Chapter 48 – Marc
Marc followed Ilijas’s instruction and quickly stripped. He used the same soap and washed himself thoroughly, even when he wanted to hurry. The last thing they needed was more poison near Wayla because he didn’t wash himself properly.
There was a towel and a pair of sports shorts that looked suspiciously like something the angel would wear waiting for him when he got out of the shower. Well, fuck, better than traipsing around in a towel.
By the time he stepped into the living room, the whole place was brimming with bodies and Sinister was directing the traffic.
“Sim and Yash are setting up a room for Wayla at home,” he told Marc as soon as he saw him exit the bathroom. “She’s moving in.”
No question, no negation, it was decided. Not that Marc had any objections. If she had been with them, none of this would have happened in the first place.
“What about them?” Xuan asked, hooking a thumb at Wayla’s roommates. Before anyone could answer, Irishen blew in like an ice storm, white hair messy and shirt rumpled. He crashed on his knees next to Wayla.
“Mate!”
Jarred clasped his shoulder, stopping the male from reaching her and interfering with Ilijas’s healing. “She’s unconscious—poisoned—but stable,” he hurried to explain.
Irishen’s eyes flashed a brilliant white and frost crept up his throat.
“Who did this?”
Jarred shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know.”
Sinister called back to him. “Grant and Justin are looking for any traces. We are moving Wayla into the Powerhouse.”
Marc expected Irishen to argue, but he nodded. “The girls can take over my place. I doubt Salis’s room will hold all of them and my place is better warded.” He said it absently, like it was equally given that he was going where Wayla was and that his place would be empty.
Mates.
Marc still had a hard time digesting that part. Except that it was painfully clear in the way he and Jarred hovered around Wayla. He bit his lip and grunted.
“You got this?” he asked Sinister, who nodded.
“Go.”
Marc didn’t wait another second before marching over and dropping right next to Ilijas. His sparkle looked too still. At least last time, even if she had been in pain, there had been some life in her. This time, she was eerily still.
“Anything I can do?”
Ilijas didn’t answer, but Jarred and Irishen shared a glance.
“Later,” Irishen eventually said to Jarred, who turned to look at Marc.
“Just stay close. I—we think… you know, fuck it. Just stay close.”
“Eloquent,” Ilijas murmured quietly, still focused on Wayla.
“Is she…” Marc couldn’t quite voice his question out loud.
“She’ll be fine,” Ilijas said. “She’s a fucking powerhouse.” He chuckled and opened his eyes, leaning back. “Pun fully intended. That would have been a fatal dose to a lesser being. She’ll sleep for a day or two, but she’ll be fine.”
“You sure? Her bond still feels… weird.”
“Weird how?” Ilijas focused on Jarred.
“Like… it’s drunk. Spinning or dizzy.”
“Ah. That’s a normal side effect of lalwe root. It’ll pass. She might be sick and have a headache, but those should pass soon. If she wakes and complains about any other pain or either of you sense anything, get me immediately.”
“Okay,” Marc said. “Can we move her now?”
“Maybe get her some clothes that haven’t been in her room, but then yes. Rest and quiet are the best medicine.”
“I’ll get her some,” Jarred replied and got up.
Irishen stroked Wayla’s hair. A thin layer of frost spread over her wet hair and she sighed deeply. How that could feel good was beyond Marc, but clearly it did, so he kept his mouth shut and looked around.
“Where’s Hellion?” Marc was surprised when he couldn’t spot the male. It seemed like everyone else was here. Zahir was helping Chrissy pack, Salis was doing the same with Diana, Ginny already had her stuff in order. The only ones missing were Hellion and Hazard.
Irishen looked up too, frowning. “He’s not here?”
“Not that I can see.”
“You two worry about Wayla now,” Ilijas said as he climbed to his feet. “I’ll tell Sinister or Zahir to check on Hellion and Hazard.”
“Okay.” That was an easy suggestion to follow.
Jarred returned with some clothes and together they got Wayla dressed. Marc expected either male to snarl at him for being so close to their mate and Claimed when she was hurt, but neither did. They tackled the task with grim determination, and Marc’s help was accepted without a word.
“I drove here,” Irishen said once Wayla was bundled up. “Jarred, you got her?”
“Sure.” Jarred lifted Wayla up in his arms, and Marc hurried to support her head before it could roll to the side.
“Let’s move it then. You coming, mage?”
“Yes, Your Highness,” Marc replied without any real heat. They walked out, leaving Sinister in charge. At the last moment, Irishen stopped and fished out keys from his pocket.
“Salis,” he shouted and threw the keys at the angel. “I’ll text you the security codes.”
“Got it,” Salis replied, arm around Diana’s shoulders, who leaned into his side.
Once they got outside, Marc looked for Irishen’s telltale sports car and couldn’t spot it. There was one bright blue minivan parked on the lawn, though. Irishen pressed a key and a side door slid open. Marc’s mouth dropped. He couldn’t help it.
“A minivan.”
“Magical tanker masquerading as a suburban midlife crisis van,” Irishen corrected him.
“A. Fucking. Mini. Van.”
Irishen sighed morosely. “Yeah.”
The laughter that bubbled up from Marc was real, and he hurried after Jarred, who easily slid inside with Wayla.
“Oh sparkle.” He chuckled. “This is golden.”
“Just wait until she makes you change your car,” Irishen grumbled.
“I don’t have a car.” Marc grinned.
“She likes my bike,” Jarred added helpfully and kissed Wayla’s cheek. “Don’t you, precious?”
“Just you wait,” Irishen said and started the car. The way it roared to life made Marc laugh again. Whatever was under the hood certainly hadn’t come with factory settings.