Not Your Ex's Hexes (Supernatural Singles, #2)(84)

He couldn’t.

“Let the brothers in, dear.” Edie Maxwell’s voice spilled onto the dimly lit porch. “But any more of that porch nonsense and I’ll happily blast them to another continent. One that doesn’t have demon portals for easy transportation.”

Olive cocked a blond eyebrow, glancing from Julius to Damian. “Well? You heard the lady.”

“No more nonsense,” Damian promised.

Julius nodded. “Sorry, love.”

Olive studied them both a few seconds longer before nodding for them both to follow. “Stay back, stay quiet, and for the love of Goddess, don’t interfere. Gran isn’t the only one with the ability to give cross-continental ass-blasts.”

“How is she?” Damian asked, stepping into the house.

“Better than when she got here,” Olive answered grimly.

He scanned the cottage until his gaze landed on the barn-style kitchen table and the pale, unconscious Rose lying on top of it. His feet froze to the floor.

Devoid of the blush he loved seeing creep into her cheeks, Rose’s pale skin starkly contrasted her dark hair, and her lips, usually a petal pink, nearly matched the rest of her. The only color in the vicinity was the pool of bright red blood beneath the table, and on Violet’s and Edie’s hands.

Rose’s blood.

He shifted close and immediately received a stern look from Olive.

Edie and Violet, their eyes closed, held their hands over Rose’s stomach, their purple-and-gold Magic swirling over the gash responsible for so much blood loss. They murmured repeatedly, focused on their task while Olive slipped past them to dip her fingers into the ceramic bowl by Rose’s head.

She recited her own gentle chorus as she gently rubbed the bowl’s concoction onto Rose’s temples, and then walked around her sister and grandmother to place more on the base of her throat, her wrists, and finally, the tops of her feet. Once done, her hands joined the other two witches’, her soft green Magic intertwining with theirs.

After his ex hexed him for being a demonic asshole, Damian vowed never to get mixed up in witch affairs again, and he’d kept that vow. Until now. No way was he turning away.

With his gaze locked on Rose’s pale face, he missed the fact that the musical chanting had stopped until Violet said his name. All three Maxwell witches watched him with varying expressions.

“Is that it?” Rose still lay unmoving on the table.

The Prima gifted him a small, exhausted smile. “She’ll be okay. She’s made it through the worst of the healing.”

Her words didn’t match the worry on her face.

“When?” His voice cracked. “When will she be okay?”

“When her Magic restores enough to finish the healing process. Maybe you two can help relocate her to the back bedroom.”

“Of course.” Julius stepped forward as if to touch Rose.

Damian growled. “I got her.”

His brother held up his hands and backed off, the first smart thing he’d done all night.

Damian paused at the table, his palms dry as he contemplated what to do and where he could touch her without hurting her. “Is there any place I should avoid?”

“The Gryndor taloned her left torso, so be careful,” Olive answered. “And then be extra gentle when you lay her down on the bed. Vi set the broken ribs without much difficulty, but it’ll take a few hours for them to mend. And then there’s the concussion. Head injuries take a little longer to resolve.”

“I’ll brew more healing tea to help speed up the process.” Edie plucked at the dried herbs hanging from the exposed beam above her kitchen sink.

With Olive’s guidance, Damian gently eased his arms beneath Rose’s legs and behind her shoulders, holding his breath as he lifted her from the table. A soft moan escaped her lips, and damn if hearing it didn’t feel like he’d taken a knife to the gut.

Olive nodded approvingly and led the way to the back room where she gestured for him to place her in the lone bed. He carefully eased her head—and the rest of her—onto the soft mattress, and then Olive gently tucked her sister beneath the covers.

Satisfied she’d be comfortable enough, she turned to him, tucking a piece of fabric into his hand.

“For the gash on your hand,” Olive answered his silent question. “You’re dripping life juices, and not even the Goddess herself can help you if you dirty Edie’s floors with it. Do you want me to heal it?”

He’d completely forgot about the cut he’d used for the portal. “It’ll heal quickly on its own, but thank you.”

Rose murmured softly in her sleep, her brow furrowing as she shifted in bed.

“You mentioned she had a run-in with a Gryndor demon?” Damian asked. “I’ve faced off with a few through the years, and this is a pretty severe reaction, isn’t it? I don’t know that I’ve ever seen one like this.”

“It was a female. The Mate to the three you two captured a few weeks back. She caused quite the scene in Times Square, and Rose, being Rose, intervened when the she-demon went after a little boy.”

That sounded like Rose, alright, but what he knew that Olive didn’t was she’d been put in that position by his brother.

“Olive, dear.” Edie walked into the room. “Can you help Vi get the kitchen back to rights? I’ll get Rose to drink a few drops of tea and then I’ll be along in a bit to help.”