“Otto was a fucking golem?”

“Apparently. She lost a lot of blood and used a lot of magic.”

“I have some transfusion potions. Take her up to the bedroom. I see the dried blood, but where are the cuts?”

“I took care of that already.”

“Come on,” Stevie says, leading us into the house, and I can’t help it when I fall asleep against Dax’s perfect, warm chest. He feels so good, so safe. Who would have thought the most comforting place for me would be in between a demon’s arms.

15. Dax

Chapter 15

I take two steps at a time as I hold Blair tightly against my chest. I’ve never truly experienced fear until today. While Blair isn’t as frail as a human, she isn’t fully immortal, either. Witches can live for an extremely long time; the oldest witch I met was around two millennia. While they can live an expansive life, they can also be killed fairly easily, at least in terms of other supernaturals.

She looks so fragile as I place her delicately on her bed. If that fucker was anything other than a golem, I would have made him suffer. But golems are nonfeeling—they’re made beings—their only motivation is the will of whatever being created them.

I was so focused on getting Blair the fuck out of there and getting rid of the golem, I didn’t even get to read the scroll. The scroll always has the name of the golem’s creator on it. It looked like Blair was able to read it before I set it aflame, but I won’t know more until she wakes up.

Her breaths are even, and her chest rises steadily, making me feel better. I push her dark, messy hair from her face and cup her cheek. A sound from the side of the room has me on high alert until I realize it’s her familiar sliding from his cage. He quickly slithers over the floor and onto the bed. His body gently constricts her arm, comforting her.

Her familiar narrows his eyes at me and hisses. “Don’t look at me like that,” I tell him, giving a glare back.

The snake’s tongue sticks out, but he rests his head on her palm. What I know of familiars is that they have a direct link to their magical counterpart. Almost like a telepathy of emotions, but I don’t think they can actually communicate. Knowing Blair, though, she can probably talk to the fucking thing. She has surprised me at every turn with what I know of stereotypical witches.

Stevie opens Blair’s bedroom door and gives me a tight smile. “Fez, calm down, she’s fine,” she coos at the snake. Her words comforting him as his tongue swipes between Blair’s thumb and pointer finger.