“Just get me
inside.” His voice was low and hoarse.
Kicking open the weakened door, Ivy steered Hugh into the dark hallway. She’d hoped that he’d gain some comfort from being back in his own territory, but he stared around blankly, as if he didn’t recognize his surroundings.
“Door,” he rasped.
It took some effort to force the twisted door closed again. By the time Ivy had finally bludgeoned it back into its frame, Hugh had disappeared.
“Hugh?” she called, her pulse picking up with anxiety. She hurried down the corridor, glancing into the empty kitchen and dark lounge along the way. “Hugh?”
She found him leaning against the door down to the basement, one hand fumbling with the latch. “Hugh, what are you doing? Do you want to shift?”
He flinched as though she’d fired a pistol past his ear. “No. No. Just need to find somewhere quiet.”
She blinked at him. Even to her own shifter-acute hearing, the house was dead silent. “It isn’t quiet enough here?”
He swung his head in an emphatic arc. “Can still feel them.”
“Who?”
He flashed a shadow of his edged, sardonic smile, though his eyes were haunted. “Everyone.”
Is he delirious? There was a pallor to his face and a feverish jerkiness about his movements that made her deeply uneasy. Maybe I should have forced him to the hospital.
“Well, I can’t carry you in human form, and if you try to go down those steps in this state, you’re going to break your neck,” she said, firmly taking his arm. “Come on, Hugh. Come and lie down and…maybe you’ll feel better.”
He let out a short, hollow laugh, but let her steer him away from the basement. There was no way she could haul his much bigger and heavier body up the stairs while in human shape, so she guided him to the couch in the living room.
“You’re hurt,” he said suddenly, as she knelt to take off his shoes.
Looking down, Ivy realized that her torn jacket and top had slipped, exposing her shoulder. A deep purple bruise from Gaze’s bludgeoning tail was blooming below her collarbone. The basilisk hadn’t dared to sink his fangs into her for fear of her poisonous blood, but he’d still managed to knock her around before Ash had arrived.
“It’s nothing,” she said, rolling her aching shoulder. “Don’t worry. It’ll heal in no time.”
Hugh pulled her clothing away from her shoulder. Before she’d realized what he intended to do, he put his palm flat against the bruise.
She didn’t feel anything—but a wordless, animal scream of pain tore from Hugh’s throat. Snatching his hand away, he curled over, burying his head in his arms as if warding off a blow.
“Hugh!” She grabbed his shoulders, holding him tight as he shook. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“I can’t heal,” he said. “Ivy, I can’t heal.”
That deep, ugly gash at the base of his horn. She arrived before Gaze had been able to finish the job, but he’d still half-severed it. Silver light had poured from the wound, the shining length draining to dull, dead grey…
“It’s your horn, isn’t it,” she said, her throat dry. “You can’t heal because he damaged your horn.”
He nodded, face still hidden in his hands. “I can’t focus my power. It builds up in my head, but I can’t let it out.”
“But it’ll get better, right?” she asked. “With time?”
He uncurled at last. The utter despair in his eyes froze her heart.
“No,” he said, simply. “It won’t.”
I was too late.
Ten seconds earlier, and I would have saved him.