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He cracked open a bloodshot eye and swore at me. “Let me sleep, heathen.”

His eyes closed before he could see the disbelieving look I gave him, so I dug my knuckles into his rib cage and shouted his name. The groan that rumbled out of his chest turned my blood into ice.

It was filled with pain. He was injured, but I couldn’t tellwhere.

Moving closer to him, I pressed the palm of my hand against his cheek and brushed the hair back from his face. “Wren, you’re hurt. You need to move. You’re lying in broken glass.”

Both eyes flew open, his gaze going straight to the overturned glass cabinet. Before I could say anything else, he shot to his feet, swaying like he’d spent the night consuming more of that faerie wine instead of hunting down caenim beyond the wards.

He leaned against the wall and examined the mess on the ground with dazed, half-lidded eyes. “What have you done to me?” he demanded. “Why have you made such a mess?”

I didn’t have it in me to react to the absurd accusation because my eyes were trained on the fleshy spike protruding from his side.

It was not a weapon, nothing like a sword or a knife. The spike looked like it was meant to be part of another creature, like a giant faerie-sized splinter, and was leaking a watery purple fluid from both the end shoved into his stomach and the raw side where it had broken off from its original owner.

“What happened?” I breathed.

“I think I should be asking you that question,” he drawled, struggling to keep his eyes open. He pointed a shaking hand towards the broken cabinet. “Clearly, you attacked me.”

“What?”

He swayed, eyes shuttering, and I didn’t have time to protect my hands and feet from the broken glass. I rushed over to him, wincing at the slices against my heels, and caught him before he fell back to the ground.

By the High Mother, he is heavy.

With my elbows underneath his armpits, I threw all of my strength into holding him upright as I dragged him backwards. My feet were screaming at the additional weight, pushing them deeper into the pieces of glass that had stuck to my skin, so I closed my eyes and put all of that pain into yelling out for Batre.

“Batre! Batre! Somebody!Help!”

Wren stirred in my arms, struggling to get to his feet again. I kept my hands on his biceps as he straightened, bracing a hand against the wall for support. He was floating in and out of awareness, so I screamed out for help again as I tugged his arm and started to walk towards the nearest door.

Balancing on one foot at a time, I brushed as much of the glass from my feet as I could, trying not to react to the sensation of blood trickling down from where it had broken through my skin.

Wren followed me obediently, his eyes beginning to glaze over.

The closest doorway wouldn’t open, though I shoved against it with all my might, so I urged him around the corner and down towards my bedroom instead. Halfway there, he gained back his awareness and shook off my hands.

Confident that he could stand by the time we made it to my room, I left him leaning against the doorframe and sprinted into the bathroom to wet some washcloths.

When I came back, he was staring at my bed suspiciously.

“You’re very pretty,” he said without looking at me. “So please don’t take this the wrong way.”

Frowning, I ignored his nonsense and started wiping the blood from his face with a warm washcloth.

He swatted my hand away. “Please,” he said, his voice clear and strong. “I have a mate.”

My chest ached with a sudden pang as I realised what he was thinking, despite the fact that he was still out of his mind. “So do I,” I muttered, turning my attention to the spike in his side.If I move it, he could bleed out, couldn’t he? How am I supposed to deal with High Fae injuries?

“You do?” Wren swayed against the doorframe. “He’s a very lucky man.”

“Come and lay on the bed, please.” I placed a hand on the small of his back and gestured towards it.

“I told you—”

“Wren!” I shouted, startling him. “Please. You’re injured, and I need to get help.”

He gave me a confused sideways glance. “Who?”