Page 11 of The Enemy to the Living (The Wild Hunt #2)

Quinn

B y the time I make it back to the pack house, I’m in a full-on spiral. Knowing that doesn’t help. If anything, it makes it worse because what if someone sees me? What if they see the bruises I can feel throbbing under my skin?

I hold my breath when I open the door to the building. I can’t hear anything, but my flat is a couple of floors up, and I can’t trust my senses right now.

They’re getting worse. Everything is getting worse.

I swallow a whimper and try not to focus on the way my eyes are burning. Should I have let Asher walk me home? Absolutely not. I was seconds away from breaking down on him as it was. He’s already seen me lose tonight. I don’t want him to think even worse of me.

The first set of stairs jostles my ribs, which I know aren’t broken but still hurt.

I pause at the foot of the second. I can just about hear voices that are no doubt coming from Kieran and Lucien’s flat.

Drew, Sam, and Adam have the one next door, and Ophelia and Dante are across the hall.

I think the one they’ve just bought further down will be Vince and Dax’s once they get things together and mate and move in.

That just leaves me at the end, near the stairs going up to the next floor.

I suck in a breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm my heart.

No running. Sam will already know I’m in the building if he’s here.

But if I move with purpose, I might make it inside before anyone thinks to come out of the flat.

On the next breath, I move. I take the stairs quickly but without running or tripping, then stride down the hall, trying to keep all my movements even. My key is already in my hand, and my hand shakes as I push it into the lock. Sweat prickles my scalp. What if Drew comes outside? What if Kieran—

The door to my flat finally unlocks and when it swings open, I let out a sob. I rush inside before any more sound can escape, then shove it shut behind me. I just have to lock it and get to my bedroom because that’s as far away from everyone else as I can be.

That or the bathroom are the only two rooms where I’m absolutely certain they can’t hear me.

I lock the door and make it into my bedroom before it really starts. Misery overcomes me all at once—the pain of those hits tonight, sure, but it’s more than that.

I lost. I lost, and Asher saw, and that somehow hurts more than anything else.

I shove my face into a pillow, body shaking with each desperate sob.

It’s not that, either. It’s all of it. Asher was right.

I haven’t told the pack what I’m doing because they won’t understand.

Kieran will ask me to see a doctor again and talk about what I went through.

What I went through . Talk about watching my parents die. Talk about how my dad told me it wasn’t my fault seconds before Tamesis tore out his throat. Talk about how my mum sobbed and couldn’t get a word out, and even though I was there, I didn’t say goodbye—

How will that help ? Tamesis is dead. And talking about how Hale taunted me about it, how he told me I should have made Drew stay, that all my suffering was because Hale had been scorned… That won’t help me, either. He’s dead, too.

They’re all dead. Except me.

I roll onto my side. Tears leak down to my ear. That’s the worst of it, sometimes. Why not me? Hale only killed my parents to hurt Drew—he didn’t give a fuck about me. None of them did. So why didn’t he have Tamesis kill me, too?

At least if he had, I wouldn’t be feeling this now. This sick, trapped, desperate need, and I don’t know what it’s for or what to do with it or where—

Someone knocks at the door. The front door, at least, and something in my soul settles that I hear it all the way in the bedroom, but I don’t know if that means that whoever’s there can hear me crying, too.

I put my hand over my mouth, trying to quiet down. I won’t calm, not for a while yet.

Then I hear him. “Quinn?”

It’s Drew. Of course it’s Drew. I squeeze my eyes shut, crying harder, even though I’m trying not to. I can’t talk to him. Not right now. Not ever, it seems like because the worst of it all, the biggest, darkest, deepest secret I’m keeping?

I do blame him.

I don’t want to, but I do.

“Quinn?” Drew calls again, a little louder.

Give up. I want him to go. I can’t feel my wolf, but frustrated anger is surging up alongside all the sorrow, and some perverse part of me likes that I can feel that still because it’s better than the alternative. Right? It has to be.

He knocks again, and then there’s silence. It’s heavy. I don’t know if he’s gone or if he’s waiting, and if he’s waiting and I get close to the door, then he’ll smell the sadness on me and demand to be let in.

And then I’ll…

Fuck. I don’t know.

I don’t know, either, how long it is before I push up into a sitting position and drag myself into the bathroom to clean up. Even after I’ve come out of the shower, my face is puffy, and I sniffle as I stare at my reflection.

There’s no trace of my wolf in my eyes. No hint of silver, and I don’t know how long I’ve spent looking for that these past few months.

What if I told them?

Back to the doctor. Sam won’t know what to do—he just doesn’t know enough about wolves, not yet—so it’ll be seeing a slew of magic users, too, all of them poking and investigating and offering vague platitudes and—

Never understanding how it feels.

Kieran won’t understand, though he’ll think he will. He knows what it is not to have a wolf, but he never had one to begin with. Drew will try, I know that. He’s never lost his. Been out of sync, sure, but never to this point.

My hands tighten around the porcelain of the sink, and I push away before I can do something stupid like punch the mirror. No explaining that away, is there?

I put on pyjama bottoms and a T-shirt and consider spending the rest of the night in here alone. The fights will still be going on at Mischief & Mayhem, I imagine, but I’m not going back there. It’s almost midnight. I won’t sleep for a few hours yet, if I do at all tonight.

Someone else knocks at the door, and I pause in the action of picking up the TV remote. This knock is quieter but not timid.

“Quinn?”

It’s Ophelia. Guilt floods me because I like her. I think she could understand, if I knew her better. She’s from a pack, but she’s not a wolf, and she tries. I know she tries to reach me.

She also can’t scent my emotions, so I move closer to the door but don’t open it. Despite the shower, I’m still achy, and she’ll spot that right away.

“Hey,” I say. “I’m just, I was about to go to bed.”

Ophelia is silent for a moment, probably wondering why I won’t open up. And about the lie I just told her. She knows I don’t go to sleep early. We’re all on weird times, what with how many vampires are in this pack, but mine are stranger than most.

“You were?” she replies. “Oh. I was gonna ask if I could hang out.”

I press my forehead against the door. I just want to be alone.

No, I don’t.

But I can’t let her in. I can’t . There’s no explaining it, just that I know if I try to open the door right now, my body won’t do it. If she gets inside and asks me about the bruises, about why I’ve been crying, I won’t be able to answer.

I close my eyes and pray my voice doesn’t sound weak when I say, “Sorry. Another time?”

Please, please, please. I need her to agree and walk away, and I know she’ll tell Kieran, but I can’t deal with this right now.

“Yeah,” Ophelia replies, voice hesitant. It’s firmer when she says, “I’ll hold you to that, Quinn.”

“I know you will.”

I listen as her footsteps recede and as a door further down opens, then closes again.

I think it’s to her flat, but I can’t be sure.

Probably not. Probably they’re all up in Kieran’s flat—him and Sam and Drew and Ophelia, probably Adam and Lucien and Dante too—and she’s reporting back, telling them I wouldn’t let her in.

I spin on my heel and go back into the bedroom. I need—I need to get this itch out from under my skin. I need things to be too loud. Too dark. Too much. I can’t handle the silence and I can’t handle people who know me, but I can go somewhere else. Somewhere there’s neither.

Beyond the Veil is still open, even though it’s an hour after midnight. I climbed out of my bedroom window in the end, which may well make things worse when the rest of the pack get to me, but I know they were just waiting for me to walk past and would have pounced on me.

Sparrow’s eyes widen when they see me enter. The place is still full of fae, some of whom regard me with mild interest, but I keep my head low and head for a stool at the bar.

The music isn’t quite as loud as I’d like, and the feeling of being watched has me on edge, but at least here no one will try to pry.

“A drink?” Sparrow asks, appearing before me. Their dark eyes linger on the bruise on my cheek. I scowl, and they look away.

“Beer.”

“You—”

“Please.”

Sparrow presses their lips together, then nods.

One beer still won’t get me drunk. Even without a wolf, that would be the case.

I smile when they put the cold glass in front of me—or turn up the corners of my lips, at least—and they whisk themselves away again, serving a fae with shimmering wings further down the bar.

I nurse my beer for an hour or so, and I don’t know if Sparrow’s projecting some kind of defensive aura or if I just look that unapproachable, but no one bothers me the entire time.

Good. After a while, I manage to tune out all of my thoughts, letting the music wash over me, eyes either on fae drifting on or off the small dance floor or on my beer.

The fragile peace I’ve found shatters when Maurice walks into the bar.

Maybe Maurice won’t know me on sight or won’t be expecting me to be here, but I can’t risk it. He’s got some magic, so he spends time with Sam—he’s brought by the few fae the pack’s been helping out—and he knows Asher…

What if Asher went back tonight and told them all what I’ve been doing? I know he only followed me to find the place again. He doesn’t have to keep my secret. It would make more sense if he didn’t .

I keep my eyes down as Maurice approaches the bar and speaks with Sparrow.

He doesn’t look in my direction. A troll stands by a back door, one that Spectra, the fae who runs this bar, comes through a few moments later.

She smiles at Maurice, and he walks over to her, both of them disappearing through the door.

My breaths are fast and shallow. I press my hands against the top of the bar for something to hang onto.

Sparrow is before me in the blink of an eye. They put their hands on the bar top too, close enough that the tips of our fingers almost touch. “Do you hear me?”

“Yes.” I focus on the sound of their voice. “I-I just—”

“Listen. To your left. What do you hear?”

Two fae. Talking. One has sparkling wine. I hear the bubbles.

“Talking. Wine.”

“Good. Look past me. What do you see?”

The fae with the wings from earlier. She’s spinning in the centre of the dance floor, and some of the other fae have stepped back to watch. She moves like ice skaters I’ve seen on TV.

“Fae. Dancing.”

“Great.” Sparrow moves one hand slowly and places it over mine. The touch is a shock. Their hand is warm, and for a second, I’m certain I feel the tingle of magic, though that is not something I can usually do. “Feel that?”

“Magic?”

“Just a prickle,” Sparrow says. They smile. “And your other hand?”

“The bar.”

“It’s oak, you know. Spectra harvested it herself. Asked the tree and everything.”

I blink. I feel dizzy still and faintly sick, but Sparrow’s words have done the trick. “Asked…?”

“Have to be polite,” Sparrow says, like it’s something I should know. “Otherwise, it might not stay a bar top at all.”

“You—What?”

Sparrow’s smile widens. They’ve got me now, and they know it. “Most of the things in here Spectra made herself. Us fae, we connect to the earth, even here. She asked the oak to be the best bar top it could be. It’ll never break, never give anyone so much as a splinter.”

I stretch my fingers out. I can’t feel magic, so I can’t tell if there’s any running through it, but it feels real and solid, and that’s what I need.

“Thank you,” I murmur.

Sparrow presses their hand more firmly against mine before they remove it. “Anytime. The place I sent you…”

“It’s all fine,” I say. Anything that’s happened as a result of the twins isn’t Sparrow’s fault. Nothing bad has happened. Tonight’s loss was because of me and Asher, not anyone else.

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. I’m sure.” I eye the door Maurice vanished through. “I should go, though.”

“I don’t think he’ll tell.” Sparrow’s never asked why I wouldn’t tell the rest of the pack what I’m doing. I think they know, truth be told. “Maurice tends to keep things to himself.”

I shake my head, pushing the rest of my beer aside. “No, I know. I just…”

Sparrow nods. “Okay. You know you’re always welcome here, don’t you?”

I smile, and it feels like the first real one since I saw Bryn earlier. “Yeah, I do.”