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“What are you doing to him?”
    She felt him smile. “Buying time . . . but return to your home, young one, before your mate loses his mind with worry. You and I will meet again soon enough.”
    Cora let go of the vision, suddenly desperate to do as he said, and flew back into the room with a cry to find Jacob kneeling in front of her, his hands on her shoulders as he called her name.
    “Good God, Cora, what happened?” Jacob asked, pulling her into his arms. His relief was palpable all around her. “I felt you . . . disappear.”
    She was shaking slightly. “I do not know exactly,” she said. “I was meditating, and . . . then I was in California.”
    He peered at her curiously. “Doing what?”
    She took a deep breath. “Witnessing something frightening . . . or, possibly something wonderful . . . I really have no idea which.”
    Jacob kissed the top of her head. “Try not to do that again, all right? I prefer having you here.”
    She smiled at him. “May I use your phone?”
    “Of course . . . may I ask . . . ?”
    She took the device from him and scrolled through his contacts until she found the number she was looking for. “I doubt he will answer, but . . . I need to speak with Jonathan.”
     • • • 
    “Stop,” Deven panted. “That’s enough.”
    “Hold on for one more moment . . .”
    “I can’t. It’s too much. Please, Nico.” His voice nearly cracked on the last two words, so bent by the strain of what they were doing that it would have been a relief to break down completely.
    The Elf withdrew, and the sudden absence of his psychic touch left Deven shaking and weak. He pulled away from Nico physically, turning onto his side and almost curling into a ball. Despite being drenched in sweat, he was freezing.
    “Why is it hurting him?” Jonathan demanded, moving out of his chair to sit down on the side of the bed and place a comforting hand on his Prime’s shoulder. Deven threaded trembling fingers with his and held on for dear life. The Consort looked like he wanted to throttle the Elf. “I thought this was supposed to be healing.”
    Nico turned his wide, dark eyes on Jonathan, and surprisingly, the Consort looked away. “Healing is not always a matter of pleasure,” Nico said. “To return a dislocated limb to its socket requires intense pain, does it not?”
    “It’s all right,” Deven murmured, shutting his eyes for a moment. “It took me seven centuries to fuck myself up this badly. It can’t be fixed in a few days.”
    “On the contrary,” Nico said, “You are doing very well. Thankfully your Elven blood enables me to connect with you on a deeper level—otherwise this might take months. At this rate you will be back to your life in another week at most.”
    “Should I feel different?” Jonathan asked, frowning.
    “Not yet. It will take a day or so for the stronger energy flow to become established—until then, my Lord Prime, I expect you will feel weak and possibly sick, but once the energy is moving as it should, things will improve quickly.”
    “I feel all right,” Deven started to say, but as he tried to sit up, dizziness hit him full force and his arms gave out, dropping him back to the bed on his face.
    Nico moved out from under his head and turned him onto his back. “Just rest,” he said, squeezing Deven’s hand. Deven fought the urge to grab on to his hand and keep him there, like a security blanket.
    Deven saw an odd look pass over Jonathan’s face while Nico tucked the Prime in, but the Consort merely asked, “Are there a lot of Weavers where you come from?”
    “No,” Nico replied. “And even fewer with my strength. Weaving has always been a rare gift. As you can imagine, directly touching energy this way is difficult and takes many years to learn.”
    “Is your brother a Weaver?” Deven asked sleepily, burrowing into the pillows, his mind and body both completely exhausted.
    He could hear Nico smiling.