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He answered my plea with a rush of love and reassurance, and his warm, soft body moulded to my side. I exhaled in relief.

I needed—needed Wynvail. But right now, I floated so high that that thought couldn't hurt me. So I didn't even try to come back down; I closed my eyes, relaxed against my mates, and let the sky carry me far away.

CHAPTER9

Istartled out of a nightmare some time before dawn, the sky still dark blue beyond the little window in the safe house bedroom. My heart hurled itself against my ribs over and over, and I panted like I’d just run a marathon.1

My hands shook where they were tucked between my chest and Emlyn's. I didn't know what woke me—I was ripped into consciousness right as Wynvail was about to die, pleading with me to save him—but then the bedroom door creaked, followed by a quiet, chiding hiss.

It didn't take longer than a second to figure out it was Wane. Everyone else was soft and muted in the bonds, where Wane's soul was spiky with panic, and loud with hatred and—shame. I hadn't felt those emotions from him once since we broke him out of the house in the Damned Realm, but they were familiar.

Harvey shifted behind me when I pushed down the covers and carefully crawled out. I glanced back to find he'd cracked open a silver eye. No doubt sensing Wane's distress too, in the psychic twin way they had.

"I'll take care of him," I whispered, leaning over to kiss his forehead. "Go back to sleep, Buttercup."

"I'll sleep when you both come back to bed," he murmured, stealing a quick kiss from my lips.

I wasn't going to get better than that; we were both worried about Wane. He'd been too normal, too unaffected by spending a hundred years tortured by Cronus and his minions. That level of suffering left a dark stain, and I knew acting as if nothing had happened was probably Wane’s coping mechanism, but I couldn't help but worry he was burying a lifetime's worth of trauma beneath a mask.

And masks only lasted so long before they cracked.

I pulled on clean knickers and one of Em’s shirts, and padded out of the bedroom, managing not to wake anyone else even when I hissed viciously at the soreness in my ass and pussy. My mates had cleaned me up, though, so I didn’t drip cum as I closed the door softly behind me. That was a positive.

I took a deep breath, pausing in the moonlit hallway. I needed to settle my own emotions if I was going to help Wane out of the dark feelings emanating from him, but my nightmare still had its claws sunk into me.

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, and clenched my jaw when emotion threatened to weaken me. My lungs were full of the ever-present scent of this house. Wynvail's scent.

He'd spent time here, and alotof time if the saturation of his scent was anything to go by. His ghost was everywhere, reminding me of what I'd lost. I couldn’t breathe without remembering his absence. But I had to pull myself together.

I found Wane in the living room on the second floor, his arms wrapped around himself and shadows thick around him. The only parts of him visible were swaths of bronze skin on his arms and throat, and his hardened silver eyes when he spun at the sound of a floorboard creaking under my careful footsteps.

I didn't say anything as I crossed the room, standing beside him by the window. The very edge of the sky was beginning to lighten, stained purple and pink, but the moon had yet to retreat. Edinburgh was beautiful in the morning, the silhouettes of hundred-years-old buildings making the city almost mythical.

I didn't dare touch Wane, not with the jagged emotions filling our bond. But I snuck a glance at him, and my eyes snagged on the back of his grey shirt where the fabric was soaked with blood even through his bandages.

"I haven't felt like this in years," he said finally, his voice gravelly. He sucked in a long breath, his eyes fixed on the city. "I think it's—fuck, it sounds awful to say it out loud, but—I think it's being around everyone again. Being around Harvey. I dreamt of—him."

"He's dead," I told him, keeping my voice careful and soft. "I promise, Wane, he's dead. Wynvail killed him."

Wane glanced at me sharply, messy chestnut hair dancing around his face and making him look so much like Harvey. "What?"

I sighed, pain burrowing into my chest as Wynvail returned to the forefront of my brain. "Wyn found out what Locke did to you and Harvey, and he killed him."

Wane scrubbed a hand over his face, pale overlapping lines forming my name on his skin. "And I treated him so awfully."

"If it helps, I stabbed him a bunch of times," I said with a faint smile. "Pretty sure I did worse damage than you."

Wane laughed so quietly I wasn't sure it counted. "I don't want to go back to the way I was," he admitted, his brown throat bobbing. "Barely touching anyone, scared of every loud noise, jumping at my own shadows. Hiding. Deprived."

My heart shattered to hear him admit that he'd spent all those years, the whole ten years we lived together, alone and craving touch, unable to accept it without remembering his abuse.

"What can I do?" I asked, clearing my throat when it came out raspy.

Wane's gaze drifted to the living room with its manic décor. "Do you think this house has a training room?"

"Wynvail decorated it for me; of course it has a training room." The words sliced through my chest, but I forced a smile.

"Can we spar?" Wane asked, sounding so vulnerable that I wanted to wrap him in my arms and squeeze him.