22. Talon
TALON
I wish Wren had told me his dreams were this bad.
Of course, I noticed he’d been avoiding sleep.
He’s been yawning into his coffee, blinking too slowly, drifting off in the middle of conversations and jerking himself awake like he’s been caught doing something wrong.
I noticed the way he’d go rigid when I suggested an early night.
The way he’d smile too brightly and kiss me to distract me whenever I asked if he was okay.
I just thought he was being stubborn. I thought maybe he was restless. I thought if I gave him time, he’d come to me when he was ready. I didn’t realize it had gotten this bad. Didn’t realize he was walking around half dead on his feet while Lord Yelling haunted every second he closed his eyes.
The image of him crumpling to the floor flashes through my head again and my stomach twists.
Wren had looked terrified, not just exhausted. Terrified. Not of falling. Not of being embarrassed. Of sleep.
That’s the part that won’t stop rattling around in my mind.
Wick presses something into my hand, and I look down to find a key in my palm. The spare to Wren’s apartment.
“Don’t worry about the shop,” Wick says. “Just take care of him, okay?”
I close my fingers around the key so tightly the edges bite into my skin.
“Yes,” I manage. “Of course.”
Then I’m moving before anyone can say anything else.
I rush out of Wick’s and around the side of the building toward the stairs leading up to Wren’s apartment. My feet hit each step hard enough to shake the whole staircase. My pulse pounds in my throat. I keep seeing him on the floor, limp and pale.
Keep seeing the dark circles under Wren’s eyes. The way he’d flinch awake if I moved in bed. The way he’d insist on making another pot of coffee at midnight.
I should’ve asked better questions. I should’ve sat him down and told him I knew something was wrong and that he didn’t have to keep carrying it by himself.
I should’ve stopped letting him brush me off with a smile and a joke and one of those kisses that always turns my brain to mush. I should’ve known.
By the time I reach the apartment door, my hands are shaking hard enough that I nearly drop the key. I fumble it once, curse under my breath, then jam it into the lock and push the door open.
The apartment is dim and quiet, lit only by the late afternoon sun spilling through the curtains in narrow golden stripes.
I carry him to his bed and lay him down.
He curls to his side on top of the blankets, one hand tucked beneath his cheek, the other resting limp against the mattress.
I curse and take his shoes off him. His pale hair spills across the pillow in a soft, tangled mess.
His lashes rest against his cheeks. His mouth is slightly open.
He looks peaceful. Too peaceful. My chest tightens.
I sit on the edge of the bed so fast the mattress dips under my weight. Wren doesn’t stir. Doesn’t even frown. The sleep powder has him under deep. I brush the hair back from his forehead with a careful hand. His skin is warm. Not feverish, just warm and soft beneath my palm.
“Sweet Wren,” I whisper, even though I know he can’t hear me. “What have you been doing to yourself?”
No answer, of course.
I smooth my thumb over his temple and swallow hard around the knot in my throat.
I hate that he’s been suffering like this right in front of me.
I hate that Lord Yelling still has enough power over him to reach him in his sleep.
Even here, in his apartment, in a town that’s supposed to be safe, that bastard can still sink claws into Wren’s mind and leave him shaking.
If I could drag him out of Wren’s dreams and tear him apart with my bare hands, I would.
Wren is mine to protect.
I take a slow breath and force it back down. Wren doesn’t need my anger right now. He needs me calm when he wakes up. That’s the part I’m trying not to think about too hard. Because what happens when he wakes?
Will he bolt? Laugh it off? Curl in on himself and apologize like this is somehow an inconvenience he’s caused me? The idea alone makes my jaw clench. He shouldn’t have to hide pieces of himself just because someone taught him to hide his pain. To grin and bear it.
I tug my boots off and set them by the door, then shrug out of my jacket and drape it over the chair in the corner. I’m not leaving him alone. Not for a second.
Carefully, so I don’t jostle him, I stretch out beside him and prop myself on one elbow. The bed really is small for both of us, but I make it work. I pull him close to me.
Wren makes a soft sound in his sleep and his brow pinches. I freeze.
Is he already dreaming about Lord Yelling again? In his drugged state, he can’t escape whatever waits for him behind his eyelids. He just shifts closer to the heat of me, his hand bunching in my shirt like he’s reaching for something.
My heart damn near breaks.
I thread my fingers through his. “I’ve got you.”
His grip tightens weakly, instinctive and trusting even asleep. I lower my head and press a kiss to his forehead, lingering there for a moment. His skin smells faintly like sugar and coffee and Wren.
“I’m sorry I didn’t catch it sooner,” I whisper into his hair. “I’m sorry you had to get this bad before somebody stepped in.”
I don’t know if he’ll want to talk when he wakes. I don’t know if he’ll let me help or if he’ll try to convince me it’s all fine now that he’s had a little sleep. He can try. I’m done standing by while he runs himself ragged, trying to outrun nightmares alone.
Whatever Lord Yelling left inside his head, whatever memories keep dragging him back into the dark, we’ll face them together. When Wren wakes up, we’re going to talk.
For now, though, all I can do is keep my body curled around his and hope that wherever sleep has taken him, it’s gentler than before.
Wren breathes in, then out, and settles more heavily against me.
I press another kiss to his temple and keep watch.