[This post is from Seamus’s point of view.]
“Why do I get the feeling you’re lying to us about that?”
There was no threat in Matt’s voice, though Seamus still didn’t like the tone or the feeling like he’d been caught out in a lie—he had been, but he still didn’t like being caught in it. Seamus stared at the other man, feeling an uncomfortable flutter in his stomach.
He knows. Somehow, he bloody well knows.
“Druids,” he muttered under his breath, the term less a title and more a curse.
“Seamus—”
He shook his head, cutting J.T.’s question off as he braced and wrapped Thom’s knee. “Not now,” he muttered. “Maybe not ever again, I don’t know. I still have the sense but healing’s been beyond my reach for—for a long time.”
The words tasted like ashes on his tongue. A healer’s sensing magic was still something that he had, something he’d never lost—he’d wondered in times long past if he’d managed to retain them because it helped the warrior he’d become gauge the weaknesses of his opponents. But the ability to actually heal another—
That was long gone, left somewhere long ago and far away.
He fastened the bandages and glanced up again, feeling the weight of their eyes, their gazes on him. Seamus took a breath. “Are you ready to move him?” he asked, his voice firm.
J.T. stared back at him for a long moment and then nodded. “Yes.”
“Good. Let’s get the hell out of this storm.” Seamus glanced back toward the ladder, then at the other men. “The Hunt has the watch. We should be all right.”
“Hopefully, the storm’ll let up soon,” Matt murmured, watching the clouds. He didn’t sound confident that it would.
Neither was Seamus, for that matter, but time would tell in that, just as it would in all things.
“All right,” he muttered. “Let’s do this.”
