Immortal Consequences(37)
August’s head spun viciously as he attempted to gather himself.
“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he whispered. “You’re drunk.”
Wren stared at him for a moment, eyes wide and pleading. And then she simply shook her head and said, “Fine. I hate you. I detest you. I curse the day you were born. Are you happy now?”
August bit back a smile. “Positively overjoyed.”
She let out a sigh.
“Perfect. Take me to my room.”
He reached out his hand without saying a word. She placed her hand gently over his, her fingers delicately brushing his palm. August shut his eyes and summoned the relocation spell—a rush of warmth spreading up and down his limbs.
When he opened his eyes, they were back in her room. Darkness filled the space between them, a sliver of light pooling in from the window. The sheer lace curtains fluttered in the breeze, each movement sending ribbons of shadows across the walls. He’d been in Wren’s room countless times before—mainly to pester her in the middle of the night—but something about this visit felt different.
Wren watched him with a strange expression. Maybe it was the whiskey working its way through her system, but August noticed that the contempt she usually held in her eyes had vanished, replaced by something softer. Almost tender.
Her lips curved into a smile. “Are you going to tuck me in?”
August chuckled. “Not a chance.”
“Good.” Wren approached her bed, kicking off her shoes, and slowly crawled beneath the sheets.
August was overcome with the sudden urge to reach out and touch her. It was so strong, so startling, that he took a rigid step backward, terrified that he might actually do it. What was wrong with him? Daydreaming about grazing Wren Loughty’s cheek? Running his fingers through her hair?
He was losing it.
“I’ll—” August cleared his throat. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He’d begun to walk toward the door when she spoke behind him.
“Do you think we’ll be chosen?”
August stilled, hand clasped over the doorknob. “I don’t know.”
She hesitated before asking the next question.
“But if you are…and you win…will you choose to stay?”
August didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Because the truth was, no matter what happened over the course of the next few weeks, his mind would never change.
He had to leave.
And he had no intention of ever coming back.
14
Wren
The dreams came to her in rotten berries and bloated corpses. In blue skin stretched taut over rigid muscle and the iron scent of blood. When the nightmares took over like this, there was no stopping them. She could only sit back and watch them unfold, helplessly stuck within the confines of her mind.
Open your eyes, Wren.
The headlights beaming against the cold asphalt. Blood filling her lungs. Her mouth.
Come back.
The hand lying still beside her. Purple nail polish. It was her favorite.
Please don’t leave me.
And then something snatched her out of the nightmare, back into her body, and she awoke in her bed, staring up at two figures looming over her. She could barely register their bodies, let alone their faces, but somehow she knew this wasn’t part of the dream.
This was real.
She opened her mouth to scream, but one of the figures slapped a hand over her mouth, muffling the sound. A warm pressure sprouted through her body and she began to slip in and out of consciousness. One moment she was in her bedroom, writhing and screaming beneath their grasp, and the next she was being carried down a corridor, the flicker of candlelight brushing against her eyelids.
“Did you get the two at Holsterd?”
“I believe Marigold took them.”
“We should probably make sure that—” The voice went quiet. “Damn. I think she’s awake.”
And then she slipped away once more.
* * *
Wren awoke to the smell of dirt, her cheek pressed against something soft and damp. An eerie creaking sound fluttered in the wind, like an old house moving and swaying during a storm.
Her eyelids fluttered open. Consciousness swept over her slowly. It wasn’t until she sat up that she realized she was lying on dirt, her knees pressed firmly into the damp ground.
A large, imposing hedge surrounded her. The ground coated in dead leaves and a tangle of vines. As Wren struggled to get on her feet, it dawned on her that the hedge seemed to stretch out in every direction, curving away toward various paths, shrouded in opaque shadows.
A cold shudder ran through her. This wasn’t just a hedge.
It was a maze.
“Hello?”
Something told her that even if there was somebody nearby, there was no way for them to hear her. And though Wren felt completely and utterly alone, like she was thousands of miles away from Blackwood, she also couldn’t help but feel as though she was being watched. An unseen presence looming in the darkness.
The maze seemed to lean closer with every passing second, as if it were growing, preparing to strike. She beckoned a glowing sphere into her palm, illuminating the graveled path beneath her feet.
In front of her was a fork in the maze, with two visible paths.
Left or right.
She hadn’t the faintest idea. But what she did know was that she couldn’t simply stand there for the rest of the night. So…with a sharp intake of breath, she began to walk forward. Leaves crumbled beneath her bare feet as she took tentative steps toward the place where the paths diverged, the sphere of light bouncing up and down in her palm.