Chapter 6 Whatever It Takes #2
Bastian’s eyes widened. His Mind magic grazed Vale’s thoughts, afraid to evoke his ire—he sifted through thick smoke and drifting ash, finding a heavy amount of care bundled close in the middle.
Possession laced his thoughts, drove his actions.
An internal war against his beast. The volley of wills made Bastian’s temples pound, and he quickly extricated himself from the King’s mind.
He didn’t know how Vale stayed sane—relatively.
Tharen cleared his throat. "I have to remove the glamor to see her wounds. She needs to be awake for that, so I won’t push too far. It’s a delicate process."
Vale nodded. "After she’s taken care of, we decide our next move."
They all agreed, and when Bastian met Tharen’s eyes, the mage looked away quickly.
Hiding something?
Bastian hummed, not willing to search inside his mind while he healed Luella—she came first.
Az reclaimed his spot by Luella’s side on the furs, his large, tanned fingers gently tracing over her tear-stained cheeks. He leaned down, placing an achingly soft kiss against her temple, whispering, "Wake up, Lu."
She didn’t stir.
The demon kissed her cheek next, the soft smacking noise far too loud in the quiet of the den.
"Wake up, angel. We’re here." He pressed another kiss near her ear, and Bastian watched as the demon’s lips moved as he spoke intimately to her, the words the lowest murmur.
"Need you to wake up… Let me see your gorgeous eyes. "
Another kiss, and her brows furrowed. Another, and her nose scrunched, eyelids drifting open, red with exhaustion and sadness, half-lidded as she blinked up at the demon hovering over her.
"You’re here. You came back," she said sleepily. "You didn’t leave me."
Each word was an arrow through Bastian’s heart.
"I came back for you." Az tucked a curl behind her ear.
"Always, my Lu." He sat back, and the feathers at the base of her spine twitched, making her wince. "We’re here. We got out. Now, we need to make sure you’re okay.
Let Tharen heal you." For all the urgency they felt, Az did a good job of not letting it seep into his tone.
"I have to remove your glamor," Tharen told her when she looked at him. "Stay still."
She blinked in answer; Bastian noted tiny beads of perspiration on her brow.
Tharen placed his hands on her waist. She wheezed out a pained breath as he brushed against her wings. Within one moment, the glamor fizzled away, as if it had never even been there to begin with.
Reddened bandages, dried blood around her spine, matted in the feathers closest to the base, where they jutted out of her inflamed skin.
Tharen hissed out a breath. "Fuck."
That let Bastian know all he needed—it was bad. His knees grew weak the longer he stared at the blood. The scent permeated the air. The throbbing of his fangs couldn’t be ignored.
"How does it look?" Luella’s voice wobbled. "It doesn’t hurt t-that much… but I’m so hot." Yet, she shivered amongst Vale’s furs.
Tharen looked up, meeting Vale’s eyes.
The King clenched his jaw. "Do whatever you must." To Luella, Vale said, "We will take care of you."
Tharen helped her until she was lying fully on her stomach.
So different from the first time Tharen had healed her, when she was unconscious and unable to speak.
Now, every pained noise made them all flinch, as if they felt it, too.
Tharen spoke lowly as he worked, telling her what he was doing as he gently, but firmly, tugged her gown down until it rested right above the swell of her backside, baring her back to him entirely.
Her cheeks were pink, but from the sweat on her brow and slightly dazed look in her eyes, Bastian knew it was not from shyness.
Fever.
It tinged her scent with a sour undertone, making her blood sluggish in her veins as her heart thumped in her chest.
But still, all he wanted was to feed.
As if in a trance, Bastian found himself standing by Az’s shoulder, closer to her. The demon looked up at him, taking in his deep scarlet eyes and his fangs, digging into his lower lip. He shifted until he sat between them, protecting her from him. Bastian could only feel relief.
Luella’s fingers curled around the bracelet in her palm as she stared up at Bastian.
"Are you okay, Bastian?" She slurred his name, and it would have been cute if he weren’t so worried for her.
"Your eyes are so red." As if the action caused her great pain, she held up her arm.
It shook. "Do you need—do you want to drink from me? "
Torn from Bastian’s chest, a masculine, pained groan. She had no idea what she was doing. "No, pet."
His fingernails cut into his palms as he clenched his fists. She didn’t know the beast she awakened with her words, and he never wanted her to.
Luella thought of him, even when she was in pain herself—even when she was hurting, she still thought of him.
Tharen forced her arm back down as he began unraveling her blood-soaked bandages.
Bastian took a step back to stop himself from sampling them, wondering if he could get enough of her taste off the bandages.
He tried breathing through his mouth, but tasted the slight tang of iron on his tongue.
Tried counting in his mind, and kept being diverted by the sight of her naked, bloodied back.
Luella’s breath hitched as the mage spoke to her. "I’m applying more salve." Tharen talked her through it as he worked; jealousy bloomed hot inside Bastian. The mage’s hands had been on her, had wrought pleasure from her—and that had been the cause of this. This great pain.
"I cried." Her voice filtered through the room like fog. Broken and clouded with fever, she rambled, "I cried when you all left. I thought that… that maybe you wouldn’t come back. Maybe you realized I wasn’t worth the trouble.
" She whimpered as Tharen worked, the air heavy around him as he used his magic.
"I don’t think I would have come back for me. "
A thudding noise drew Bastian’s attention to Graves, whose head had fallen against the wall behind him. Tension lined his shoulders, drawn up close to his ears, as if he could block out the sound of her piercing revelations.
"I wouldn’t have blamed you," she said, still talking, softly and quietly as if she had forgotten they were all there. "I’m not worth it, and I… didn’t mean to, didn’t mean to do any of it."
Fresh droplets of blood seeped from the wounds on her back. Tharen’s hands stilled on her, and Bastian had never seen the Prima appear so disgusted before. His Mind magic whispered against the mage’s thoughts. Flashes of feeling cascaded over Bastian.
Self-loathing, mixed with anger.
It’s my fault she’s like this. I made this happen to her. She must hate me. I know she hates me. I hate myself, too.
Should’ve never touched her.
Bastian’s eyes narrowed the longer he stared at the quiet mage and listened in on his thoughts. He was unraveling, slowly but surely. Their Vincire plucked at the threads that tethered them all with her delicate, soft fingers, making them come undone by her will.
Knowing that Tharen was probably already aware of the fact that he was inside his mind, Bastian allowed a thought to flow freely between them. If you want to make this right, you can start by reassuring her we would never leave her.
Luella had grown quiet, and Bastian watched as Az silently rubbed his thumb over her ankle.
She was seeking their validation, desperate for it.
It clouded her body language; the way her shoulders bunched up closer to her ears the longer they were unspeaking, and how her lids fluttered whenever any of them praised her.
The mage didn’t speak, so Bastian tried again:
From your lips, it would mean much to her. She thinks she is not worthy, especially in your eyes. Tell her.
Tharen resumed attending to her wounds, expert hands soothing salve into her skin, while gently cleaning away the dried blood and new droplets that coated the pale flesh of her midback.
"Little lamb," Tharen crooned, forcing his voice into a cajoling murmur, "Vale made you a promise, didn’t he?" She didn’t answer, so he growled out lowly, "Answer me. Use your words. I know you know how to use that pretty tongue to speak. So let me—let us—hear it. Did the King make you a promise?"
Her wings shivered as the fire crackled in the hearth. "Y-yes," she managed, "he did."
Tharen continued:
"Has he ever broken a promise to you?"
"No."
"Then what made you think in that head of yours that he wouldn’t return with us?" The mage made the words sound so demeaning, praise wrapped in teasing taunts.
"Because I-I hurt people." A soft sob crawled out of her throat.
Bastian kept counting in his head, anything to keep himself from focusing on the white of her shivering wings, the red-soaked cloth that Tharen used in gentle circles against her flesh.
"So? You hurt people, I hurt people, the King has hurt people. And your demon?" The mage glanced up at Az, who gave the tiniest nod at whatever question he saw in Tharen’s eyes. "He’s definitely hurt people."
"Az, what does he mean?" Luella tried to crane her head to look at the demon who sat on the furs by her feet, but Tharen stilled her.
"Lu, when I made the vow to you from the moment I saw you, it was knowing I would, one day, have to hurt someone—kill someone—for you," Az explained. "It’s a vow I would make again and again. For you, always. Just because you hurt someone, doesn’t mean you’re bad or need to be abandoned."
Tharen and Az make a good team, Bastian thought to himself. An unlikely one, however.
With their words, they chipped away each bit of her shame and fear, building her back up with praise. Tharen, in the teasing, cold way of his, made her see reason; and Az, in that sweet, protective tone he only used with her, let her know that it was okay.