32. Drugged
32
DRUGGED
K ing Vale had disappeared.
After Luella had stood face-to-face with the dragon in the ruins of the throne room, he flew away.
Graves hold told her that the King was fine—that he would shift and come back after getting a grip on his beast. It was always jarring to shift , Graves had shared in that silent way of his.
Luella wasn’t sure if she believed it. She couldn’t help but feel like somehow she was the reason he had fled.
He was scared , her mind whispered to her.
Scared of the claim had staked on her.
And she felt the same.
Even now, curled into the plush seat of Tharen’s apothecary, Luella worried her lower lip with her teeth. Her arm and chest ached fiercely, but she had forced the mage to see to Graves first.
Listing to the side, the raven shifter could barely walk to the apothecary. He had to be dragged by Tharen and Bastian.
Luella’s feet kicked out as she waited. The lighting was low and warm. Flickering flames made her drowsy. A yawn threatened to crack her jaw. Luella sank against the high back of the chair, nestling her cheek against the soft leather.
She could fall asleep.
A hand against her cheek startled her, and she forced her eyes open. Blearily, she took in the male before her.
Red eyes bore into her, and Bastian tutted under his breath. "Don’t fall asleep, pet. You’re up next."
"Tired," Luella grumbled under her breath, foot kicking out against the chair and hitting the vampire’s shin.
Bastian huffed a laugh, smoothing the blood-matted hair away from her face. "I know, I know. Just stay awake for me a little longer, and then you can sleep. How does that sound?"
She mumbled an unintelligible noise in reply, eyes falling closed again as she snuggled into the chair.
Az was sitting beside her, his warmth soothing her. The scent of burnt sugar and rich chocolate made her head and limbs even heavier. Her hip pressed flush into his, and she suppressed a satisfied sound at his proximity. The demon was rather alert after being knocked unconscious earlier. He swore he was fine, but she wouldn’t rest until Tharen looked him over.
"How’s your arm, Lu?" A nudge against her cheek as Az’s horns bumped against her.
She ached so deeply that she felt like she could pass out.
"Fine," she murmured, cracking both eyes open as she peeked over at him.
Az cocked a brow as though he could see right through her little lies.
He leaned over, brushing his nose softly against hers. Dried blood still dirtied his tanned skin, and she yearned to wipe it away for him. She felt some part of him touch her soul—that magicless, yawning pit seemed to lean toward him, searching for his heat.
At her front, Bastian stood a mere breath away, his scent of spiced bergamot seeping into the very marrow of her bones.
Why couldn’t she just fall asleep?
Her eyes struggled to stay open with every blink.
"Luella," Tharen called. His harsh tone pulled her from her dazed stupor—from the unwavering attention of Az and Bastian.
She perked up, and Bastian nudged her forward on the chair with a hand on her uninjured shoulder. Az grumbled a low sound from deep within his chest, pulling her against him and helping her up on his own.
Males .
Luella felt a small smile rise to her lips, but the pain from her movements dampened the momentary rush of happiness.
A wince tugged her fleeting smile down into a frown.
She really did feel like she would faint…
She stumbled to a stand. "What about Az?"
Four heavy looks of disbelief settled on her. Her shoulders curved inward under their scrutiny.
"If you do not get in that chair and let the Prima heal you, I’ll bite you." Bastian flashed his fangs in warning.
Her cheeks warmed at his domineering tone.
Luella had never been the sole object of such attention before. And to suddenly have four males never taking their attention off of her made her already fuzzy head even more out of sorts.
Tharen stood by the half-reclined leather chair. A flickering flame was burning beside it, offering light for him to see. Tools rested on a small table. Tiny knives, surgical instruments, and a needle and thread for sutures. A silver tray held a discarded, bloody cloth and tiny pieces of wire that Tharen had used to sew Graves’s wound. She shuddered at the slight tang of iron and the grisly sight of the blood dirtying the tray. Luella never did enjoy the sight of blood. Especially blood from someone she knew.
The raven shifter was looking much better now that he had been tended to. He was shirtless, his tanned, unmarked skin lined with lean muscle. A patch of bandages was over his shoulder, and he rolled his arm back, wincing at the tug on his wound.
"Stop it, you brooding fucker," Tharen ordered. "You’ll pull your stitches. Can’t you sit still?"
He leveled the mage with a look that even made Luella stop in her tracks.
"Hard to rest when Vale is still out there." Graves ran a hand through his black hair and down over the stubble on his jaw.
Her throat worked as she watched the muscles in his stomach ripple from the movement. He was hiding such power under his thick cloaks and terse silences.
"This isn’t the first time Vale has disappeared to do gods knew what. At least now we know why he left in such a fuss." Tharen stared Luella down where she stood on shaky legs, and he grabbed her waist and lifted her with ease, sitting her down in the chair.
The leather stuck to her blood-soaked dress. The slit on the side of her gown exposed almost her whole thigh, and she felt cool sweat against her heated skin—and it was not her own.
Graves’s bare chest had warmed this same chair, biting into a leather strip while Tharen cleaned his wound, then threaded his skin with sutures. He had silently taken it all, teeth grinding into the bit. She peeked at the raven shifter, who was now sitting in the chair she had just vacated. Perspiration dotted his chest and temples, making his dark hair stick to his forehead.
His sweat stuck to her skin.
Breath escaped her lungs as she settled against the leather.
A finger notched against her chin forced her face down.
"Lay back, little lamb," Tharen urged, pressing her back with a hand against her lower stomach.
Her gut clenched from his touch, a shiver passing through her. He gave her a knowing grin. It reminded her of a wolf who had stumbled upon easy prey.
Luella’s bones were like mush as she sank back fully into the leather chair, and the position made the mage tower over her, putting them in a spot that was a physical manifestation of the power he wielded over her—the mage far above her, and Luella somewhere down below, her power nonexistent and status inconsequential.
"I’ll have to fix the fracture first before popping your shoulder back into place. If I don’t, it could aggravate the fracture even more and cause it to splinter out." The mage leveled her a look of warning. "But make no mistake, it’ll hurt either way I do this. Even with a tonic."
She nodded. "I-I understand."
Tharen gave her his back, turning to a little worktable filled with potions—the same litany of bubbling vials and liquids that he had used to craft a potion to heal the sickness that had taken her in the dungeons.
It made a memory spark to life—how he had given her a tonic, and she had awoken in her room.
"You better not drug me again." Her bottom lip jutted out in a pout.
A white braid fell over Tharen’s shoulder as the mage whipped his head back around. He didn’t say anything. The pure look of ire he shot her was more than enough.
Liquid fizzed and popped as he poured a thick, bubbly stream of red liquid into the small cauldron. He gave it a quick stir with a wooden stick and, as if in afterthought, poured a bit more inside until it seemed satisfactory. With a pair of forceps, he lifted an empty vial and dipped it inside. Shoots of smoke popped up, but he ignored it, turning his head away.
Az sidled up beside Luella, half-sitting on the armrest of her chair. "It’ll be over soon, Lu."
"That means you’ll go back to the dungeons." Luella was careful to keep her voice down.
She didn’t want him to leave her. Not again.
Az stroked the ends of her hair, gathering it up and brushing it back from her shoulders. "Only for a little while. I promise." He leaned down and whispered into her ear, "They can’t keep me away from you forever. Now that I have you, I’ll never let you go."
Their whispering was futile. All the ears in this room could hear everything.
Tharen turned, and Az pulled away from her like he didn’t just make her melt with mere words alone.
Mouth dry, she swallowed, feeling overcome by the intensity of four sets of eyes on her.
The aches in her body were familiar to her now, but that didn’t stop her from wincing as she shifted in her seat, her arm jostling.
"Careful," Bastian warned.
He leaned against the wall, reddened eyes intently watching her and arms crossed over his broad chest. A finger tapped agitatedly on his forearm, and the veins in his neck pulsed. He was keyed up.
Tharen pressed the now-full vial into Luella’s hands, then turned and lifted the bloodied cloth on the tray. Bastian tracked the movement like a starved animal, and the mage tucked the cloth in his pocket, not paying the vampire’s blood-hungry eyes any heed. Like he was used to his bloodlust.
She held the vial in her hands. The liquid was a light cherry color and smelled just like the fruit itself but with an underlying hint of mint.
She brought it to her lips, tilting it back to let the cool liquid slide down her throat. Tart cherries and refreshing, wintery mint exploded on her tongue. She hummed as she drank, the tonic cooling her parched throat and helping to rid her of her thirst.
"Every last drop," Tharen murmured.
When the glass was finished, he took it from her hands and set it aside. They all watched her, waiting for the potion to kick in.
A few moments of heavy silence passed, and Luella’s head slowly grew heavy. She blinked furiously, trying to regain her wits, but every part of her was sluggish.
"What did that do?" she slurred.
Body too heavy for her to keep holding upright, her head listed to the side, thunking on Az’s thigh.
Hands lifted her upright, much too cool to belong to her demon.
"It made you just a little bit more drowsy, pet," Bastian muttered in her ear, settling her back against the seat.
A warm touch brushed her other side as Az smoothed away the lines of worry creased between her brows.
She nuzzled into the touches, starved for affection.
"I think I like her better like this," Tharen said from somewhere out of sight.
Luella jolted as the mage suddenly appeared right in front of her. Through half-lidded eyes, she watched as Tharen nodded and made a waving gesture with his hand. Bastian gripped her, pulling her tightly to him as he sat flush against her. His fingers were like a vice against her waist.
"You were already tired though, hm? But now everything will be numbed just enough to not make you pass out from the pain. Not completely numb, though." Tharen tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, rubbing the strands between his fingers like he was seeing it for the first time. "Azgorath, move aside. I can’t have you near her. This will hurt her, and you can’t take your protective rage out on me when I’m trying to heal her."
"Even in these chains, you’re afraid of me, Prima. You only make yourself appear weak," Az grumbled, but as his warmth left her side, she realized he obeyed.
Tharen ignored Az’s taunting barbs. "Graves, a little help?"
Instead of answering, the raven shifter silently stood and glided over, not even a wince on his face after being almost impaled with a sword and then stitched back together. The harsh candlelight overhead made the scar on his face even more severe, casting ghoulish shadows in the hollows of his cheeks and under his deep blue eyes.
Luella slowly blinked, looking up at him. He took the spot on her other side—where Az had been—not quite touching her.
"That won’t do," Tharen said. "Sit behind her and spread your legs. Place her between your thighs."
With the serum making her drowsy and drunk, Tharen’s words sounded far more provocative than they should have.
Bastian made her lean up, and Graves slotted behind her, bent knees on either side of her as he pulled her in between the space of his legs. He was warm all over and so large. Luella fit perfectly in the cradle of his legs. Her head rolled back on his chest, only to find him already looking down at her. Silently—as usual.
Tharen lifted a gleaming knife and held it before him; the blade was small and thin. Before she could move away, his arm snaked forward, and the blade cut away the strap of her dress. It slipped down her chest, almost baring her breasts completely, if not for Graves’s quick hand tugging it back up.
"Thank you," she mumbled, cheek pressing against his chest.
In her current state, she couldn’t find it in her to be offended that he didn’t reply.
"Don’t move," Tharen said. Luella barely had time to register his words. "Hold her still."
Graves gripped her, holding her upper body still with a firm palm against her neck, and a strong arm looped around her chest, keeping her pulled against him. Bastian’s fingers tightened, and she glanced over to him, eyes flicking to where he sat beside her, then moving to where Tharen prepared a few clean pieces of cloth and readied his supplies.
Her breaths grew frantic when he picked up a blade. It was barely the size of her thumb, but somehow, it looked far more menacing directly under the light of the flames.
Graves gripped her chin, directing her face back toward his. "Keep your eyes on me," he said.
Counting the specks of darker blue in his irises, Luella’s breathing slowed, returning to soft puffs of exhales followed by steady inhales.
"Good," Graves praised.
Luella’s tongue grew thick in her mouth, and she licked her lips, tasting the cherry from the tonic still lingering there.
With a firm grip on her elbow, Tharen lifted her injured arm. Luella yelped as pain radiated from her aching socket, trying to move away from his offending touch as he straightened her arm out completely. But with Bastian’s hold on her and Graves keeping her held captive by his eyes and locked between his thighs, she couldn’t move a muscle. Trapped and at their mercy.
Tharen prodded her elbow, making firm presses all the way up to her white-hot, throbbing shoulder.
" Ah !" Luella let out a pained moan, eyes fluttering closed.
"Look at me," Graves ordered and tugged against her jaw.
She squinted up at the raven shifter, unable to ignore his demand.
He shushed her, grip unrelenting on her chin, leaving her no choice but to keep her head cast toward his.
She released a shaky breath.
"Graves." Luella didn’t know why she uttered his name, but it felt good as she said it. She rolled the letters around her tongue, tasting the cadence of him. "Graves. Thank you for saving me."
His eyes widened at the sound of his name falling from her slick, cherry-coated lips. His tongue darted out to lick his own, captivated by her softness.
Graves’s jaw locked as if to say, don’t thank me . But his eyes held a different story, screaming that perhaps he hadn’t been thanked enough in his lifetime.
Had he ever even heard the words directed toward him before?
The male had saved her. Jumped in front of a sword meant for her and did it all without asking for anything in return. Perhaps he wasn’t as bad as she thought. She would never forget what he had a part in doing to her… But could she forgive?
Her hazed eyes focused on Az, the demon sitting up with his elbows on his knees as he watched Tharen like a hawk, just waiting for one wrong move before he had cause to attack the male on her behalf.
The collar around his neck was stark against his tanned skin, and his deep brown curls brushed the back of it as he moved his head, the metal moving as he swallowed.
No.
She couldn’t forgive. Because of Az. The people of Solis.
For herself and her parents—wicked and unfeeling as they were—she might have been able to, but not the innocents.
Luella was raised like she was mere scum, and her self-worth was dismal at best. Any forgiveness she might have felt for her parents was held back by the memory of her father’s strikes against her cheeks and her mother’s lack of care and concern. A tiny piece of her rejoiced in their death. She was free of them , but not free. Not truly. She wondered if she ever would be.
"Hold her arm for me," Tharen ordered.
Bastian took her outstretched arm, fingers delicately gripping it and keeping it straight as Tharen lifted a bowl filled with a thick paste that was an off-white and mottled yellow color, stirring it with something that looked like a golden-tipped paintbrush.
Graves still held the strap of her dress, but Tharen knocked his hand away, making the neckline scoop in a sinfully low dip. She tried to muster up some semblance of propriety but couldn’t find it in her to care. Not with the buzz in her head and the muted pain in her limbs.
The mage placed his free hand directly over her breastbone; his palm radiated heat, almost too hot to be comfortable. She squirmed away from it. He was silent, and his touch was insistent and unforgiving. Not harsh, but firm. He didn’t waver, merely kept his palm on the spot where she assumed the fracture was located.
Addled and bleary, she watched as Tharen’s eyes closed, and he mumbled something under his breath. His touch grew impossibly hotter, and just when she felt like her skin might melt off from the heat of his touch alone, it all stopped. In an instant, his hand retracted. Her chest felt tingly and warm but was quickly cooling now that he wasn’t touching her anymore.
Luella blinked, focus never leaving Graves. His warm, calloused fingers rubbed over the side of her waist, tapping against her ribs. The corner of his scarred lip twitched upward from her obeying his command to keep her eyes on him. He was pleased with her.
She tried not to preen under his careful watching and firm touches, but with the heady scent of cloves and sweet honey wafting from him and dancing around the air between them, she was powerless against his soft charisma and intrigue. Coupled with the image that assaulted her every time she shut her eyes— the sword piercing his chest, the gloved hands that had shoved her away without a moment of hesitation—Luella felt indebted to the male, even though she hated what that meant. Hated that he had lied to her. Hated that he had watched her.
Something cold and wet brushed over her chest.
"What is that?" Luella softly inquired.
It tickled but wasn’t unpleasant. If anything, it felt rather nice. Cool against her flushed skin.
She wondered if a red mark was left on her skin from the mage’s burning touch.
"A paste to speed up healing and soothe. A mixture of chamomile and turmeric," Tharen said.
The sound of his voice was far more soothing than the paste, but she would never divulge that information.
When the mage was not so intent on tormenting her, he was tolerable. He was gruff and more than a little deranged, but when he turned that single-minded focus on his medicine and practice, it was manageable. Alluring, almost—the way his hands moved with practice and skill as he put together tinctures, cleared off his work table and treated wounds with care.
Luella hummed. "That feels nice."
Graves stiffened under her but didn’t say anything.
"The King is back on castle grounds." Bastian cleared his throat.
Graves nodded like he wasn’t surprised the vampire was keeping tabs on King Vale’s whereabouts.
Through his Mind magic, she was sure Bastian could do a manner of things, including tracking those he had a link with.
It didn’t make it any less strange for them to be so in tune with each other, though.
Tharen lifted the brush from her skin. The bowl was set down on his work table with a small clatter as he turned back to her.
"Now for the hard part." He sighed. "Bastian, Graves. You know what to do."
Her outstretched arm was transferred from Bastian’s hesitant grip to Tharen’s unyielding one. She gritted her teeth.
Heart fluttering anxiously in her chest, Luella shifted her eyes to Az. He nodded, assuring her. A brown curl fell over his forehead, and his amber eyes never left hers, even as Tharen grabbed her wrist. She grew lightheaded from the pain as it tugged and pulled against her socket.
She whimpered.
Bastian uttered a soft, "I’m sorry."
"Try to relax your muscles. It will hurt less that way," Tharen instructed.
"I-I’m trying," she managed, fear mingling with the promise of pain and clouding her senses.
Graves notched a finger under her chin and moved her face back to his.
When did she stop looking at him?
"You heard him. Relax, sweetheart," Graves whispered. "Just keep those eyes on me and breathe."
Luella tried, she really did.
She measured her breaths and forced her muscles to relax and counted the various shades of blue in Graves’s eyes. But when Tharen shifted his grip on her arm, all common sense left her and was replaced by radiating waves of heavy pain.
"Steady." Tharen’s fingers bit into her skin.
Bastian and Graves gripped her fiercely, the latter murmuring her name like a prayer.
Then, without another warning, Tharen snapped her arm out by his grip on her wrist, tugging it out and down.
White-hot pain lanced down her side, and even with the help of the tonic, it wasn’t enough to combat the sharp agony. Eyes falling closed, Luella sunk deep into her mind, blissful darkness overtaking her.
The last thing she saw was irises the same shade as the deep ocean in the winter.