Sean parked in the clinic’s small lot and came around to open Andrea’s door for her. She handed him the sword, which he strapped to his back, and they went inside to the clinical smell of disinfectant.

Shifters were clumped inside the waiting room—they’d be friends and members of the clan. When they saw Sean walk in, his big sword on his back, some turned away and murmured prayers; others simply looked at him. They all knew what his presence here meant.

Andrea walked beside Sean without meeting any gazes. She saw nostrils widen, eyes snap to her as they smelled Fae, but no one moved to stop her. They wouldn’t while she was with the Guardian.

Dylan waited for them near a nurses’ station in the hall beyond. The nurse there, human, came out from behind the desk when Sean and Andrea entered, her already fierce expression turning to one of outrage.

“You can’t go in there,” she snapped at Sean. “Not with that.”

She held out her hand as though Sean would meekly unstrap the Sword of the Guardian and give it to her, like an unruly pupil handing over a toy to his angry teacher.

Sean walked by her without a word, and Dylan fell into step with him.

“You can’t go back there! I’m calling security.”

Andrea turned back and stepped squarely in front of the woman, putting just enough growl into her voice. “Leave it.”

The nurse stared, stunned. Andrea smelled her fear but also her cunning. She’d be on the phone as soon as Andrea moved to follow Sean.

Swallowing a sigh, Andrea gripped the nurse’s wrist and yanked her along with them. The nurse’s protests died when they walked into the room at the end of the hall, which was full of Shifters and the smell of impending death.

CHAPTER FIVE

The grief in the room was palpable. It was difficult not to feel anything but compassion when Andrea beheld Sean’s cousin Ely lying in the hospital bed, his face sunken, his Collar a dark streak on his pasty throat. Tubes snaked into his arms, human machines gently beeping around him.

Ely wasn’t much older than Sean, maybe at his century mark. His mate curled on the bed next to him, a ball of misery. Four younger men and a young woman—Ely’s cubs, she guessed by their similar scent—stood in positions of resigned grief. An older man waited on the opposite side of the room, just as grief-stricken. Ely’s father.

Andrea tasted rage against the humans who had done this. No Shifter of venerable years should have to watch his son die; no cubs should have to watch their father cut down before them. And no mate should have the love of her life yanked away from her. The woman’s grief would bury her for years. It had already started.

Sean moved to the side of the bed and touched Ely’s shoulder, his voice softening to gentleness itself. “Now, Ely, lad, what did you do to attract all those bullets to you? Magnetized yourself, did you?”

Ely smiled, his face drawn in pain in spite of the liquids that dripped into his arm. “That’s me, Sean. Too damned attractive.” His whisper rasped. “Thank you for coming.”

Andrea watched Sean suppress all his own rage and grief to caress Ely with a reassuring hand. “Look who I brought with me,” he said. “The pretty she-wolf that lives next door to me. Glory’s niece, the one I mate-claimed. Isn’t she a fine one?”

Sean stretched out his arm, indicating that Andrea should come to him. Andrea had to let go of the nurse, but Dylan moved to block the nurse’s retreat. She’d never get past Dylan.

Sean drew Andrea to him, arm around her waist. Ely’s mate lifted her head in anger.

“The half Fae,” she spat. “Get her out of here.”

Sean ignored her. “Let Andrea touch you, Ely. She can ease the pain.”

Ely dragged in a shallow breath. “Hell, I’m all for that.”

Andrea felt the waves of outrage from Ely’s children, from Ely’s father, even from the nurse. Collars or no, these Shifters were on the verge of violence. If Andrea made one wrong move, they’d take her down. They might do it anyway, angry at her for being here at this private time. If Andrea had any sense, she’d shake off Sean, rush back out to the truck, and take off. She’d heard the River Walk was nice this time of year ...

But Andrea couldn’t walk away. That was the problem with the healing gift—she couldn’t look upon Ely’s suffering and turn her back on it. She’d never deny a man relief from pain just because his family’s anger made her uncomfortable.

Sean eased the blanket from Ely’s torso and parted the hospital gown, and Andrea stifled a gasp. Ely’s pale abdomen was crisscrossed with pink puckered wounds held together with steri-tape where surgeons had tried to sew his shredded insides back together. Half his stomach had been gouged out by the look of things, and unhealthy red streaks striped his stomach. This man was chopped up, infected, dying.

His hurts were well beyond Andrea’s gift. The most she could do was ease Ely’s pain, perhaps make his death easier. She glanced at Sean, and he gave her the faintest of nods, telling her he understood.

Andrea let out her breath, ducked out from under Sean’s arm, and laid her hands very carefully on Ely’s abdomen.

Ely grunted, and the machines beeped faster. The sons and daughter started forward, only to be curtailed by Dylan.

“Let her do what she can,” Dylan ordered. He outranked them, and the others fell silent.

“Go on, love,” Sean said softly.

Andrea closed her eyes. Whenever she used her healing gift, she visualized a snarl of threads that she had to untangle and lay straight. Sometimes it was easy to unravel the hurt, as it had been with Ronan last night, sometimes impossible.

Ely was pretty tangled up. From the shredded mess inside him, Andrea could tell he hadn’t been shot with a simple pistol. An automatic weapon had done this, probably with bullets that expanded on the inside and did bad things. To think, humans put the Collars on the Shifters.

Andrea pictured herself working out the threads, one by one, as though she pulled apart a mangled attempt at a complicating knitting pattern. This would take time, and she wasn’t certain Ely had time. The man bravely sucked in breath after breath, but despite whatever painkiller he’d been given, Andrea knew that it wasn’t adequate for the high metabolism of a Shifter. His pain had to be intense.

With her eyes closed and the healing flowing, Andrea could see the faint aura of each person around her. Ely’s fire was at the lowest ebb, warmed somewhat by his mate’s next to him. The sons, daughter, and father had formed a circle around the bed, ready to begin the ritual of grieving. Dylan, a hotter fire, still holding the quivering human nurse, stood behind them.