Page 39 of Rising Reign (The Wolves of Crescent Creek #3)

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?”

“Or when the grizzly shifter got your hindquarters?” King reminded me. “You couldn’t sit down for two weeks straight. ”

“Enough, boys,” Hera muttered. “Three, two—” She didn’t wait for one. Didn’t let me brace. She poured the concoction onto my wound, letting it flood the oozing opening and spill out, running down the rest of my body.

Lights flashed in front of my eyes as the pain took hold, an agony so vicious that it stole the air right from my lungs. My wolf let out a howl, and some part of me was aware that my human half echoed the sound.

“Hold him down!” Hera shouted.

Strong hands gripped me, pressing me into the hard mattress, keeping me in place. Wren’s hand gripped mine harder. “Breathe, Ender. Just breathe. Hold on. You’re getting through it. Your wound is being cleaned so it can heal. Just keep breathing.”

Something about her voice held me there, kept me from fading.

Hera began chanting, and the pain shifted, not lessening exactly, but the quality changed. It went from sheer, blinding agony to burning pain as if pieces were being burned right out of me. And maybe they were—the infected ones, the bits where dark magic had gotten a foothold.

My vision tunneled, but I could still see the concoction Hera had poured over me, lifting now. It glowed. But within the glow was darkness. A smoky, inky void that had been inside me.

Hera chanted louder, and then an explosion sounded. And then…it was gone. All of it simply vanished, and I collapsed back against the bed, breathing heavily. Panting. Struggling to get air.

But then Wren’s forehead pressed to my temple. “You did it. You made it through.”

“I feel like someone exploded a bomb in my chest,” I croaked.

“Kind of looks like someone did, too,” Brix muttered.

Wren straightened, sending him a scathing look. “Not helping.”

Brix held up both hands. “I don’t think lying is gonna help.”

“I’m fixing it,” Hera muttered, sounding exhausted all of a sudden. She painted a salve on my chest that smelled sweet, almost comforting. But that comfort died when she lit the damn stuff on fire.

“What the fuck?” Brix snarled.

“Holy hell,” Locke rasped.

I blinked up at her. “It doesn’t hurt. It feels…good.”

Hera sent me a tired smile. “It’s restoring you.”

The flames danced in a bluish color before snuffing out and revealing completely healed muscle and skin. The only thing left was a small star mark on my shoulder.

“A reminder of what you survived,” Hera said softly.

Wren clasped my hand tighter. “How do you feel?”

I did a mental sweep. The pain was completely gone. I felt a little sore and tired, but not nearly as much as I should be. “I feel good,” I told her honestly.

Relief swept through Wren, her shoulders slumping as tension fled. Air left her lungs with a whoosh. “Thank the gods.”

“And you need to rest,” Clara ordered, guiding Hera to a chair. “Drink this. It’s a blend my healer has found helps replenish both her magical and human stores.”

Hera collapsed into the chair. “Thank you.”

Clara tapped the open grimoire. “I found the spell. But it’ll take more out of Hera, and she needs to rest first.”

Locke studied the page in the book. “You’re sure it’s dark mages?”

It was Hera who answered. “Yes. The spell I just performed only works on dark magic. That’s why it exhausted me so much. Dark magic takes the greatest toll.”

King muttered a curse and ran a hand through his dark hair. “One more enemy back in the picture.”

But it was so much worse than that. Because if they were after Wren specifically, and in a way that would harness her soul and powers, it meant only one thing. I met Wren’s gaze. “They know you’re an empath.”