14. Archer
Archer
Iknow exactly where the Confluence is. It’s been where I suspected all along.
The pitiful mortal simply confirmed it. I leave the smoking rubble of the compound behind me and the wounds at my back protest. They’re healing, but slowly.
I can feel the uncomfortable sensation of my muscle and flesh knitting back together.
Even so, I easily catch up with the trio of women and the mutt.
With two of them injured, they haven’t gotten far up the closest alley.
The older woman—Yevna—narrows her good eye at me in suspicion as I approach but says nothing.
I doubt that stroke of good fortune will last long though, she seems like she’s bursting to interrogate me, even in her frail state.
The tension is palpable as Raven takes the lead, navigating the twists and turns of the filthy alleys easily, despite the dark, despite that it all looks the fucking same.
Every few yards, the stupid mutt turns back and growls at me.
Here I was thinking we’d reached some sort of mutual understanding back at the damn compound.
“He doesn’t like men,” Raven says over her shoulder.
“Wonder why,” Saige retorts as they stop before a nondescript wooden door. “You still with us, Yev?”
“Unfortunately,” the old bat replies.
After what feels like a lot of unnecessary fumbling, Raven has the door open, and I’m following the unlikely company up a set of narrow, steep stairs. I don’t bother to offer carrying their fragile mortal bodies, I know without a doubt what the answer will be.
The stairs open up into a small and dusty loft. I have to brush the cobwebs away and duck my head to avoid hitting the rafters.
“Sit,” Saige tells Yevna, guiding her to a wooden crate.
She tends to Yevna with single-minded focus, examining the head wound, then moving to check the older woman's ribs, her wrists, anywhere there might be hidden damage.
When she's satisfied—or as satisfied as she can be without proper supplies—she sits back on her heels.
I should look away. Should focus on my own wounds, on planning our next move, on literally anything else. But I find myself watching… and Saige can’t leave it alone.
A minute later, she’s leaning forward again, tilting Yevna’s face toward the moonlight filtering through the window, checking her pupils for the second time. Then the third. Her fingers ghost over the swelling, gentle but thorough, as if she might have missed something critical the first two times.
“Still breathing, girl,” Yevna rasps. “Stop fussing.”
Saige’s jaw works like she’s grinding down words. Instead, she reaches for Yevna’s hand and squeezes it once, quick and fierce, before returning to her ministrations. The gesture is so brief I almost miss it, but the way Yevna’s good eye softens tells me she didn't.
However, her gaze hardens again as her steely focus latches on to me, a deep crease forming between her brows before she turns to Saige. “Tell me you didn’t.”
Saige’s shoulders cave inward. “It’s not that simple—”
“I warned you not to get into bed with the Azkari.”
Something inside me prickles with unwelcome interest. It’s an image I haven’t pictured in centuries, taking someone between the sheets.
And yet, my attention drifts to Saige’s reaction, warmth spreading through my chest. It’s a natural reaction, nothing more.
It wasn’t all that long ago my mouth was on hers.
It makes sense that she’s the first person I’d think of in that context.
“I’m hardly in bed with him,” Saige blusters, cheeks flushing.
Interesting. The thought of getting into bed with me makes her blush… and yet, her words come back to me again and I tell myself I’m relieved. She will never want an Azkari. Especially not a branded one. Which is good. We agreed on no emotional entanglements. No more kissing.
The old woman doesn’t take her eyes off me as she berates Saige with a voice of gravel. “Don’t tell me you did this to save us.”
Saige huffs in frustration, trying to take another look at Yevna’s head wound. “Well, I didn’t do it because I like his sunny personality—”
I let out a snort at that.
Saige motions to me. “Yevna, Raven… Meet Archer.”
I dip my head in acknowledgement. “I’d say it’s a pleasure, but I told Grayson I’m not a liar.”
Raven gives a derisive laugh as she strikes a piece of flint on a stone and coaxes a torch to light.
When she’s fitted it in a sconce, soft light floods the attic.
By the looks of things, it’s been a long time since anyone occupied this space.
The cobwebs are even more rampant than I first thought, there are crates and boxes everywhere, and there’s that musty scent that seems to infiltrate mortal dwellings.
“You’re bleeding.” Saige’s voice brings me back. She’s blinking at me; her brow furrowed in confusion.
I follow her gaze down to my boots. There’s more blood than there should be—a dark puddle spreading across the dusty floorboards, and I can feel it still trickling down, filling my boots with wet warmth.
My left boot squelches when I shift my weight.
A wave of dizziness hits me as I turn, and I brace one hand against a support beam, making it look casual.
Deliberate. The wood is rough under my palm, and I focus on that—the texture, the solidity—instead of the way the room wants to tilt.
“Typical,” Yevna gripes. “Not even five minutes in my home and there’s a man making a damn mess.”
I force a shrug. “It’ll stop.”
But Saige doesn’t look convinced. She stands there, torn, looking between Yevna behind her and me in front of her. Her jaw works like she’s chewing on words she doesn’t want to say.
“Saige, I need—” Yevna starts.
“I know.” But Saige doesn’t move toward her immediately.
Instead, she crosses to where Raven is unpacking supplies and grabs something—a roll of linen bandaging, I think—then walks past me and sets it on a crate.
Not in my hands. Not with any acknowledgment.
Just... there. Within reach if I choose to use it.
It’s such a small gesture. Barely counts as help at all.
It’s more than anyone’s offered me in centuries.
“It’ll stop,” I repeat, my fingers twitching to reach for the bandage.
“But will it mop itself up from my floor?” Yevna snaps.
“You’re one to talk,” I bite back, noting the mess she’s made.
“I can bleed in my own damn house if I want.”
“House? Bit generous with that word, aren’t you?” I deliberately walk bloody boot prints across the timber as I motion to the exposed joists with nails sticking out.
Grim tracks my movements, baring his fangs, letting out a low growl. I don’t know what I’ve done to aggravate the thing. So far, I’ve done nothing but get his masters out of trouble. A little gratitude might be fucking nice. “What’s the mutt’s problem?”
Yevna rises to her unsteady feet and points a gnarled finger at me. “First of all,” she spits. “That’s my son.”
I don’t know whether to laugh or back away from her. She’s clearly not of sound mind.
Grim stares me down, a gleam of challenge in his big brown eyes. Laugh, see how it ends for you, he seems to say.
“Second of all,” Yevna continues, her glare fiery. “He’s an excellent judge of character. He’s had you figured out from the second you showed up.”
I meet the mongrel’s discerning gaze that’s pinned on me. “Somehow, I fucking doubt that.”
“Yevna, sit down before you fall down,” Saige commands before turning her attention to me. “You too.”
I do no such thing. Though it’s amusing, in a way. I don’t remember the last time someone deigned to bark an order at me who wasn’t a prison guard acting on Malevron’s orders, let alone a mortal woman.
She throws her hands up, exasperated. “Suit yourself.” She spends the next few minutes continuing to tend to the grizzly older woman’s wounds, though even I can see there’s not much more to be done without any decent medical supplies.
That doesn’t stop her from trying though, from using scraps of her own sleeve to create makeshift bandaging, from checking Yevna’s pupils with a focus that belies her remorse.
Her fingers are gentle, but her jaw is tight as she examines each wound, cataloging the damage with quiet efficiency.
When she dabs at the matted blood in Yevna’s hair, the old woman hisses, and Saige’s hand freezes.
“I’m sorry,” Saige murmurs, wracked with guilt. “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. You and Raven were hurt because of me. You could have died—”
“True,” Raven replies from nearby, and I look up in surprise to find her expression lined with anger. “How could you not have told us about Thorne? About your debts?”
“I didn’t want you to get mixed up with him,” Saige replies, clearly devastated.
“Look how that turned out,” Raven fires back.
“Easy, Raven,” Yevna interjects tiredly.
“No,” Raven snaps, glaring at Saige. “We could have avoided this. We could have helped you. Instead, you put on a smile, told us everything was alright, like you always do, and we ended up chained up in Thorne’s compound. When are you going to realize you don’t have to do everything alone?”
Standing on the outskirts of the tiny space, I watch the mortals argue, heat rising in my chest as they band against Saige, grief lining her face.
“I’m sorry,” Saige says, voice cracking. “I didn’t mean for any of it to happen.”
“No one’s saying you did,” Yevna interjects. “What Raven means is that while there’s no permanent damage from Thorne, you hurt us by not confiding in us. We thought you had more faith in us than that.”
Saige hangs her head.
“Imagine what it’s like to find out all this stuff about you while we’re tied up with fucking Reid,” Raven adds.
“She said she’s fucking sorry.”
The three women look up, startled, as though they’d forgotten I was there.
“Are we done harping on about it?” I add.
Raven shoots me a glare before looking back at Saige. “So long as you don’t do it again, we’re good.”
“I won’t,” Saige promises, relief softening her face. “I’m forgiven?”