Chapter 32 Wren
WREN
The room is spinning. The thought sliced through Wren’s mind as Equinox whirled around her in a haze of colors and shapes.
A lovely, bubbling sound echoed in her ears, and it took her a few seconds to realize that it was her own laughter.
How long had it been since she’d laughed like that?
She wasn’t sure, but it poured out of her as the world continued to spin and spin and spin.
Somebody was holding her. Hands pressed against her waist. She realized, then, that it wasn’t the world that was spinning, but her.
There was somebody in front of her. Were they laughing too?
But something about their laughter felt different.
Colder. Mocking. Yet Wren couldn’t bring herself to care.
Not when she felt this wholly good and perfect and free.
The spinning slowed down, the blur of colors and shapes solidifying.
And then Callum Whitlock’s face came into view.
Wren knew she should feel frightened. Her body seemed to react before her mind—a tension in her muscles that wasn’t there before. But despite knowing she should be afraid, Wren couldn’t bring herself to be. What was so wrong with Callum? He had lovely eyes and hair…he was beautiful, really.
Is it warm in here? Wren thought. Callum’s face momentarily warped as she blinked and regained her awareness.
“Not particularly,” Callum answered with a chuckle.
It was only then that Wren realized she must have asked the question out loud.
He was holding her hand, swaying in time with the music.
It suddenly occurred to her that they were dancing.
How long had they been dancing? Wren couldn’t remember.
But there was something she should remember.
Something important. Something that could alter her existence forever—
“What’s on your mind?” Callum whispered into her ear.
Wren shook her head and it felt like the entire world shook with her.
“Nope.” She could practically see the words floating out of her mouth, swirling between them. “No, no, no. Nothing that I can tell you.”
Callum quirked a brow. “Keeping secrets from me, catalyst?” He pouted and drew her closer. “That’s not very nice.”
“Well, you’re not very nice.” Wren chuckled. “You’re actually quite mean.”
“Oh, it’s not personal,” Callum remarked with a dismissive wave. “I’m like this with everyone.”
Run! a voice in the back of Wren’s mind screamed. Find the others. But where would she run to? And why would she run? She was having fun. For the first time in years—Wren was actually having fun.
Callum’s eyes darted past Wren’s shoulders. He glanced at something behind her.
“Apologies, catalyst.” He slipped his hand under hers and brought it up to his lips. “As wonderful as this has been, it appears I’m needed.” He brushed a quick kiss against her hand. “The offerings are set to begin soon.”
The offerings. Something in Wren stirred. What was it about the offerings that was important? She was about to ask Callum, but then she blinked and he was gone, lost within the chaos.
Around her, bodies continued to move and sway.
The pounding beat of the drum echoed deep inside Wren’s chest, traveling down her body in a dizzying vibration.
Wren wanted to keep dancing. She wanted to dance and dance until her legs gave out beneath her.
But just as she was about to find another body to latch onto, she was suddenly tugged backward, pulled through the crowd by a strong set of hands.
When the world stopped spinning, she found two familiar faces staring back at her.
Quinn and Arthur peered down at her, arms crossed and faces pinched in concern.
“Wren.” Quinn’s voice echoed with a dreamlike reverberation.
Her light pink hair was pinned back from her face.
How had Wren never noticed how blue her eyes were?
They were practically glowing. “What are you—” Quinn stopped short, as if she’d realized something.
She waved her hand in front of Wren’s face and Wren giggled, attempting to catch Quinn’s hand with her own.
“It looks like a butterfly,” Wren remarked.
Quinn groaned and swatted Wren’s hand away. “Great,” she muttered under her breath. “She’s completely out of it.”
Arthur gripped Wren’s face in his hands. “Wren…how much did you drink?”
“The cup,” she announced proudly.
Panic surged behind Quinn’s expression. “A whole cup? You finished the elixir?”
Wren nodded. “The cup,” she echoed.
Arthur’s eyes widened. “Wren. You’re supposed to drink that over the course of the entire night.”
“We need August,” Quinn groaned, glancing around the cavern. “Where the hell is he?”
“Okay, Wren.” Arthur gave her a light pat on the face, which only made Wren break out into a fit of giggles. “I know it’s hard, but I need you to try to sober up, okay? Can you do that for me?”
“But I feel so goooooood,” Wren whined. And really—why should she? She could barely remember what had happened, but she could remember all the bad feelings that had been plaguing her. Sadness. Panic. Grief. And now all those feelings were gone, replaced by the velvety warmth pooling inside her.
“I’m sure you feel wonderful,” Arthur said, chuckling nervously. “But we need you. The offerings are going to start soon—”
“What happened?”
August’s rough voice cut through their conversation, and then he was there, all tall and brooding and beautiful. He held Wren’s face in his hands, inspecting her with those piercing gray eyes of his. Wren practically melted into his touch.
“Where the hell have you been?” Quinn asked through gritted teeth.
“I had to sneak away from Edith.” August didn’t even look at Quinn as he spoke, his eyes glued to Wren. “Loughty, darling, can you hear me?”
Wren hummed, nodding her head. “You are…insanely good-looking. I’ve told you that before, right?”
August’s mouth twitched. “Once or twice.”
“Well,” Wren huffed. “I should tell you more often. You are delightful to look at.”
“Okay, enough.” Quinn waved her hand in exasperation. She pointed a finger at August’s chest. “She’s your responsibility. Find a way to sober her up—fast.” And then she gripped Arthur by the wrist and the two of them vanished into the crowd.
“August.” Wren practically groaned his name as she clutched his shirt in her fist, drawing him closer. “I don’t want to sober up.”
August’s expression darkened. “You’ve been drugged, darling. You don’t know what you want.”
Wren continued to sway to the music, all the while keeping her eyes on August. She raised a brow at him, smirking. “Am I in trouble, General Hughes?”
At this, August’s hardened exterior seemed to crack, and he was unable to stifle the slight smirk rising to his lips. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, rolling his eyes as he shook his head in disapproval. “Christ, Loughty…” he muttered.
Wren let out a cackle of laughter, grabbing August by the hand, pulling him in closer. “Dance with me.”
He shook his head, glancing over his shoulder, eyes searching. “If Edith sees—”
“Then she’ll see that I’m a perfectly well-adjusted Demien partaking of all the revelry Equinox has to offer,” Wren interjected, spinning them both around and around, nearly tripping over herself.
Through the flurry of color and movement, she could see the outline of August’s smile, though there was something else contorting his expression, an unmistakable twinge of agony burning behind his storm-gray eyes.
“The offerings are about to begin,” August whispered. “We have to be ready for when Quinn detonates the explosion. If you’re not near Arthur when that happens—”
“I know, I know.” Wren’s head whirred, but only for a brief moment. She shook off the sobering wave with a twirl, unwilling to let go of her momentary euphoria. “But in the meantime, we have to blend in, don’t we?”
August’s body tensed against Wren. The muscles in his jaw tightened. He was clearly clinging to the last remaining threads of restraint. “It’s very difficult to say no to you.”
Wren gently gripped his hands, guiding them toward her waist. His fingers squeezed, the feeling of him touching her only heightened by the elixir still circulating through her system.
Wren leaned toward him. Her voice was rough and husky when she spoke again. “Then don’t.”
All at once, August’s control slackened.
A cautious smile rose to his lips as he tugged her closer, a slight flush sweeping over his cheeks.
He swayed in time with the music, muscles relaxing with every thump of the drum.
With August beside her, all of Wren’s senses doubled.
Touch. Smell. Taste. August was close enough that she could press her lips against his neck, dragging them down to his collarbone.
He arched his head back as she laid a kiss on the soft plane of his neck.
No one noticed. Or, perhaps, they did notice, and they simply were too drunk to care. The same intoxication that flowed through Wren permeated every inch of the cavern. Every Demien seemed alight with a glowing euphoria.
But then a voice cut through Wren’s haze. Deep. Grating. Demanding to be heard.
Are you having fun, my sweet catalyst?
Wren staggered to a halt.
Around her, everything seemed to vanish.
She was aware of the swaying bodies, of August standing in front of her, but the cavern had grown muffled, as though she were miles and miles away from her own body.
August was saying something, lips moving, but she couldn’t hear him over the sharp ringing in her ears.
“No…” Wren choked out, shaking her head. “Not here. Not now.”
You didn’t think I’d let you slip away from me so easily, did you?
Wren gasped, stumbling backward. Around her, the crowd continued to dance, twirling in time with the music. August was the only one who had stopped. He watched Wren, hands outstretched, calling out to her.
“What is it?” she heard August ask, brows furrowed in concern. “What’s wrong?”
I admit, it was a clever plan. But you couldn’t possibly have thought that I wouldn’t know? That I wouldn’t hear those whispered thoughts of yours? That I wouldn’t taste the hope rising inside you?
Something was tearing at her ribs. Crawling through her bones.
That voice. That terrible, twisted voice was inside her.
Wren’s legs gave out beneath her and she hit the floor hard, collapsing onto her knees.
Finally, the others around her seemed to take notice.
A few paused their dancing, glancing over with curious eyes.
August was pushing through the growing crowd, trying to get to her, calling out her name.
Quinn and Arthur stared from their position near the edge of the crowd, brows pinched.
They began to move toward her, but Wren knew, with sudden clarity, that it wouldn’t make a difference.
“Get out,” Wren pleaded, digging her fingers into her hair, tugging at her skull. “I’m not the one you want. I can’t be.”
You cannot run from your fate, Wren Loughty. I have seen it. I know who you are.
Wren’s vision fractured. Darkness pooled over her eyes. She no longer saw the festivities, no longer saw August tearing through the crowd, screaming her name. She was losing her grip on reality, slipping away.
“Please,” Wren begged one last time, a whispered plea to anybody who was listening.
But nobody was listening.
Not anymore.
When the darkness came for Wren, she didn’t bother putting up a fight.