by Hickory Mack
“This is my fault. I shouldn’t have let him come here,” she gasped between tears. “I knew it wasn’t safe, but I brought him anyway.”
“He wanted to be here with you. Even I know that much. You can’t blame yourself for what some sadistic prick did to him. His fangs will regrow, and his wounds will heal. In time, this will be nothing more than a bad memory,” Mouro soothed.
“You don’t understand. It’s my job to protect Saint. I let him come because it’s what I wanted. I could have made him stay.”
“Stop it. Hold it in and feel sorry for yourself when we get out of here, alright? What do we need to do next?” he asked, using his thumb to wipe the tears from her cheek. Elsie blinked at him, holding Saint tighter, but she swallowed hard and raised her hand, opening the next portal.
“That’s Frost. Can you go get him?” Her voice cracked, but she’d managed to get the words out.
“For you,” he said, leaving her behind. Frida sat pressed against Elsie’s thigh, her feathers glowing an iridescent blue.
“Thank you for bringing him to me, Frida. You’re the best,” she praised, stroking Saint’s fur. He was out cold, and she didn’t know which drug would counteract the sedative to wake him up. At least it wasn’t being pumped into his veins anymore.
“I love you, Saint. I’m so sorry.”
Mouro came back without the wolf, a bewildered expression on his face. “He was already awake when I came in. Do you know who that is? The amount of sedatives they were dumping into that guy was insane, but the only effect it had was keeping him quiet,” he said and Elsie shook her head.
“Why do you ask? Do you know who he is?”
“No, but he has one hell of a temper,” the wolverine demon said, rolling his shoulder.
“Did he hurt you?” she asked, looking him over, and he gave her a grin.
“Nothing too bad,” he said.
“Where is he?” She wanted the wolf by her side, needing the comfort of his presence. Most of all, she wanted to know that the hunters would pay for what they’d done.
“Taking his revenge on the hunters, I’d guess. He ran through a wall.”
“Good. He’s wanted to do this for a while, but like an idiot, I’ve been holding him back.” She left that connection open in case Frost decided to come through it, then opened the next one to the room holding Cross.
“The witch?” Mouro guessed, and she nodded. He went through without hesitation.
“Saint? We’re not in a safe place right now. You need to wake up so we can leave,” she urged, her tears splattering onto his fur. “You can go back to sleep as soon as we’re back on Earth, I promise. Just wake up, please.”
When he remained still, she started to pray. “Santa Muerte, Santisima, the white lady, holy death, Mother. It is not his time. Don’t you dare take him from me. Heal his wounds, his mind, and his heart. Give him back to me, Mother. Give him back,” she begged, willing the universe to let Santisima hear her prayers.
Something exploded nearby, but she didn’t flinch, knowing it probably had to do with Frost. She hoped he was venting all that rage inside of him on the people who deserved it. The hunters owed him at least that much.
Mouro returned, half carrying Cross, who was barely conscious. Elsie looked up at them and chewed on the inside of her lip. As badly as she wanted to go find Angus Cornick, it was more important to get her mates to safety.
Opening a final portal to Earth, the cold air of the Worldbase mixed with the air outside. Mouro dragged Cross through without questioning her. Elsie got to her feet, refusing to admit to herself that her thigh felt like it was on fire. She didn’t have time for pain; she needed to take care of her mates.
The problem was, in his hound form, Saint was huge. She was a lot stronger than a typical human, but he was easily three times her weight. Elsie bent down and lifted his front paws onto her shoulders. Shrugging and maneuvering, she managed to drape his head over her front to keep him better balanced.
“I’ve got you. We’re leaving now, so don’t worry. They’ll never hurt you again,” she vowed. She’d make sure of it. Elsie hauled him forward, ignoring her own pain but wincing when she heard his hind end dragging across the concrete floor. Another explosion came from deeper in the compound.
“You hear that? Frost and that fox are going to make rubble out of this place. And when you’re feeling better, we’ll come back and make sure none of those bastards were left alive.”
“The hell you are,” Mouro intervened. He grabbed Saint’s hind end, lifting him off the ground. Elsie didn’t argue with him; she accepted his help, and together they hauled Saint outside.
It was dark on Earth, but the air had never smelled so sweet. They lay Saint down in the tall grasses next to Cross, and Elsie arranged his limbs until he looked comfortable. Mouro’s dolls pressed in close, curious expressions on their normally blank faces, but they didn’t attempt to touch him. Elsie regarded them warily for a moment, then, after a kiss to Saint’s forehead, she looked over at Mouro.
“He needs help,” she said, placing her hands over the wound on his side. “I can deal with basic wounds, but this is so much worse than what I’m capable of.”
“We’ll figure it out. I can go into the town and find someone to help, okay? They’re bound to have a few healers in a collective of that size,” he said.
“I’m scared for him. And for myself. We never found the elixir, which means I’m going to run out of time. I can’t leave Saint to collapse the gates, but what if the shades get loose? I need to be in two places at once, and I can’t.”
“There’s only one place you need to be. Look around. All of your mates are in one place. Everything you need is right here. Once that fox starts tearing into things, there is no safe place you can hide. Listen, Elspeth, I know you were there the day he was taken. If I know, there’s no way he doesn’t. You have to stay away from that guy.” Mouro insisted. “Do what you can to help your hound.”
“I’ll go look for the elixir, and I’ll take care of the shades. I’ve always wanted one of my own anyway,” he added with a lopsided grin.
“No! You don’t know your way around in there. There’s no point in you getting lost or caught up in the fox’s rage. Neither of us will go. We’ll just have to figure something out. Please, bring back the healer,” Elsie begged. “He needs someone that can heal more efficiently than I can.”
Mouro grabbed her hand and tilted her chin up. “I’ll be back as quickly as I can, alright?”
“There is no need to go anywhere for a healer. I can help him. And young man, if you do not remove your hand from my reaper, you will lose it.”
Elsie and Pascal looked up at the two approaching men at the same time. The speaker wore a sweeping white kimono with pale blue flowers. He held a hand painted fan in one long-fingered hand, and the front of his hip-length, white hair was pulled back and away from a delicate, nearly feminine face. There was a slight tilt to the outer corner of his bright blue eyes and a familiar smirk on his perfect lips. At the top of his head was a glorious set of antlers, dripping in silver and pearls.
“Wren,” Elsie breathed, her tears starting anew with pure relief. Shaking off Mouro, she launched herself forward and into his arms. Wren caught her up, holding her tight, his hand on the back of her head.
“There is too much fire on the other side of that doorway. It is not safe for her or the demon. I will go in your mate’s stead,” the man standing next to Wren volunteered, and Elsie’s eyes slid to him, really noticing him for the first time.
He also wore a kimono, this one a pale green that set off his bright red hair and eyes. His skin was as pale as Wren’s, and their facial features were similar, but when he smiled, Elsie saw that every one of his teeth were sharp. It was obvious who he was, even without an introduction. He didn’t bother hiding his fire magic.
“Reaper, this is my brother, Muethdee. Please allow him to retrieve your elixir.” Wren’s eyes flicked to Mouro. “Who is this?�
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“Lord Mouro Pascal, I’m Elspeth’s mate. Who the hell are you?” he demanded, completely unafraid of the creature who could turn him to dust with a single blow. Wren touched the folded fan to his lips, hiding a small feral smile.
“Your mate? I explicitly told you not to let anyone else touch you,” Wren scolded, ignoring the wolverine. Elsie immediately pointed at Frida.
“It’s her fault.” Her eyes returned to the spirit. He was every bit as beautiful in this body as in his female form. It was hard to take her gaze from him.
Wren came closer, bending down so his mouth was next to her ear. “However shall we deal with you?” he asked, and Elsie flushed all over. “We are sorry, Reaper. I missed our date.”
“I did too,” she admitted, careful not to move. Wren was so close any movement at all would bring them together. “I was scared for you when you didn’t come back.”
“I do apologize for that, and I’ll explain later. Just know that it was his fault.” Wren pointed a sneaky finger at his fiery brother then straightened up. “May I have a vial of your elixir?”
Elsie opened her pocket dimension and fished one out. Wren took it and handed it to his brother. “This is what you’ll be looking for. Go do as you must. Have fun, but do whatever you can to bring me that elixir.”
“As you say, Earthy.”
“Oh, Muethdee,” Wren called as he neared the door Elsie had created. The fire element looked back at his older brother, his face placid. “These abominations have hurt my mate. Do not leave a single hunter standing.”
He waved a hand in acknowledgment and disappeared into the next dimension.
“Please, Wren, help me heal Saint and Cross. They’re hurt,” Elsie begged.
“As much as it would please me to have you to myself, I will not risk your heart. I will take care of your mates. While my female self specializes in fertility, I am more well rounded.”
“Thank you.”
“No need to thank me just yet.” Wren leaned forward and tapped her shoulder with his fan. “Every day means every day, and you have several to make up for.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mouro asked, but Elsie avoided the question, her face flaming. She knew exactly what Wren was referring to.
Wren winked at her. “It’s our little secret.” Then, with a serious expression, he raised his hand, his palm facing her. “Since we’ve agreed you’re staying, why don’t you help me make my dreams come true?”
Elsie bit her lip, scared that this might not be the best time to start another bond. What if Frost needed her and she missed it? What if the bond forming took energy away from healing and Saint suffered because of it?
“Stop overthinking it,” Wren suggested. “Our connection will not bring anyone harm.”
She couldn’t even be mad that Wren had heard her thoughts again. She’d definitely been projecting. Raising her hand, she pressed her palm against his, threading their fingers together. They stared into each other’s eyes as the bond formed, forever connecting them to one another. Usually, it felt like the bond was snapping into place, but her bond with Wren felt like it had always been there. They’d simply woken it up.
“There you are,” Wren said softly, placing a hand over his heart. “Exactly where you’ve always belonged. You are mine, just as I promised.”
He bent down and pressed his lips to hers. There was no heat; he wasn’t trying to start a fire in her nether regions. This was soft and gentle, almost reverent. Filled with love and affection, his kiss was almost painfully sweet.
“I will never leave you again,” he promised, pressing his forehead to hers. “I love you, Elspeth Raissa Chantraine.”
“I love you, Korshyo of the Earth.”
“Let’s stick with Wren,” he chuckled, touching his hand to the top of her head. “Shall we heal your demon and brujo together?”
“Yes, please.”
Wren beamed at her, then leaned in close to her ear once more. “Why do you keep staring at me?”
“Because you’re still beautiful. You look almost exactly the same.”
“Did you think I would be different simply because I’m male?” Wren laughed, but Elsie shook her head, touching his face.
“I don’t know what I expected. It was hard to imagine you as a man, but now that I see you, you’re perfect.”
“You don’t have to try so hard, you know. I’m already yours, and I plan to seal our bond as soon as possible,” he teased before brushing his lips against her throat. “Come. The sooner your other mates are healed, the sooner I can take you for myself.”
Chapter 47
“Given time for the drugs to wear off, the witch will be fine. This one is most in need of my assistance,” Wren said after examining the two. He bent over Saint with a troubled look on his face.
“How long do you think it will take? Will he be okay?” Elsie asked, expecting reassurances, but Wren was quiet.
“The truth is I don’t know. He cannot use his magic, not even latent magic for healing. They caused a lot of internal damage. It’s amazing he’s still alive at this point,” Wren said, laying his hands on Saint’s ribs. “I wouldn’t expect this to go quickly.”
His words were like a physical blow. She’d known he was badly hurt, but she hadn’t known it was so serious. One of those fuckers had nearly killed her demon with their torture after Cornick had assured his safety.
“Talk to him, give him reassurance. Flood him with your love. Healing is going to take rearranging some bones and knitting organs back together with magic, so distract him from the pain. Give him a reason to stay alive,” Wren instructed.
Elsie sat down and crossed her legs, carefully pulling Saint’s head into her lap. He was so limp, like there was nothing left of him to give. This wasn’t like him at all. Her demon hound was strong, vibrant, and so full of life.
“Wren’s going to be healing you now,” she whispered, gently stroking his fur. “It’s best if you stay asleep until it’s over, so you don’t have to feel the pain.”
Mouro sat at her side. “Not like that, love. He’s too far gone to hear you anyway. Speak to him from your heart, using your bond. Travel down your bond as far as you can go, then keep going. Reach directly into his soul.”
“How do you know that will work?”
“A guy as old as me picks up a few things over the years. Trust me.”
“I do trust you.”
“Good. While you do that, I’m going to take care of regrowing his fangs. A man without his fangs has been emasculated. They took away his power, but I’ll give it back to him.”
She looked up at him gratefully and leaned into him as the wolverine wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Wren gave her a nod, encouraging her to do as Pascal told her. She was surrounded by love and support.
Closing her eyes, she searched through her bonds to find Saint’s. As hurt and damaged as he was, his end of the bond was nearly nonexistent. After several seconds of panicking, she shook some sense into herself. He’d shut down to protect himself, which was exactly what she was trying to do.
She slipped down it and into the hound’s mind. It was dark, and electric zaps of pain filled the air, striking her at random. Elsie winced, but she’d gladly take the hits if it meant she was experiencing them instead of him. She stretched her arms out, making herself bigger to take as much of it as she could.
Then she remembered Mouro’s words. For the most part, she felt comfortable being here, which meant she had to go further. This cold, dark space was filled with pain, but Saint himself wasn’t here. Reaching out with her senses, she searched for the spark of life that made Saint who he was. She found nothing.
Her search grew frantic, and she called out to him with her mental voice until she was screaming his name into the void of his mind. Elsie wouldn’t give up. She traveled deeper into his mind, seeking out any sign that he was still in there. The further she went, the less pain she felt. He’d hidden somewhere it couldn’t touch him.
“Saint, please,” she cried. “I need you to be okay.”
Her voice felt too loud, the only sound in a vast, silent world. Their bond revealed nothing. It felt like she could reach out and speak to him as she always did, but it was clear there was nobody on the receiving end. Eventually, she came to a place that felt like him. A tiny spark slowly revolved, flickering in and out as though it could lose its light at any moment.
He’d gone so far to hide from their torture, he’d almost winked himself out of existence. Elsie pulled his little spark close and wrapped him in the protective shelter of her mind. She bathed him in love and warmth, praying that she was doing the right thing. He was so fragile, so horribly broken that she had to fight to keep her thoughts calm and steady.
She wanted revenge. She wanted to leap through the door she’d made and break every bone in Cornick’s body before healing him and doing it all over again. Elsie couldn’t even fathom a punishment severe enough for Angus Cornick. She shoved it all away and focused on her love, offering him every reassurance that she’d never let anything like this happen to him again.
There was no response to the care she gave him. No strengthening of the tiny spark still anchoring him to his torn and battered body.
‘I love you,’ she told him. ‘You’re being healed right now, so you just have to hang on. The pain will be over, and you can come back to me.’
She knew in her heart that wasn’t the problem. Saint had never let the hunters break him before. After everything they’d put him through, he’d come out scared but unbroken. Something different had happened to make him stop fighting this time.
‘We have a family now. They may not be the family you want, but they’re the type of people who will be there for us. We aren’t alone anymore, Saint. I need you to be strong for a little while longer, then come back to me.’
Elsie kept talking until she ran out of things to say and started repeating herself, so she started humming to him. After several minutes, a song came to her mind and she began singing. The song was one that Stolas used to sing to her when she was a child, a song about finding a reason to improve her life and become a better person. ‘And the reason is you,’ she finished.