Chapter 10 Wren
WREN
Wren paced around her tent and daydreamed of setting the whole thing ablaze.
And she would have by now, had her magic not been stolen. She’d have laid waste to every inch of this godforsaken encampment and danced upon its ashes. It was bad enough to have her magic stripped. To be forced to endure days upon days of endless torture. But now…this?
The mere memory of August covered in shadows was enough to make her sick. Nausea coiled itself around her throat, threatening to rise inside her, but Wren pushed the sensation down with a steady exhale.
I’ve come to take back what is rightfully mine.
She’d never heard such vengeance in his voice…had never even known he was capable of it. But there was no denying what she had seen with her own eyes.
August has ripped his humanity out of his soul.
The thought alone was enough to eviscerate the last shred of energy Wren had left, and soon she found herself slumping down onto her bed, the exhaustion of the day settling upon her bones.
She blew out the candle at her bedside table, crawling under the sheets.
It wasn’t just the emotional toll of seeing August again.
The torture sessions had left her feeling carved out and hollow.
It was violating, being forced to relive her death over and over, being compelled to witness her sister’s untimely end without reprieve.
Her mind felt unsteady. As though it were on the brink of shattering into a thousand infinitesimal pieces, and all Wren could do was sit back and watch.
If only she had her magic.
Ever since Edith had stripped Wren of her magic, a persistent ache had lingered in her chest, as though a vital organ had been cut out. She had grown to find comfort in her magic. A source of joy in the bleak existence she’d been handed.
Without her magic…she had nothing.
She was nothing.
Wren had begun to close her eyes and drift into the inviting oblivion of sleep when a rustle echoed at the tent’s entrance. Her eyes shot open. She sat up, scanning her surroundings, but all she saw was darkness.
Instinctively, she lifted her hand as if to summon a shard of light, cursing under her breath when nothing happened. Right. No magic. She blinked twice, attempting to adjust her vision to the dimness of the room.
“Is someone there?” Wren called out.
But the only response was a thick silence.
Despite the stillness that lingered, Wren couldn’t shake the feeling that she was no longer alone. Somebody was watching her. She felt a presence in the darkness. A heaviness that wasn’t there before.
Weapon, Wren thought, panicked. You need a weapon.
But what could she use? She didn’t have magic, and her trusty dagger had been taken from her upon her arrival at the encampment. All she had was this bed and these sheets and a damn nightstand—
Wren muffled a gasp.
Of course.
She quickly reached her hand out, blindly searching the top of the nightstand, until she felt the sharp metal edge of the candleholder resting upon the surface.
She flinched as the recently melted wax stung the tips of her fingers, and let the candle topple to the floor, though she kept a firm grip on the heavy metal holder.
Slowly, Wren slid out of bed. Her chest rose and fell with panicked breaths.
“Whoever you are…you shouldn’t be here. Edith wouldn’t be happy to know you messed with her favorite new toy.”
Wren held her breath. She waited for a response.
At first…there was nothing. Only that weighted, tangible silence.
But then came a noise. A deep rumble.
Laughter.
Before Wren could process what was happening, a bright glowing light appeared a few feet in front of her, revealing a set of silver eyes staring back at her.
Augustine Hughes had one hand lifted between them, a swirling vortex of flames hovering in his palm. The other hand was firmly shoved into the pocket of his black trousers, a casual arrogance in his stance.
“You’re right,” August mused. The right corner of his mouth lifted a fraction. “She’s never been fond of sharing.”
Wren’s response was instinctual. She lifted the candleholder higher, tightening her grip, though she didn’t strike. Not yet.
If August was at all concerned with the blunt metal object, he didn’t show it. He simply dragged his smoke-filled eyes up toward the holder before sliding them back down onto Wren’s face.
He lifted a brow. “And what, exactly, do you intend to do with that?”
“What does it look like?” Wren seethed, ignoring the heat rising to her cheeks.
“Well.” August cleared his throat. “It appears as though you intend to bludgeon me with a candleholder. And though I have to admit the weapon of choice is…creative…I can’t imagine it would be very effective.”
Asshole.
Wren didn’t even bother with a response.
She simply lunged forward, swinging the candleholder with all her might, though August’s hand was gripping her wrist before the blunt edge could make contact with the side of his face.
She groaned through gritted teeth, attempting to rip herself free of his grasp, but August was strong.
Even more so than he had been back at Blackwood.
Something had changed inside him. Wren could tell that he was barely putting any effort into holding her back.
That he was holding back.
“Screw you,” Wren spat out.
“Oh, come on, Loughty.” August let out a low chuckle, inching closer. “I’m sure you can come up with something a bit more clever than that.”
“What the hell do you want?”
The teasing smirk on August’s lips faded. “I want to talk,” he whispered. “To explain.”
“Explain what?” Wren scoffed. “How you lied to me from the moment we met at Blackwood? How our relationship was just some…some ploy. Some Demien Order tactic—” But August cut her off before she could continue, tugging her closer.
And though his grip was firm, Wren could tell he was restraining his strength, never once pressing down hard enough to actually hurt her.
“Don’t.” The word slipped out of him, hoarse and desperate.
His face was inches away from hers now, close enough that Wren could make out the small line of scar tissue beneath his right eye.
The soft curve of his lips. “We’re not doing this.
We’re not playing right into Edith’s game.
You know just as well as I do that what we had—what we have—is real. ”
Wren flinched. “You gave up your humanity.”
“I did,” August replied with a nod. “And I’d do it again. I’d do it ten times over.”
“Why?”
August’s brows creased together. He tilted his head, eyes snaking up and down her face.
The next words he spoke were a breathless confession.
“You know why.”
The words were enough to knock the breath from her lungs. She knew the threaded meaning behind them. The truth echoing in the silence. But could she truly trust him? After everything she had learned? After everything she had seen?
“You expect me to believe that all of this”—Wren gestured to the shadows swimming beneath the veins of August’s exposed forearms—“is for my benefit?”
“I made a promise,” August whispered. “And I keep my promises.”
Wren didn’t need him to elaborate. She knew exactly what promise he was referring to.
Find me. Wherever you are, wherever we end up, don’t stop looking for me.
August let out a disgruntled sigh. He released Wren’s wrist, stepping away from her. Wren blinked, taken aback by the sudden distance. She was free to attack him now. To run. But something in the way he looked at her had her frozen in place, unable to tear her gaze away from him.
“Look.” August rubbed the back of his neck. “I knew Edith wouldn’t even entertain the idea of letting me back into the Order if I didn’t do something dramatic. Something to catch her attention.”
Wren snorted. “Well, congratulations. I’d say removing your humanity and condemning your soul to an eternity trapped in purgatory is pretty fucking dramatic.”
August’s jaw clenched. “I did what I had to do.”
“You know what this means for you, don’t you?
” Wren stepped closer. She found her hand reflexively reaching for his face, though she stopped herself.
She was terrified to cross that line between them again.
To allow herself to touch him. “You can never move on, August. You can never cross over to the Other Side.”
August smiled, but there was a sadness reflected in his gray eyes. “That was never in the cards for me.”
“According to who?”
August had opened his mouth to answer when a sudden noise stole their attention.
Footsteps echoed in the distance. The muffled rumble of voices.
August raised his index finger to his mouth, and Wren held her breath, listening.
Luckily, whoever they were, they didn’t seem to be getting any closer, and a few seconds later, the footsteps receded.
August cursed under his breath, running his hand through his dark curls.
A thought occurred to Wren.
“How the hell did you even get in here, anyway? Edith relocates me here every night, but I know for a fact she keeps a guard on duty outside while I’m sleeping,” Wren muttered. “I can hear them pacing back and forth all night.”
August rubbed at his jaw. “Best if you don’t know.”
Wren chest tightened. “Are they…did you…”
Sensing the terror etched upon her face, August shook his head.
“I didn’t rip his soul out of existence, if that’s what you’re asking.
” He let out a bitter chuckle, craning his neck from side to side.
At the subtle movement, Wren noticed a slithering shadow trailing up and down the veins of his neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his white shirt.
“But…I did have to use a bit of shadow magic to sedate him. More than I wanted to, if I’m honest.”
Wren shivered. “How much?”