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CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

WREN

T he pounding at the door mimicked the ache in Wren’s head and he groaned as he rolled out of bed and stepped into a pair of trousers, not bothering to lace them up before he strode to the door to his chambers.

“What?” he barked and then balked at the grey tinge to Skye’s normally warm, brown skin.

By the Goddess. “Sonnet?” He swallowed, trying to mitigate the thickness in his throat.

Skye had been assigned to watch over the witch for the night.

Technically any human high priestess or witch could perform a binding ceremony, but this one, the one that would relieve his curse, was special. He needed Sonnet for it to work.

“I’m fine,” the smooth voice said and Wren peeked around the doorway to find the witch standing with her arms folded across her chest and in a similar bedraggled state to Wren. If she was okay, then why were they here?

“I had to bring her, it’s my watch,” Skye said, but his voice sounded hollow and Wren widened the door, ushering the pair of them inside. “Gabe is with Zennon.”

“What is it?”

Skye shook his head. “I don’t know. Goddess, I don’t know.

But it’s bad. I can’t see clearly. Not with her magic so wrapped around everything.

” The words were fact rather than accusatory but Sonnet frowned all the same.

“I don’t know. There’s a pit in my stomach and a fire in my chest and my mouth tastes like blood. ”

The silver gleam in the witch’s eyes looked like concern and Wren understood the feeling. He’d never seen Skye quite so undone.

“Where’s Neah?” Skye asked, whipping his head around to stare piercingly at Wren.

“Neah?” Wren’s heart thudded harder. “In her chambers. It’s tradition the night before the ceremony. You know that.”

Skye jolted, a wave of magic rolling off him and rippling through the air before his eyes turned white and his voice echoed faintly. “We need to go there. Now. Before it’s too late.”

Too late . “What do you mean, too late?” Wren swung open the door again, marching out and trying to slow the roll of his thoughts as they began the journey to Neah’s room. She could take care of herself and if something was wrong, he would know. Right?

Skye began to run and Wren’s eyes pricked, burning, as panic harshed his breaths and the pain in his head grew sharper. Sonnet struggled to keep up with their pace, her pants shallow, and eventually Skye scooped her up into his arms and continued on unheeded.

Wren had seen Skye in the depths of visions, or his feelings, before, but never like this. Even when Zennon had been attacked previously, it hadn’t been so eerie, like the Goddess herself moved within his body.

They rounded a corner and Wren growled, the scent of blood thick despite the ordinariness of the closed door. It burst open with a wave of Skye’s hand and Sonnet cried out as they spotted the crumpled form on the floor in a widening pool of blood.

The material of her dress was stiff, having absorbed most of it, and beneath her flaming hair the pallor of her face was extreme.

Romi, Wren realised. Not Neah. But his mate had been here, the scent of her rage and fear potent in the room, and Wren could smell two others, males. Human.

Skye held out a hand to Sonnet who suddenly seemed very small in the wake of the room’s horror.

She clasped it even as her fingers shook and Skye inhaled deeply as the magic in the air amped up.

The energy prickled his skin and ruffled his hair, a living breathing thing that was as unnerving as it was impressive.

A wave of blue light streaked with silver washed out of the two witches and fell over Romi’s form, the knife in her shoulder lifting out with an invisible hand and the skin knitting together.

The barely perceptible rise of Romi’s chest grew stronger and Wren allowed himself one moment of relief before his worry flooded him once more.

“She’s alive, but just. We’ve done what we can, but she needs a real healer.” Skye bent in half, as if the cost of all that magic had physically weighed on him. “Good job,” he murmured to Sonnet and she nodded as she reached for Romi’s hand. “One last spell?”

Sonnet squeezed Skye’s hand and any other time Wren would have been thrilled to see them getting along so well. “I have the energy. Use it.”

Skye obeyed, his magic arranging itself into a glowing net that encompassed Romi’s body, lifting her into the air and drifting ahead of them easily. The strain on Skye’s face suggested otherwise, though.

“I need to talk to her.” Wren scrubbed a hand over his face. “Neah was here. She wouldn’t have let this happen if she could avoid it. Something’s wrong.”

Sonnet stepped away from Skye, his hand stretching out in the space between them before she dropped it and pressed a palm to Wren’s temples and her other hand to his chest. A faint tingle of magic, far less than what he’d just witnessed, swept through him and Sonnet nodded.

“She’s alive. Your bond is intact. How do you feel? Any pain?”

“Just my head. And my side.”

Sonnet bit her lip. “Phantom injuries. They hurt her.”

Claws ripped through his skin and Skye jerked Sonnet back, shielding her with his body as Wren’s vision swam red.

“This doesn’t help her,” Skye snapped, eyes flashing even as the lines around them deepened with exhaustion.

“Let’s get Romi to the healers. You find Jamison and tell him what’s going on.

We will find her. Control. Yourself.” The last words were a snarl worthy of a shifter when Wren’s skin rippled and he fought the shift, nodding jerkily.

“Okay. Okay.” He pushed out a long breath. “I’ll meet you in the healer’s wing.” Skye nodded and made to leave when Wren stopped him with a quick touch of his shoulder. “And Skye? Thank you.”

The witch softened, clasping Wren’s hand briefly before hurrying away. They’d got there in time to save Romi. Wren just prayed they would do the same for Neah.

In less than twenty-four hours, Wren should have been curse free and tied irrevocably to the woman he loved. So naturally, everything had gone to shit.

He’d awoken Jamison, his face turning grey when Wren relayed what had happened, and he didn’t need to speak the words for Wren to know that Neah’s father blamed him.

Wren blamed himself too.

But guilt wouldn’t help Neah. He could wallow later, for now, he needed to find his mate.

By the time they’d found Romi, she’d been close to death and had nearly bled out in the hours between her wound and their rescue. Without Skye’s warning, Romi would be dead and they would have had even less time to pick up the trail of whoever had taken Neah.

When the seamstress’ eyes fluttered open, they all breathed a sigh of relief.

Zennon squeezed Romi’s hand, shoulders slumped forward as she watched the rise and fall of the other woman’s chest. Romi’s voice was weak, but clear.

“Neah.”

“We know,” Zennon said, voice soft as she searched Romi’s face and Wren felt uncannily like they were intruding on a private moment, but it couldn’t be helped. They needed to know what had happened. “Can you tell us what you remember?”

Romi nodded and then winced, likely as the movement pulled at the spot in between her chest and shoulder where her wound had been.

It had healed, but the soreness would last a few days.

“It’s all my fault. I’m so sorry.” Tears filled her eyes, making the light blue irises look more like an ocean. “I let him in and?—”

“Who?” Wren asked and then softened his tone when Zennon’s head snapped up to glare at him. “You’re not responsible for this, Romi. The person who took her is to blame.”

She sucked in several deep breaths and when she spoke again, her voice was steadier.

“Two guards. I let one in when he knocked, he was in uniform—I didn’t know—I should have—” Romi bit her lip and Zennon leaned in, murmuring to her in words pitched low enough that Wren couldn’t hear even if he’d wanted to invade their privacy. “The guard had a knife.”

All at once, Wren knew what had happened. “He threatened you to make her compliant.”

Romi nodded. “Then a second guard arrived and he had these chains, Neah put them on and she–she went completely white, like bone. They said it would stop her from shifting.”

Skye and Sonnet shared a look and Wren frowned. “What?”

“It’s just that, if the chains stop her from being able to shift, it probably stops other elements of her magic.” Skye’s brows pinched together. “Like her ability to heal.”

Wren began to pace, aware of everyone’s eyes on him as he fought for control.

They had nearly killed Romi. What were the chances that Neah was uninjured?

Remembering the tenderness in his side and head, Wren grimaced.

It didn’t seem likely, which meant Neah couldn't shift and was healing at a human’s speed rather than a shifters’.

He looked to Jamison, who sat quietly in a chair by Romi’s bedside, and wondered aloud, “Do you have a way to account for all the guards’ whereabouts yesterday?”

The captain sat straighter and nodded. “There’s a rota. But the men often swap positions if they have a preferred shift or location.”

In other words, useless , Wren thought but bit his tongue.

“Maybe Romi could identify the guards if we assemble them?” Gabe suggested and then balked at the wide-eyed terror that flooded Romi’s face at the prospect of seeing her attacker. “Or not,” he said weakly.

“No.” Wren held up a hand. “That’s a good idea.”

“You can’t be serious,” Zennon stood abruptly, her chair toppling over from the force of the movement. “I want to find Neah just as much as you but you can’t force Romi to?—”

“Not Romi,” Wren said, cutting her off. “Me.”

He’d scented the men in Neah’s room when they’d been there earlier and found Romi. If he shifted, he was certain he could tell which of Jamison’s men was responsible. And then they would do what they had to in order to discover their allegiances.