Page 65 of Rising Reign

I bared my teeth at him. “If you die on me, I’ll never forgive you.”

“I’ll remember that when I haunt your ass,” Ender shot back.

“That’s not funny.” Tears pricked the corners of my eyes.

Ender squeezed my hand. “I’m not going anywhere, Kitten.”

Franco railed against the knives pinning him to the wall as he snarled and spat.

“You might want to get something else to hold him,” Clara suggested. “He’s not currently human.”

“Then what the hell is he?” Puck demanded of his sister.

“He’s got a demon controlling him through dark magic. There’s a way to remove the magic and the demon, but we need to confine him until your healer arrives,” Clara explained calmly.

King’s eyes narrowed on her. “How do you know all this?”

Clara looked him dead in the eyes. “Because a dark mage tried to kill me.”

39

ENDER

Fuck, my shoulder hurt. The ride back to Arcane territory hadn’t exactly been pleasant, even with the tonic Hera had given me for the pain. And the fact that an incapacitated Franco was in the back of the SUV hadn’t helped. I felt a little better now that he was chained in the gym, but not much.

Having a threat to Wren in the same twenty-mile radius was hard for me to stomach, but having him in the same house was nearly intolerable. And I knew why. Because she’d come to mean more to me than any other being on this planet and beyond.

“Would you lay back so I can deal with your wound?” Hera demanded.

I sent a scowl her way. “I think the possessed man down the hall is a little more important right now.”

Clara’s guards were keeping watch, along with Clyde and Juan, and Hera had given them another tranquilizer in case Franco came around again. But, somehow, it didn’t feel like enough.

“Spelled. Not possessed. Dark magic, remember?” Clara called from the corner as she flipped through Hera’s grimoire, on the hunt for the right unbinding spell.

“The term doesn’t matter. What does is getting the demon that wants Wren’s goddamned soul out of Franco,” I snarled.

“Please,” Wren said quietly. “We have people working on Franco. But your wound needs healing. Lie back.”

It was the slightly desperate air to her voice that had me obeying. As if I’d do anything to avoid causing Wren more pain—because I’d caused too much already.

I reclined on the medical gurney set up so my torso was raised in a half-sitting position. Hera moved in closer, Locke at her side, playing assistant. “Wren, grip his hand,” the healer instructed. “This is going to hurt like hell, and it’ll help if he has you as a tether.”

Kingston eyed Hera. “You really think that’s a good idea?”

Wren’s throat worked as she swallowed, but she instantly took my hand in both of hers. “It’s not your choice.”

I could feel the raised skin of the scars around her wrists, marks I now knew came from being shackled by her monster of a father. I breathed through that reminder and focused on Wren.

Her wildflower and rain scent that teased my nose. The slightly raised calluses surrounded by smooth, silky skin. Everything about Wren was complex. Nothing simple and easy to understand. She was the type of woman you discovered layer by layer and were constantly surprised by what you found.

Hera met my gaze as she held the damn ceremonial bowl. “Ready?”

“Can’t wait,” I said wanly.

“Don’t be a chicken,” Puck muttered. “You’ve had way worse than this.”

One corner of Brix’s mouth kicked up. “Remember when the hawk shifter took a chunk out of your neck?”