Cursed Legacy: The Windhaven Witches Series by Carissa Andrews (best book club books txt) 📕

wiped my memory, maybe things would start to make sense. I wish Wade was better so he could make his dad come to us, since the Angel of Death clearly doesn’t answer to me at all. Of course, that’s only one of the many reasons I wish Wade was better.

Setting the box aside, I lean forward and pick up Wade’s hand. His palm is cool and almost clammy, but as soon as our skin touches, he sighs. It’s as if he’s somehow aware of my touch and it comforts him. At the very least, it lightens my heart to know that even in this state, even in whatever pain he must be in, I bring him a little bit of peace. I only wish this wasn’t all my fault.

“You should have stayed away from me,” I whisper, stroking the edge of his thumb with my pointer finger. As much as I knew it—as much as he knew it—we just couldn’t seem to do the safe thing.

Wade groans, arching his back slightly.

I run my hand across his forearm, but his face crumples and his head tips backward. He practically buries the top of his head in the pillow as his torso lifts off the bed. Suddenly, the monitor with his heart rate shows a sharp spike and the rest of the machines all around us spring to life.

Still holding his hand, I kick my chair back, letting it skid across the tile floor. Before I can make any other moves, two nurses rush in from the hallway.

“Take a step back, please,” one of them says, sliding between me and the bed. Her arm is forceful as she practically knocks me back.

I clutch at the edge of the deep window well, staring in horror as the two of them hover over Wade. The second nurse rotates away from him, turning to the readouts from the heart machine and checking them over.

The next thing I know, Doctor Lockstad hurries in. She marches straight to Wade, but there’s no hint of panic in her face at all. It’s as if, at this point, she’s used to whatever this is. In some small way, it takes a bit of the edge off my own panic. Her eyes narrow as she pulls out a small pen light and lifts his eyelids, shining the light in his eyes with a quick flick of her wrist.

“He needs his next round of steroids and some sedation. Make sure his fluid intake is increased as well,” she says to the nurse who took my place at the bedside.

“On it,” she says, nodding to the doctor and pivoting to one of the plastic bin units beside the bed. She pulls out a number of medical supplies, then exits the room quickly. When she comes back, she has a couple of small vials in her hand.

Dr. Lockstad slowly checks over Wade’s vitals as he flails hard against her. “Hang tight here, Wade. It’ll be all over soon,” she says, her voice calm and steady.

It doesn’t seem like he hears her at all. He continues to arch his back, rocking from side to side as if fighting an imaginary beast. Then, one of his arms flies up to the mark on his chest. He claws at his hospital gown, tugging at it until the gown releases slightly, revealing angry red lines surrounding the mark. The black webbing is etched deeper into his skin, like a poison trying to infect the rest of his body.

The nurse who had been checking the machine readouts grabs his arms, trying to keep them down.

“Where are we at with the restraints?” Dr. Lockstad asks, her forehead now a cluster of concern.

“I’m sorry. The ward has been so crazy today. You know how it is on Christmas. I’ll go get them now,” the nurse responds.

As she disappears down the hall, I step up, grabbing onto Wade’s wrists and holding them so he can’t hurt himself. My thoughts are a tangled mess, but I can’t help but be surprised by the single word. “Restraints? Are you sure that’s necessary? He’s been so quiet up until now,” I say, struggling to keep his arms down.

The nurse hands the doctor a needle.

“Just until we can get these episodes under control,” Dr. Lockstad says, injecting the medication into Wade’s IV. The nurse hands her a second injection and she goes through the motion all over again.

It takes a few minutes for whatever they gave him to work, but I can tell the instant it does. The rigidity of his muscles relaxes and the fight left in his arms dwindles.

“It’s okay, Wade. We’re here,” I whisper, removing my right hand to run it across his cheek. “I’m here.”

He sighs, his forehead relaxing slightly.

“He knows you’re here,” Dr. Lockstad says, her lips turning up slightly.

“I wish I could do more,” I say, refusing to divert my gaze from his face.

How could we have come this far? This morning he was fine. More than fine, he was perfect. And I was just about to tell him about the pregnancy…

I’d give anything to be back at that point. I wish I had told him.

The nurse who left to find restraints returns, holding them up for all to see. “Found some down on the third floor.”

“See, he’s calmed down now. Does he really need those?” I ask, wishing I could throw them in the trash.

“It’s for his own safety. If he strains himself too much or claws at his skin before we can make it in here…” Dr. Lockstad begins, her voice trailing off.

“I’m not going anywhere. If that’s all it is, I’ll be here to keep him from harming himself,” I say, pleading with her with my eyes. “It’s the least I can do.”

Dr. Lockstad shifts her gaze from me, to Wade, then back again. She sighs. “All right. If you think you can handle this task, we’ll give it a try.”

I tip my head and exhale in relief. “Thank you.”

“But if it gets to be too