Talon #2
We wander Main Street with no real destination after that, just taking in the booths and the crowd as the festival swells around us.
There are handmade soaps, pottery, honey jars, spell work, fresh flowers, preserves, woven blankets, enchanted jewelry, and more food than I think the town could reasonably consume in one day.
Wren chatters about which performances he wants to catch later. The wood nymph show in the community garden. The lanterns after sunset. The hammock grove someone set up near the edge of town for stargazing. I find myself wanting to give him every bit of it.
I’ve never shared a hammock with anyone.
Never laid under the stars with someone pressed against my side just because I wanted to.
The thought of doing it with Wren settles into me.
Maybe tonight, if things go well. After the festival winds down, I can steal him away from the noise and let him curl up against me while we watch the sky.
He laughs at something a passing vendor says. For a little while, it’s easy to pretend the day belongs only to us.
Then Wren stops walking. The shift is so abrupt I nearly stumble into him. He goes completely still in the middle of Main Street, fingers tightening painfully around mine. All the color drains from his face in one awful rush. His breathing turns shallow. His pupils blow wide.
“Wren?”
His eyes dart across the crowd, frantic and unfocused, like he’s searching for something only he can see.
“He’s here,” he whispers.
My stomach drops.
The festival noise keeps going around us. Laughter, music, the creak of wagons, the murmur of conversation. But for me it all goes muffled and distant beneath the rush of blood in my ears.
I step closer. “I’m here. Lord Yelling can’t get to you. You’re surrounded by half the town.”
Wren jerks away from me so violently our joined hands break apart.
The look he turns on me freezes me where I stand. Hatred. Not fear. Not panic. Hatred so sharp it feels like a blade pressed to my throat.
“You’re so fucking pathetic,” he spits.
The words hit hard enough to make me rock back on my heels. For one horrible second, I can’t breathe. This isn’t Wren. It can’t be.
He takes another step away from me, shaking so badly his flower crown slips crooked. “Leave me the fuck alone. Go back to the Fae lands. Maybe you’ll find someone there desperate enough to love you, but it’s not going to be me.”
“Wren?” My voice comes out thin and wrong.
He flinches like hearing his own name from me hurts him. “Don’t say my name. No one wants you here.”
Every word lands exactly where it’ll do the most damage. Like someone rifling through my insecurities and feeding them back to me in Wren’s voice.
People start to notice. Heads turn. Conversations stutter. I can feel eyes on us from every direction, but I can’t bring myself to care because Wren looks terrified and furious and lost all at once. He shoves me hard in the chest.
“I respected you until you tried to tether me,” he snaps. “I won’t be your companion. Not ever.”
This isn’t about me. It isn’t. I know that. But hearing it from his mouth still cuts deep enough to leave me reeling.
“Wren,” I say, forcing myself to stay calm. “This isn’t you. Lord Yelling is in your head.”
“Shut up!” he screams. “Stop trying to manipulate me. You’ve been in my dreams for weeks and now you’re taunting me in my new home. I won’t stand for it.”
Oh skies. He thinks I’m Lord Yelling. He’s looking right at me, but he doesn’t see me at all.
“Wren, listen to me.” I reach for him carefully, palms up, trying not to crowd him. “It’s Talon. You’re in Hex. You’re safe.”
“Leave!” he shouts, voice cracking. “Leave Hex and never come back or I’ll—”
I catch his shoulders before he can bolt into the street. “Wren. He’s not here. He’s not here. Come back to me.”
He screams. The sound is piercing enough to split straight through the festival.
Magic shudders in the air. Overhead, the floating moss rose canopy tears apart as if the scream sliced through the spell holding it together.
Flowers rain onto the street in a soft avalanche of pink and yellow.
Several booths rattle. Someone gasps. Somewhere glass breaks.
Wren rips free of my grip and stumbles back, chest heaving.
Wick shouts our names from the bakery booth, but he sounds impossibly far away. Everyone is staring now. I should care about the scene. About the questions this will raise. About the fear on people’s faces. I don’t. I only care about Wren.
His eyes are wild and wet, fixed on me with terrified fury. I can’t leave him here like this. I can’t let him humiliate himself in front of half the town while Lord Yelling uses him like a puppet.
“Damn it, Wren,” I say, voice breaking around the edges. “Come back.”
A laugh whispers right against my ear.
“Silly griffin.” Ice shoots down my spine. I whirl, but there’s no one there. Just the milling crowd and drifting flowers. “Can’t you see I have him?” the voice murmurs, full of cruelty. “He’s so soft willed. He let me slide right into his mind. All he can see is me.”
I bare my teeth and search for the meddling Fae.
The voice chuckles, delighted by my panic. “He has no idea he’s breaking your poor weak heart, does he?”
Rage slams into me so fast my vision whites out at the edges.
I don’t think. I move. I grab Wren around the waist and haul him against me before he can fight free.
He thrashes instantly, nails scraping my arms, flower crown falling into the street as he screams and kicks.
I lock my grip tighter and picture the field behind my house with every ounce of focus I have.
Magic tears through me. The festival vanishes.
We land hard in the field behind my house. Wren screeches and bucks in my hold like a trapped animal. The second my feet are steady beneath me, I set him down and jump back before he can claw my face open.
“Wren,” I say, breathing hard. “Wake up. Come back to me.”
He whirls, eyes wild, chest heaving. Tears spill down his cheeks, but his expression never changes from one of pure fury.
“Go away,” he chokes out. “You can’t collar and chain me. I’m free from court rules. You can’t have me.”
The words aren’t for me. They’re for the Fae wearing my face in his mind. So why does it still feel like he’s gutting me?
I raise both hands slowly, taking one careful step toward him like I’m approaching an animal that might bite. “Wren, listen to my voice. He isn’t here. You’re safe.”
“Are you sure I’m not here?” The voice comes from my left this time.
I spin.
A Fae I’ve never seen before leans lazily against the tree line, inspecting his nails. He’s beautiful, like all Fae. Elegant clothes. Perfect moss green hair. A smirk that makes me want to rip his throat out.
Lord Yelling. So he’s not just in Wren’s head. He’s actually here.
“Talon!” Wren cries, stumbling toward the Fae instead of me. “Lord Yelling’s here.” He points right at me.
My heart drops into my stomach.
Lord Yelling’s smile widens.
“He’s toying with your mind, Wren,” I say, hating how weak it sounds. “That’s not me.”
“My sweet Wren.” Lord Yelling opens his arms. “Come here. We can defeat this Lord Yelling together. Then we’ll be free forever.”
Wren goes to him immediately. No hesitation. No doubt. He throws himself into Lord Yelling’s arms like he’s running to safety, and I have to stand there and watch another male hold him while Wren trembles against his chest.
“Yes,” Wren says desperately. “Yes, we can send him back to the Fae lands, right?”
“We absolutely can, sweetling.” Lord Yelling kisses the side of Wren’s head and smirks at me over his hair. “Lord Yelling doesn’t stand a chance.”
Something ugly and feral tears loose inside me. My griffin has been restless all morning. Protective. Alert. Now he rises in a rush, claws scraping at the inside of my skin.
Mine. Protect Wren.
I step back, because if I don’t give myself that inch of space, I might shift badly and break something I can’t fix. Lord Yelling’s eyes narrow. I don’t bother warning him. I let the change take me.
Bones crack and reform. Magic rolls through me in a violent wave. My body surges larger, heavier, stronger, as fur and feathers burst across my skin and claws carve into the earth. The world sharpens, scents and movement snapping into brutal focus.
Wren stumbles back from Lord Yelling with a startled cry. Lord Yelling’s composure finally cracks. Before he can react, I lunge.
One massive paw slams into his chest and knocks him flat.
I pin him to the ground, claws caging him in so close he can’t move without risking disembowelment.
My beak snaps inches from his face, a warning so clear even the arrogant Fae should understand it.
Lord Yelling goes still beneath me, eyes wide. Good.
For Wren, I’ll go back to the Fae lands.