Okay. Okay.” He saw her clearly now, felt the grass under him, the grip of his friends’ hands over his. “I’ve got it. Did you call me a fucking coward?”

Her breath drew in on a watery laugh. “It worked.”

“Welcome back, man,” Fox said to him. “The wound’s closing. Let’s get you inside.”

“I got it,” Gage repeated, but couldn’t so much as lift his head. “Okay, maybe I don’t.”

“Give him another minute,” Quinn suggested. “The wound’s closed now, but… there’s a scar.”

“Let’s go inside.” Cybil sent looks to Quinn and Layla that said more than her words. “We’ll make Gage some tea, get his bed ready.”

“I don’t want tea. I don’t want a bed.”

“You’re getting both.” Cybil shifted his head from her lap, patted his cheek, then rose. If she understood men at all-and Gage in particular-he’d prefer the women out of sight when his friends helped him into the house.

“I want coffee,” Gage said, but the women were already headed back to the house.

“Bet you do. Quinn’s right about the scar,” Fox added. “Nothing’s ever scarred us since the blood brothers ritual.”

“None of us had a demon try to take a bite out of us either,” Cal put in. “It’s never been able to do anything like that before, not even during the Seven.”

“Times change. Give me a hand, will you? Let’s just start with sitting up.” With his friends on either arm, Gage managed to make it to sitting. Where his head spun for three wicked revolutions. “Jesus.” He sat, with his head braced by his updrawn knees. “I’ve never felt pain like that and I’ve had plenty of pain. Did I scream?”

“No. You went white, dropped like a stone.” Cal swiped sweat off his own face.

“Inside I was screaming like a little girl. Where’s my shirt?” he demanded when he lifted his head and realized he was naked to the waist.

“We had to rip it off you, get to the wound,” Fox told him. “You didn’t move, not a flicker, Gage. You were barely breathing. I swear to God, I thought you were gone.”

“I was. Or nearly.” Cautiously, Gage turned his head, pressed fingers to the scar on his shoulder. “It doesn’t even ache now. I feel pretty weak, a lot shaky, but there’s no pain.”

“You need to sleep. You know how it goes,” Cal added. “It sucks you dry, that intense a healing.”

“Yeah, maybe. Get me up, will you?”

With an arm slung around each of his friends, Gage gained his rubbery legs. When half a dozen steps toward the house left him kitten-weak, he accepted he’d need that bed. But there was satisfaction in his belly as he looked at the empty porch rail.

“Bastard blew that rock to hell and back.”

“Yeah, he did. Can you make the steps?”

“I can make them.” In fact, he was smiling through gritted teeth when Cal and Fox all but carried him into the house.

Since he was too tired to fight off a trio of females, he drank the tea Cybil foisted on him. And he dropped onto the bed with its freshly smoothed sheets and plumped pillows.

“Why doncha lie down with me, sugar?”

“That’s sweet, honey.”

“Not you.” Gage waved off Fox, pointed to Cybil. “Big brown eyes there. Fact, maybe all the pretty women oughta lie down here with me. Plenty of room.”

“What the hell did you put in that tea?” Cal demanded.

“Secret ingredient. Go ahead.” Cybil sat on the side of the bed. “I’ll stay with him until he drops off.”

“Come on over here and say that.”

Smiling, Cybil waved off the others, then angling her head, studied Gage’s face.

“Hello, gorgeous,” he mumbled.

“Hello, handsome. You’ve had a busy morning. Go to sleep.”

“Pissed you off.”

“Pissed you off back. That was the plan.”

“Damn good plan.”

“Risky, potentially stupid plan.”

He smirked. “Worked.”

“You have me there.”

“Didn’t mean that shit about your father.”

“I know. Shh.” She bent down, kissed his cheek.

“Maybe meant some of the other shit-can’t remember. Did you?”

“We’ll talk about it later.”

“She said-Ann Hawkins said-you’d cry for me. That it would matter. You did. It did. You brought me back, Cybil.”

“I gave you a jumpstart. You did the rest. Gage.” Shuddering once, she laid her cheek against his. “I thought you’d die. Nothing’s ever scared me like that, or torn at me like that. I thought you’d die. That we’d lose you. That I would. You were dying in my arms, and until that moment, I didn’t realize that I-”

She lifted her head, broke off when she saw he’d fallen asleep. “Well.” She drew a long breath, then another. “Well, that’s probably excellent timing for both of us. No point in humiliating myself or putting you on the spot by telling you, at a weak moment for both of us, that I’ve been stupid enough to fall in love with you.”

Taking his hand, she sat with him a little while longer as he slept. And she wondered if she’d find the way to be smart enough to get over him.

“Do you think you must?”

Slowly, Cybil lifted her gaze from Gage’s face, and looked into Ann Hawkins’s. “Well, last but not least.” It didn’t surprise her she was so calm. She’d been waiting for this, and she’d seen much more shocking things now than a ghost by a bedside on a June morning.

“Do you think you must?” Ann repeated.

“Must what?”

“Close your heart to what you feel for him. Deny yourself the joy and the pain of it.”

“I’m not a fan of pain.”

“But it’s life. Only the dead feel nothing.”

“What about you?”

Ann’s lips curved. “It is not death. My own love told me that. There is more than the dark and the light. So many shades between. I feel yet, because it is not finished. When it is, one thing ends, another begins. You are young, and may have many years in this life, in this body, in this time. Why would you live it with a closed heart?”

“Easy for you to say. Your love was returned. I know what it is to live loving someone who can’t or won’t love you back, or not enough.”

“Your father was consumed by despair. He lost his sight, and couldn’t see love.”

What’s the difference? Cybil thought, but shook her head. “This would be a fascinating conversation over a drink sometime, just us girls, but at the moment we’re more into the life-or-death mode around here. You may have noticed.”