Page 21 of The Enemy to the Living (The Wild Hunt #2)

“Sparrow?” I say. Maurice has mentioned them before. He doesn’t know exactly what type of fae they are, and neither do I.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Sparrow says, voice hushed. “You followed Quinn?”

They know Quinn? I suppose of course they do. Sparrow and Spectra stayed with his pack for a while after Meilyr attacked Spectra’s pub.

“I need to find—The twins, they’re stealing wolves.”

Sparrow pales. “How?”

“Deals, I think,” I whisper. “But the wolf is nearly dead. I need to get it back.”

In the other room, the crowd roars. I glance that way and see Quinn climbing into the cage. They seem to like him more than they did the first time I was here.

“This place is warded to the rafters,” Sparrow says. “And they’re high fae. You understand that, don’t you?”

“Yes, but—” I can’t have come all this way for nothing. I can’t . I tear my wrist from their grip. My blessing twists in my chest, angry, and I have no control, no plan, but I have to do something .

Sparrow snarls, lip curling back, and before I can move into the other room, to confront the twins or… I don’t know, they launch themselves at me. I stumble back into another group of fae, who loudly protest.

They punch me in the ribs, then lower, and part of my mind is aware that they’re pulling those punches, but the rest of it doesn’t care.

“Fuck! Get off, fuck—”

Sparrow doesn’t stop. I try to twist out of their grip, but they’re wilier than I’m expecting. Fuck. We’re drawing attention, but not from the twins. Two trolls appear out of the crowd and tear us apart, then drag us out into the alley.

“You want to fight?” one grinds out. “Do it out here or join like the rest of ’em.”

“Don’t come back until you can behave,” says the other.

They toss us into the darkness, and I stumble back but hit what feels like a wall. Fuck . I can’t get back in.

It takes me a while to make it back out to the street, where Sparrow is already waiting, pinching their bleeding nose. The other fae eyes me disdainfully.

I don’t attack Sparrow, but it’s a near thing.

“What the fuck ?” I growl, and they eye the fae who waits at the end of the alley, gesturing for me to move up the street. Magic surrounds us in a bubble.

“You were going to do something stupid.”

“I need to help that wolf.”

“You can’t.”

“I—”

“You can’t .”

My throat tightens, and I don’t know whether it’s with fury or sadness or both. It’s not about the wolf at Deacon’s pack house at all, really. I do want to help him, but—

What if that happens to Quinn? What if I can’t save him?

“Quinn,” I mutter, and Sparrow shakes their head.

“He’ll be fine,” they say. “He’s smarter than that.”

I fix them with a look. “Is he?”

Did he know enough going in? I’m starting to understand just who sent him here, as Sparrow squirms under my gaze. Did he actually know how to strike a bargain with the fae?

“He’ll be fine,” Sparrow repeats. “But you wouldn’t be when they caught you.”

“If.”

Sparrow shakes their head. They wrap their arms around themselves, staring down towards the dark alley. “I didn’t think they were up to anything that suspicious,” they say. “I thought they just liked the chaos of the fights.”

“Did you tell the other wolves, too?”

“No. Bryn told me. I told Quinn.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t work out as badly for Quinn, then.”

Sparrow gives me another miserable look, and then their magic dissolves around us. They don’t say goodbye as they walk away. I don’t care. Not a chance I’m leaving now, though I do take a moment to send my location to Vlad and Maurice before I settle in.

Want us to come and check it out?

I shake my head at Maurice’s text. For all his bluster, I don’t think he’ll be any better at remaining outside than I’ve been.

No. It’s fine. Going to wait and see if I recognise anyone coming in or out.

They both type, but only Vlad replies.

Be careful.

It’s a warning more than concern. I don’t reply; he can see that I’ve read it.

Quinn stumbles outside a few hours later. He’s not alone. Another fae is with him, Quinn’s arm slung around his shoulder, and an ugly, dark feeling rises in my chest.

It fades in the next second, replaced by a surge of concern. Quinn’s injured. Badly. The fae helps him stand straight, patting his shoulders. I don’t hear what Quinn says, but he shakes his head and winces.

He’s not going to make it home like that, wolf or not. Fuck.

I wait for him to stumble away—and both the fae watching him look worried, though eventually they give up and the second goes back inside—and catch up when he rounds the corner.

Quinn stumbles, and I catch him. He tries to scowl when he looks up into my face, but the movement tugs on his black eye and he winces.

“Fuck,” I hiss. Anger prickles my scalp, but I keep my hands gentle. “We need to get a taxi.”

“No,” Quinn says. The word is slurred. Is he concussed? I can’t tell out here in the dark. “No, I can make it.”

“You’re not going back there.” I all but spit out the words. His pack won’t look after him. Sure, they won’t look after him because they won’t know , but still.

They won’t look after him.

I will.

If I can’t help that other wolf, then I’ll make sure Quinn is fine, if it’s the last thing I do.

Quinn sways into me. “Got to go home,” he says. He’s heavy, but I already have my phone in my hand, and it’s a few seconds before I book a taxi and get confirmation that it’s on the way. “They’ll ask. They’ll know.”

“They won’t know shit,” I mutter, then say louder, “You’re coming to mine. You’ve got a concussion. What the fuck happened?”

Quinn winces. “Can’t.”

He can’t even tell me that? I clench my jaw, focusing on the little dot on the map that says our taxi is nearing. Quinn whines in the back of his throat and leans against me a little more.

“Sorry,” he says, the words hardly louder than a breath.

“Did they do this on purpose?” I look him over. If he’s out of touch with his wolf and it’s been months, then he’ll be healing slower, too. It might take him days to recover from a beating like this, and I’m sure they’ll call him back before then.

Quinn doesn’t answer. I don’t expect him to. He’s clearly been told not to talk—and whether that’s just to me or to everyone he knows, I’m not sure.

The taxi pulls up and the driver eyes us warily as I help Quinn inside. He doesn’t ask, though, and I’m grateful for it. I arrange Quinn against my side, and he sighs against my skin.

“Hurts,” he murmurs.

I clench my hands on my thighs so I don’t touch him. Not until I can see where he’s injured. “I know.”

“Why were you there?”

“Looking for something.”

“D’you find it?”

“No.”

Quinn is silent the rest of the journey, and I tip the driver well once I’ve got him out of the car. It’s a struggle to get him up to my flat and inside—the way is narrow, but he’s also tired, and I don’t think that’s all down to tonight. He’s been running on fumes for a while.

Once we’re inside, I flick on the light. Quinn winces, shading his eyes. “Sorry,” I say and reach for the hem of his T-shirt. “I need to see…”

He blinks owlishly at me. Fuck, he’s concussed. His pupils are blown wide and when I move my fingers in front of his face, he can’t follow them.

“I need to see where you’re injured. Can I take off your clothes?”

Quinn nods, winces, and nods again. “Yeah.”

He groans in pain when I make him lift his arms to get his T-shirt off, and I bite back a gasp at the bruising that mottles his torso. His legs are bruised, too, though less so, and at least there aren’t any open wounds to deal with.

Fuck. What was the crowd like when this happened? This isn’t the kind of beating that took seconds; he must have been stuck in that cage for minutes.

Or some back room, maybe. Bile rises in my throat, and I put a hand on Quinn’s shoulder because that seems safe enough.

“I can make it hurt less,” I say, voice thick. “But you’ll still have to heal. Should help you get some sleep.”

Quinn nods agreeably. “Okay.”

He doesn’t really know what he’s saying. I trail that hand up into his hair, and he winces when my fingers trace over a large bump. Fuck, he’s been hit hard. Blood is crusted above his mouth, but his nose at least doesn’t look to still be broken.

“Come on. Let’s get you comfortable first. I think you’ll fall asleep after.”

He lets me manoeuvre him up the stairs, not baulking at all when I pull back the duvet so he can climb into my bed. He winces when he settles, letting out a little groan of pain, and the fury in my throat is so thick it threatens to choke me.

I rest a hand on Quinn’s forehead and reach for my blessing. It flows easily down my limbs, into my hands, and through me, into him. I gasp at the sensation. The magic the Huntsman gave me has never been so agreeable, and Quinn makes a faint relieved sound as he settles further into the bed.

That control can only last so long. The magic pushes at my boundaries and I pull it back, not at all willing to injure Quinn any further tonight. If he notices, he says nothing. He blinks dark eyes up at me, and I haven’t healed him, but he now seems more focused.

“I know you can’t tell me anything,” I say. “But I’m going to try to help you, okay?”

Like last time, he reaches for my wrist, but his grip isn’t quite as tight. “You can’t.” His thumb rubs over my inner wrist. “I’ll be okay, you know.”

He won’t. He isn’t. But there’s no point in arguing; each blink is longer, sleep digging its claws in and dragging him under.

Once he falls asleep, hand slipping from my wrist, I kick off my shoes and strip off my clothes. I could sleep downstairs—I probably should —but if Quinn wakes in pain, I want to be close by to help him.

I’m down to just my boxers when I carefully climb in on the other side of the bed. Quinn doesn’t move or make a sound. I keep my distance, my entire body tense, tracing his features through the darkness with wary eyes.

I can help him. He’s a formidable fighter, but his wolf will only make him stronger. I don’t know what deal he made with the twins, but if it’s about the fights…

I’ll make it so no one beats him again.