Page 8

ENDER

Blood. So much blood.

Having the sort of job I did, the kind that meant taking lives, meant I wasn’t a stranger to it. But this was more somehow. Blood at every stage. Liquid and pooling. Dry and caked. Everything in between.

Hera moved around the gurney as she bit out orders for supplies. Locke and King moved at the speed of light to get them for her. But I stayed still, staring at the woman on the gurney.

I ground my back teeth as I tried to pull the pieces together, studying each injury. Wren’s clothes were in tatters, letting me glimpse the abused flesh underneath. The scars and the wounds. Too many to count.

“I’ll need several suture kits,” Hera said as she washed her hands and donned gloves.

My eyes narrowed. “You aren’t using supernatural healing?”

Hera’s gaze flicked to me. “I have both healer gifts and a medical degree. And if you look at your mate here, she’s going to need both.”

Mate.

The word was like a blade to the diaphragm. Inflicting the kind of hit that made it impossible to breathe. “She’s not my mate,” I gritted out.

Hera arched a brow. “Isn’t she?”

“No,” I spat.

“My senses must be off then,” Hera said as if unbothered.

Those in the supernatural community with more sensitive gifts could sense these sorts of things. Healers, empaths, seers. They could feel when two beings had a metaphysical link.

But they could also be wrong.

I was holding on to that possibility with everything I had. Because I wasn’t about to be linked to this woman. The spawn of evil. The heir to the Red River pack.

Hell fucking no.

“Hand me those scissors,” Hera ordered, her gaze lifting to me.

I stalled for a moment.

“If she’s not your mate, you’ll have no problem assisting me.”

I knew a challenge when I heard one. Mates were often too volatile when their other halves were injured or sick. They couldn’t be trusted to help in situations like these.

I reached for the scissors on a medical tray and handed them to Hera.

“Thank you.” She moved swiftly but carefully, lifting the hem of Wren’s tank and beginning to cut. “Locke, mix those herbs. I don’t want her to feel any of this treatment.”

He didn’t hesitate, just poured ingredients into a ceremonial bowl as Hera listed them off. But I couldn’t take my eyes off Wren.

Hera gently slid the tank top off in pieces, forced to peel it back in places because the fabric had stuck to Wren’s wounds. Fresh blood welled.

I’d never been averse to the substance, but I suddenly found myself queasy and scanning the room for the nearest trash can, just in case.

Locke handed Hera the bowl, and she began to chant. Sparks lit in the air, lifting and swirling before making their way into Wren’s skin.

My wolf snarled, clawing at my insides, dying to get free. “What the hell are you doing?” I snapped, moving to stop her, but King grabbed my arm and jerked me back.

“She’s helping.”

“The bitch is hurting her,” I shot back.

Hera wasn’t insulted, she simply let her hand fall as the last of the sparks sank into Wren’s skin. “They will fight her pain so I can do my work,” Hera said calmly.

I watched as a faint glow lit beneath Wren’s skin, the sparks flying through her system and battling some unseen force.

“Not his mate, my ass,” Hera muttered.

I clamped my mouth shut and yanked my arm out of Kingston’s grasp, not saying a word. But I felt the healer’s judgment.

She tipped her head back, lifted her arms, and began another incantation. This time, a soft breeze picked up in the room, and it was Locke who eyed Kingston skeptically. “You’re sure she knows what she’s doing?”

“She’s the best,” King said, pain in his voice as he gazed down at Wren.

The breeze morphed into something else. Something cleansing. The blood disappeared into nothing as if someone had placed Wren in a shower. The only problem was that we could see it all now. Every scar. Bruise. Gash. Scrape.

Locke sucked in an audible breath next to me, a pained sound emanating from his chest. Kingston let loose a snarl that told me his wolf was battling for supremacy. But I was frozen.

Fiery pain blazed up my throat, and I struggled to shove it down. “Are these—do they look worse than they are?”

Hera’s gaze snapped to me. “Are you stupid?”

My lip curled in a snarl. “This stuff can be faked.”

The healer showed no fear as she met my glare. “This woman has been through hell on Earth more times than I can count.”

She lifted a hand in the air. “From this past week.” Injuries began to glow in a blue light. Ones on the surface of Wren’s body and more below. Too many to count.

“Ones from long ago.” More injuries glowed in a pattern that could’ve been beautiful if it weren’t for the pain and destruction it signified. Hera lit up Wren’s body by time of incident, different areas glowing and scars illuminating along with things we couldn’t see.

That sick feeling intensified, bile churning.

“I don’t know how she’s still alive,” Hera said, her voice turning gentle.

Locke bared his teeth at me. “Still think she’s lying?”

The worst sort of pain swirled inside me—the kind laced with guilty barbs. No. I didn’t.

“Good,” Locke snapped. “Now, you can deal with the fact that you caused this.”

My gaze swept over Wren’s body, fresh blood pooling as Hera got to work. Broken. Bloodied. Because of what I’d done.

I moved then, needing to get out, away. I couldn’t face that I’d been the reason for it all. I tore down the hallway, away from the sounds I heard coming from the backyard and toward the front of the house.

Stumbling out the door, I struggled to pull in breath. I trippingly made it to the tree line, where I emptied the contents of my stomach. But the heaving didn’t stop. Couldn’t.

I wasn’t sure how long it lasted, but by the time I was done, my stomach ached, and my mouth tasted like death. But I deserved far worse.

Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I searched for a contact. This one had eyes and ears everywhere and a high price tag. But I’d happily pay it if it meant getting answers.

He answered with one word. “Speak.”

“I need to know the truth about Wren from Red River.”