Chapter 29 Wren
WREN
As Wren gasped awake, thrust back into reality, she immediately became aware of three distinct things.
She was in a tent she didn’t recognize.
She was wearing a dress.
Callum Whitlock was standing in front of her.
The Demien stared at her as though she were something to eat.
His teeth skimmed his bottom lip, his green eyes blazing with hunger as he took in the sight of Wren standing in front of him.
Wren’s own eyes traveled downward, inspecting her outfit.
Silky black waves cascaded down her body, iridescent beads swirling over a tight bodice.
Her arms and back were exposed, two thin straps pressed against her shoulders, crisscrossing over her back.
The hem of the dress seemed to ripple and move, as if caught in a breeze, candlelight reflecting against the shimmering black fabric.
She had no recollection of changing, and the mere thought that somebody had put their hands on her while she’d been unconscious, even if it had been just to dress her, made her want to keel over and vomit.
“Stunning.” Callum let out a low whistle and prowled closer. “Just absolutely stunning.”
“What—” Wren coughed, fighting to find her voice. Her throat felt raw. Swollen. As if she’d been screaming for hours. She probably had been. “What’s happening?”
“It’s time for Equinox, of course.” Callum strode closer, a mocking lilt in his voice. “Oh, come now, Wren. You didn’t think we’d leave you out, did you? You’re the catalyst! The star of the show. But don’t worry, once the festivities are over, you’ll go right back to your sessions with Edith.”
Wren tried to back away, to run, but her limbs were frozen.
“I can’t move,” she muttered through clenched teeth.
Callum chuckled.
“That would be my fault.” He inched closer, head cocked. “You see…I like you better this way.” He extended his hand, fingers reaching for her lips, but Wren spat in his face before he could.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” she said, seething.
Callum wiped his face with eerie calm. When he stared at Wren, she saw a flicker of anger behind his eyes, but there was also a perverse sense of excitement. As if he’d been hoping she’d put up a fight.
“Wren.” Callum practically purred her name, lips drooping into a mocking pout.
“You wound me. I would never touch you without permission.” He inched his face toward her ear, until his lips were practically brushing the side of her face.
“Soon, you’ll be aching for me. Begging me to touch you and show you what a real Demien can do. ”
Wren wanted to scream. She wanted to tear him apart. She wanted to—
“I can take it from here, Callum.”
Wren heard the deep rasp of August’s voice before she saw him, and then he was materializing behind Callum, appearing in a plume of shadows.
Rage burned behind his silver eyes. He wore an all-black suit with a cloak draped over his shoulders, his dark curls pushed back away from his face.
Wren hadn’t noticed before, but the shadow-filled veins had begun to snake their way up his neck, inching toward his jaw.
He’d never looked more beautiful.
And he’d never looked more like a Demien.
“General Hughes.” Callum’s lip twitched as he slowly turned to face August. “I was instructed to fetch the catalyst—”
“And yet here you are, appeasing your ego instead of following orders.” August kept his gaze anchored on Callum, and Wren half expected him to tear the other Demien’s head clean off his neck. “Edith grew tired of waiting. She asked me to come get her instead.”
Callum scoffed. “But—”
“It isn’t up for discussion.”
August’s voice came out warped and distorted, a terrifying sound that sent a chill down Wren’s spine. His eyes bled black, but when he blinked, their whites returned. For a fleeting moment, he looked startled.
Did he not mean to do that? Has he already begun to lose control?
Wren’s throat grew tight.
There was a tense beat of silence, as if Callum was weighing his options, and then he simply offered a mocking salute, sauntering toward the entrance of the tent. He glanced over his shoulders, shooting Wren one final look.
“Save me a dance, catalyst.”
The moment Callum walked out of the tent, leaving the two of them alone, Wren felt her limbs loosen, and she nearly collapsed from sheer relief. But August’s hands were on her before she could fall, warm and steadying.
“Are you okay?” he whispered, voice shaking. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t get here sooner.”
“I’m…fine.” Wren swallowed and straightened herself. “I just feel a bit…foggy.”
“That’s normal.” He nodded, the muscles in his jaw twitching. “You know…given what Edith put you through.”
“August…” Wren’s voice cracked. “We’re out of time. Equinox is starting…We can’t…we can’t leave.”
August cupped her chin with his thumb, angling her face toward him.
“I’m not going to let anything happen to you, okay? I promise. We have a plan…You’re just going to have to trust me.”
Wren tensed. “We?”
“You were right. There are other Demiens who want to help.” August’s face softened.
His thumb drew featherlight circles against the edge of her jaw.
“I have a way to get the security cuff off.” As he continued to speak, he gently guided them toward the entrance to the tent.
“Right before they begin the offerings, there’s going to be an explosion.
As soon as it goes off, Arthur is going to step behind you and undo the security cuff—”
“Arthur?” Wren’s head spun as she tried to piece together everything August was telling her. “You mean…”
“He’s on your side,” August interjected, nodding.
“Both of them are. As soon as the security cuff is off, we’re going to make a run for it.
Quinn is going to construct a temporary defensive barrier in front of the encampment.
If there’s even a single molecule of the relocation spell left in the air by the time they catch up to us, someone could sense where we went.
Ideally, with Quinn’s barrier, that won’t be an issue.
By the time they reach the exterior of the encampment, we’ll be gone. And so will our relocation spell.”
Wren placed a shaking hand on the security cuff, tracing its cold, sharp edges. “And if it doesn’t work?”
There was a silence. August took Wren’s face in his hands, drawing her closer. “Do you trust me?”
Wren let out a shuddering breath. “Against my better judgment.”
August’s lips lifted into a sad smile. He leaned forward and kissed her. It was a torturous kiss—deep and slow, his hands cupping her neck, his body pressing into her. It felt like heaven. Like everything else around them had vanished, blurring away in their peripheral vision.
It felt like…goodbye.
As August pulled away and stepped toward the entrance of the tent, Wren felt the way he nervously drummed his fingers against her waist, the tension in his muscles.
She wanted to offer him some semblance of comfort, but truthfully, she was just as nervous as he was.
This was their last opportunity to make it out.
They’d either manage to escape—or they’d lose each other forever.
“With me?” August’s voice gently tugged Wren back to the present.
Wren laced her hand through his.
“Always.”
And then the two of them inhaled a sharp breath and walked through the tent.
Wren hadn’t known what to expect upon entering the Equinox Gathering, but it definitely hadn’t been this.
A deep crimson fog perfused the spacious cavern, instantly dulling Wren’s senses.
Warm light spilled from lanterns strung across the sheer walls of the cave, enchanted string lights glittering like a blanket of stars.
At the center of the cavern, bursting from a large black cauldron, roared a fire.
The flames crackled with some sort of enchantment, the embers dancing as though caught within an invisible current.
A deep, resounding drum echoed in the air, the pounding beat pulsating inside Wren.
It was as though her body was drawn to the music, her muscles itching to move along to the drum’s rhythm.
The Demiens bustling around the cavern glided in an almost euphoric daze.
They all wore gowns and suits as ostentatious as the one Wren had awoken in—a sea of bloodred, royal purple, glistening emerald and ice blue—rich, silky fabrics ebbing and flowing against the darkness of night.
Their eyes glistened with hunger. Raucous laugher dripped from their wicked smiles.
A few of them carried brass goblets with various glittering liquids bubbling inside, shimmering clouds emanating from the goblets and drifting into the air.
They were strange elixirs Wren had never seen before.
But whatever they were drinking was clearly having some sort of inebriating effect on their minds.
Those carrying the goblets seemed even more intoxicated than the others, a sluggish sway to their movements, a haze draped behind their eyes.
“All the new recruits are forced to drink the elixirs,” August explained into her ear as he guided her forward. “It dulls their senses. Makes them more pliable. That way…if there are any who have last-minute hesitation about casting the Reaper’s Kiss…” His voice trailed away, but Wren understood.
“They can’t fight back.”
August nodded, swallowing.
“We should keep you out of sight,” he muttered. “Last thing we need is Edith spotting you and forcing you to—” But they were too late. A voice cut through August’s words. A presence looming behind them.
“Hello, little brother.”
They turned and came face to face with Edith Hughes.
She swished a goblet in her hands, the deep red liquid sloshing at the edges.
Sparkling wisps curled at the elixir’s surface, drifting around the goblet in a perfect halo.
Edith wore a midnight-blue dress with chain-mail spaulders cascading over her shoulders and down her arms, her shadow crown glinting in the darkness, even more ornate than usual.
“Thank you for escorting our precious catalyst,” she said through a piercing smile.
August stiffened beside Wren. His voice was rough and unfeeling as he responded, “Just doing my job.”
Edith rolled her eyes with a chuckle. She turned her attention to Wren, extending the goblet in her direction. “Go on.” She gestured to the goblet with a tilt of her chin. “Drink.”
Wren’s heart sank. Her eyes darted to August for a moment, but his gaze was firmly planted on Edith, not an inkling of emotion to be seen on his face.
Wren couldn’t drink the elixir. Not now.
What if she lost herself to the intoxicating properties before she could make a run for it?
What if she couldn’t follow through with the plan?
Wren gave an indignant shake of her head. “I don’t want to. I’m not a new recruit—”
“Listen, Wren.” Edith cut her off with a sigh, stepping closer. The goblet brushed Wren’s chest. “You can willingly drink it yourself, while still having control of your body, or I can force you to. The decision is yours.”
Wren knew what Edith wanted. It was what all the other Demiens wanted. They wanted Wren weak. Malleable. Nothing but a plaything to be tossed around and to do their bidding. They wanted her afraid.
But Wren was done being afraid.
Before she could second-guess herself, Wren wrapped her hand tightly around the goblet, gaze locked with Edith’s, and chugged back one swift gulp.
The moment the liquid touched the back of her throat, a disorienting wave of vertigo flooded her body. Her mind grew hazy. Her chest warm. When she blinked, the world around her stuttered, as if her vision was lagging, a disconnect between her eyes and her mind. She swayed, losing her footing.
She’d expected August to catch her. To feel his strong hands against her waist.
But it wasn’t August who reached her first.
Edith’s hands gripped Wren by the shoulders, holding her steady.
Wren’s vision blurred and refocused. She fought to keep her eyelids open, and when she finally managed to lock her gaze on Edith, she noticed the shadows blotting out the whites of the High General’s eyes.
The sinister smile cracking her face in half.
“Welcome to Equinox, catalyst.” Edith laughed and a euphoric haze draped itself around Wren. “It’s time to have a bit of fun.”