“Not that new,” she said. “Mercy sent it to me a while back because she thought it was funny. I just haven’t worn it yet.” She turned around so he could see the back, where a ferocious Hollywoodized werewolf bared its fangs. Below the werewolf, across her lower back and butt, it read Ware Wolf! Where Wolf? There W—agh!!!!

He laughed. He hadn’t expected to, not after the day they’d had. He closed the space between them and pulled her against him, her back to his front. He buried his face in her hair and just breathed in. They felt like the first easy breaths he’d taken since they’d walked into Wild Sign yesterday.

“Why don’t you lie down on top of the sleeping bag and I’ll see what I can do about your headache,” he murmured, stepping back so she could do just that.

He’d taken off his boots at the door of the tent, but he stripped off his jeans and shirt so he could move better.

His brother, Samuel, was the healer—their da’s mother’s magic taking that path in him. Samuel wasn’t a miracle worker; he couldn’t raise the dead or cure old age or heart disease. But he used his magic to help people. Their da said it was the reason that Samuel spent so much time on his own out in the world with the humans—because it was the humans who needed his touch. Their da wasn’t happy about it.

Charles couldn’t do what Samuel could do. But if his contrary powers were willing, he could ease his mate’s pain. He knelt beside her and put his hands flat on her shoulders.

“Do you need me to take off the T-shirt?” she asked, taking in his lack of dress.

“No,” he said. He didn’t need the distraction. “Just relax if you can.”

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, reaching for the well of dormant power that he seldom touched. This wasn’t his mother’s wild magic. This magic was hungry, violent, and raw; it came from the other side of his family line. Witchborn. But it wasn’t the pristine magic of white witches, though he’d never fed it with anyone else’s trauma. It had always felt like this. Not tainted, but not good, either, as if this magic was forever damaged by the blackness of his paternal grandmother’s heart. It had taken Brother Wolf to show Charles that it was not evil.

He knew his da would have been repulsed by it, and so he had always been careful to hide this magic from Da. Charles was very, very careful about the kinds of things that he used it for. Like Brother Wolf, it could be difficult to control, and out of control it was dangerous to others. Mostly he tried to forget about it.

But it was good for this.