He’d heard her the entire time, even when he didn’t know where the fuck he was or what was going on. He heard Deirdre’s voice asking him to wake up, and he tried his damnedest to do it. When he couldn’t, Evershaw knew something serious had happened. He’d never been in a coma before, not with the crazy-fast shifter healing, and he’d never been conscious for the crazy magic shit that Deirdre did. It felt like worms working their way through his body, getting stuck in some places and flowing into others, with an intensity he couldn’t even try to scratch or move to accommodate. He just had to endure.

The only thing that helped was knowing he could open his eyes and see Deirdre again. That was all it took—concentrating on her. Her voice, her smell, the slight pressure of her hands on his chest... He knew he would be fine. He could fight through it with Deirdre’s help and with her waiting on the other end.

But when he could finally open his eyes, he didn’t like what he saw at all. Deirdre’s panicked, terrified expression gutted him immediately, even though she kept her eyes shut and refused to look at him. She whispered about trying to save him, needing a few more minutes, and it broke what was left of his heart.

He would have carried her to safety, away from Smith and Todd, except there was still an odd pressure in his chest that didn’t feel right. So he let the old man do whatever kind of weird fucking magic he had, and didn’t like the revulsion that rolled through Deirdre at what she saw. Todd caught Evershaw’s eye and knew exactly what he needed to do, and Evershaw could breathe a little easier as his cousin gently escorted the witch out of the living room and into his bedroom. He hated that he couldn’t help her himself, but he’d take that over once and for all the moment Smith took his hands off him.

The old man said under his breath, “Calm down. Just a moment more. She’s fine.”

“Don’t talk about her,” Evershaw growled. He didn’t know what was between Smith and the witch, but he knew that it caused Deirdre some distress and that was enough—even if the old man was in the middle of saving Evershaw’s life. Smith tied the witch to Evershaw against her will, after all—and against his, as well. “She doesn’t like it.”

“I know,” Smith said. There might have been a hint of regret in the old man. “There is a long history between me and her kind. They have no reason to trust me.”

Evershaw growled. The wolf didn’t like whatever it was Smith did. It felt wrong in comparison to Deirdre’s odd power, but at least it eased the pressure in his chest. Smith finally sat back and the weird green glow around him dissipated, along with a strange shadow around his head that looked like antlers and moss.

Smith got to his feet, creaky and slow, and started to limp toward the door. “You must be careful, Evershaw. This is a new level of threat, well beyond simply trying to poison you. I do not know where it came from, although it was based in nature. I have cleaned it from your bones, where it tried to latch into you. Deirdre was able to handle most of it, but she is still weak from expending a great deal of energy healing you the first two times. She needs rest to recharge, otherwise she will not be able to save you if you need it.”

He didn’t like that at all. “She won’t hurt herself to save me. I’d die first.”

“Unfortunately,” Smith said, his gaze going far away. “You don’t have that choice. The geas I used should have disappeared after you found the first perpetrator. Instead, it has solidified and changed. Warped. I attempted to remove it and it remains despite my best efforts. I must consult with some... colleagues, as I have not experienced this before. Perhaps it is a consequence of having been trapped for so long.”

Evershaw scowled at him. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Your little trick is going to get Deirdre killed.”

“It would have done that before and you didn’t seem to mind all that much.” Smith limped toward the door, moving slowly and creakily as his joints popped. “There is always a solution, young wolf. It is just a matter of finding it. I will be in touch.”

Evershaw ground his teeth until he thought a few of them might have broken right off while watching the old man leave, and gestured violently at Todd to follow the bastard out. He’d made a mistake in assuming that Smith was still sane after his imprisonment in that in-between place.

He took a deep breath and shook off the lingering fury at Smith’s cavalier attitude toward Deirdre’s life and safety, and ignored the jab that Evershaw’s own position on the utility of that geas thing had changed in a matter of days. He’d scared Deirdre, and that was after the awkwardness of her discomfort making out on the couch. He didn’t want to scare her again. Ever.

He turned off the lights and secured the door of the suite so no one would interrupt them, and checked all the exits and windows to make sure nothing could get in to disturb Deirdre’s rest. The next day, he’d keep her chained to a bed and stuff her full of every type of food he could find. Although the thought of having her all wrapped up in blankets and sleepy made him groan in anticipation, since he’d have to find a reason to be there with her. Evershaw wrestled the wolf’s instincts back, because chances were she didn’t feel the same thing for him, or at least with the same intensity.

The bedroom door moved on silent hinges and he peered into the darkness, trying to figure out where she hid. Nothing stirred, and only a low rumble disturbed the quiet. It took him a moment but after a deep breath, he rolled his eyes and ran his hands over his hair. That fucking cat. That hairy little bastard was in his room. On his bed. On his Deirdre.

Evershaw clawed back the urge to growl and snap at the giant feline, and instead only glared at it. The cat’s eyes reflected a glimmer of light back at him, and it didn’t look away, challenging him. No doubt the little beast wanted to keep Deirdre all to himself; Evershaw didn’t blame it. She’d be very difficult to share—which was why he didn’t want that goddamn cat sleeping on her when he wanted to put his arms around her.

And he stood next to the bed and watched her breathe. He never wrestled with uncertainty, but the possibility of scaring her almost paralyzed him. He cleared his throat and murmured, “Deirdre.”

She stirred, the cat grumping and growling as he had to move, and peered at him. “Miles?”

The soft, sleepy way she said his name gutted him right there. He wanted to smack himself for being the poor bastard he used to make fun of. Instead, he crouched next to the bed so he was at her eye level, resting his chin on the mattress, and breathed her in. “Yeah. All better now.”

Deirdre lifted her head, still puzzled. “What time is it?”

“Still late,” he said. “You’re in my bed, babe. I’d love for you to stay, but only if you want to.”

She rubbed her eyes, yawning, then nodded and burrowed deeper under the covers. “Yeah.”

Evershaw grinned, picking up the cat to drop it on the floor and hustle it toward the door with his foot, and went around to slide into the bed from the other side. Fucking finally. He caught the back of her T-shirt and dragged her into the middle of the king-size mattress with him, and Deirdre squeaked and laughed and flailed just enough that the wolf got interested. He spooned her, locking his arms and legs around her, and pressed his nose into her hair as he growled.

Deirdre laughed a little breathlessly, adjusting how her head rested on his arm, and glanced up at him. “Where did Cricket go?”

“Outside,” Evershaw grumbled. “He wanted to go outside. Something about a bird.”

She eyed him, those green eyes flashing. “At night? A bird at night?”

“Yeah.” He smiled and closed his eyes, distracted by the swell of her ass pressed against his groin. “A friend of his, I think.”

“You’re so full of shit.” Deirdre elbowed him and pushed up, like she meant to squirm free and go after the cat. “Where did he go?”

He kissed the back of her neck and tried to keep the rest of himself under control. “Todd left some steak out. Or chicken. The cat is very happy to stay outside.”

Deirdre flopped on her back, looking up at him, and managed a mock-stern look. “Do not be mean to Cricket. He’s my precious baby and I would be lost without him.”

“I know.” Evershaw leaned down to kiss the tip of her nose. “But he keeps distracting you.”

“From what?” she demanded, exasperated, and dodged another lazy attempt to kiss her.

“From me.” He smiled and bumped his nose against hers, giving her plenty of warning, and only after her soft inhale did he seal his lips to hers.

Evershaw didn’t move over her like he wanted, and instead gave her plenty of room to wiggle free. And Deirdre responded hesitantly at first before she relaxed and let him in. He counted that as a victory and broke the kiss, though he kissed along her jaw and temple and throat until Deirdre laughed and sighed and moved a little closer to his body.

She finally put her hand over his mouth, still laughing, and each blink took longer and longer for her eyes to open again. “Well, then you should be more interesting, bucko.”

“I’ll do my best.” Evershaw patted her butt and flopped onto his back, dragging her against his side so he could keep her close and cover them both with the sheets and big fluffy comforters. He needed her to rest and recover, since his dumb ass kept getting poisoned and needed to be healed. “But I’m tired now so you better keep your hands to yourself, girl.”

Deirdre mumbled something that was lost as she pressed her face against his arm. Evershaw relaxed and hoped no one disturbed them until at least noon.