Ely’s mate moaned; his daughter clung to one of her brothers. Sean’s lips tightened.

“No,” Andrea said quickly. “Not for that. Not yet. Just draw the sword.”

Sean frowned at her, but he whispered a prayer and drew the blade. The metal rang in the stillness, and Ely opened his eyes.

“Sean.” Ely smiled. “Thank you.”

Andrea lifted her right hand and wrapped it around the blade. Sean blinked, checking his start so he wouldn’t cut her.

The edge nicked Andrea’s palm anyway, and the trickle of blood that followed warmed her skin. She closed her eyes, pulled on the Fae magic of the sword, and twined the threads of it with her own.

It hurt. Andrea swallowed pain as her magic wove with that of the sword’s. The sparkling threads dove into her, gleefully wrapping her in a gleaming wiry mesh.

Andrea’s blood turned glacial. Her nightmares were like this, a cocoon of burning threads that tried to bind her, to suffocate her. Whatever was in her nightmare wanted her death.

She realized after a few seconds of blinding panic that what happened to her now was different. She’d never had the feeling in her dreams that it was her own healing magic, similar to the magic of the sword, that was trying to kill her. The mesh that attacked her in the nightmares came from something else, something horrific.

Drawing a steadying breath, Andrea directed the bright threads from herself and the sword straight into Ely’s abdomen.

And the wounds began to heal. Strand by strand, the bright magic of the sword and her gift untangled the snarl of Ely’s hurts and rewove them into smooth, healthy tissue. Muscle and bone, blood and organs, all moved and changed under her touch.

She’d never heal him completely; Andrea knew that. Ely would not leap from the bed, yank the tubes out of his body, and dance out the door in his hospital gown. But the healing had started, the magic giving the natural process a huge boost. With Shifter metabolism as strong as it was, Ely would continue healing on his own and live. His mate, children, and father would not have to perform a grieving ceremony today.

The machines started beeping a different tune, and the nurse exclaimed. Dylan let her go as Andrea opened her eyes.

Ely was regarding Andrea over his half-healed stomach, his eyes wide. His face was flushed, lips healthy red, gaze Shifter strong.

Andrea let go of Sean’s sword and sat back, blowing out her breath. The nurse fiddled with the machines in amazement, not bothering to explain to the rest of them what the change in numbers and sounds meant. Andrea’s hand stung where the sword had cut it, but the threads of magic had flowed away and dispersed.

Ely’s mate was crying, clinging to Ely in joy. Ely stroked her hair but was staring over the foot of the bed at Andrea in amazement.

“What did you do to me, Fae-girl?” he asked, voice ringing. “That f**king hurt!”

Sean walked Andrea out of the clinic with his hand firmly on her shoulder. Andrea’s eyes were dark with shock in her white face, her gait unsteady. But his girl held it together while they passed all those Shifters in the waiting room, who rose to watch them go by.

They’d all heard what had happened, and the weird thing was, they supposed Sean had worked some kind of miracle. But Sean knew it had been all Andrea. He’d felt the magic of the sword change when she touched it, felt the magic remake itself. The sword had helped drive life back into Ely, to seal his soul to his body.

Sean had no idea how that had happened, and by the look on Andrea’s face, she didn’t understand either.

The Shifters reached out to Sean. “Guardian,” some murmured. They touched him as he passed, but Sean kept walking, acknowledging them but not stopping.

“Goddess bless you, Sean Morrissey,” one man said. His mate, in the circle of his arm, brushed a hurried finger over Sean’s sleeve.

Sean and Andrea made it out of the clinic into the crisp air of a day turning cold. Texas winters were like that—a morning could begin warm and fine and end up bloody freezing by nightfall.

Dylan’s white pickup waited incongruously in the lot. When they reached it, Andrea collapsed against it, breathing hard in relief. Sean stashed the sword in the cab and went to her, rubbing her chilled arms. “You all right?”

“I don’t know. What the hell happened in there?”

“They think I worked a bloody miracle. You and me together.”

“Didn’t we?”

Her body was tight, her eyes flicking from feral wolf to human and back again. Sean had felt the sword’s magic go into her, had felt the tug of it through the hilt, pulling on his own flesh. It had been strange, frightening, and heady at the same time.

“You worked the miracle, Andrea.”

She shook her head, her warm ringlets brushing his hands. “I just used the sword to enhance my magic. The sword’s a Fae artifact; its magic is the same as mine. Maybe that’s what happened.” She shivered. “Stop looking at me like that, Sean. You want me to have answers, and I don’t.”

“There’s more to you than meets the eye, Andy-love, that’s for damned sure.”

Andrea gave him a shaky smile. “And you still want to claim me as mate?”

Fire streaked through his body. Andrea had saved Ely’s life, had given Sean’s cousin the chance to see his children mated and his grandchildren grow up. She’d made certain Sean hadn’t had to lift the sword and drive it into Ely’s heart. Sean could now ride home with his arm around his girl, happy and warm, not scoured empty inside, drained by grief. She had given him that gift.