“Stop humping each other. You’re causing a scene,” Malum growled roughly from nearby.
Scorpius sneered, “Fucking whore.”
Moment over.
The world was dark.
Chapter 18
Corvus Malum
FRUSTRATION
The Legionnaire Games: Day 24, hour 4
Three days earlier through present.
I woke up on the floor of our room.
I was alone.
The clock on the wall struck 8:00 p.m. The rest of my team must be at dinner.
Groaning in agony, I rolled over, and all the breath left my body.
On the rug beside me, my Revered and Arabella lay in pieces.
Like broken dolls.
Fractured bones stuck out through torn and ragged skin. They were a mess of blood and gore, and their mangled chests were barely breathing.
Their hands were outstretched like they were reaching for each other.
I moved toward Arabella.
She looked so small and pale, helpless. Who was protecting her?
Kneeling next to her, I gently brushed the matted curls off her forehead. I needed to help her. I needed to save her.
Make this right.
She should never be in such a horrible state. It wasn’t right.
I rubbed the blood off her desperately as I stared down at her unconscious figure. I grabbed at her flesh and pushed pieces of her back together.
No. She needed to be okay.
She should never look like this.
I was the team captain, and she was the physically weakest person on the team. It was my job to protect her, and I’d failed.
Long moments passed as I tried desperately to put organs back into place to speed up the healing process.
Guilt punched me, and I stumbled away from her like she was poisonous.
I’d gone to her first and not my Revered.
It must be the slave tattoo influencing me.
I wanted to puke.
As an Ignis, my actions were sacrilegious.
Ignoring the girl, I turned my full attention to Orion. Found the needle and thread in the healing kit and knelt atop him.
With wounds gaping, I began stitching.
I tried to make it up to him. Showed him my devotion. Gave him everything I could.
Exhausted.
Head spinning with blood loss.
With painstaking precision, I sewed him back together.
I was fully focused on my Revered, but I couldn’t stop myself from glancing over every few minutes to make sure Arabella’s chest kept rising.
When it didn’t for too long of a moment, I had a mini panic attack and lit a pillow on fire.
Her chest rose, and I exhaled with relief.
I didn’t like the woman. She was annoying. But I’d gotten used to her surly presence and ridiculous sarcasm.
It was just a captain thing. She was my teammate; that was why I cared. Nothing more.
Arabella stopped breathing again, and I moaned as anxiety twisted my gut.
When her chest rose, I nearly passed out.
I stitched up my Revered with half my attention on the curly-haired woman.
I was in hell.
Hours later the rest of my legion returned to find me covered in blood as I stitched up my Revered.
“Let me help,” Scorpius offered.
I growled like a wild animal and used my body to shield Orion from his view.
I was his Ignis. He was my responsibility. My everything.
He was mine to fix.
Against my will my eyes wandered over to Arabella. She is also mine to fix. I shook my head to dislodge the inane thoughts the tattoo was putting in my head.
She looked so pale.
Small and vulnerable.
I turned back to Orion with renewed dedication.
Scorpius must have understood what I wasn’t saying because he knelt beside me and wiped sweat off my brow as I worked.
John fell to his knees beside Arabella, and the urge to scream at him bubbled up my throat. A needle snapped beneath my fingers as I stopped myself from shoving him away from her.
Scorpius handed me another one silently, but his jaw was also clenched tightly.
I turned back to Orion.
I pretended I wasn’t watching John struggle to put her pieces back together again. “Be careful with her,” I snarled at him when he was a little too jerky with his movements.
She was too mangled to stitch, with all the gore hanging out of her.
No. Focus on Orion.
Yet again I ripped my gaze away and focused on the most important person in my life. I lost myself in helping him.
At some point, Lothaire came into the room to check on Aran. He pulled at his braid and flexed his fingers as he repeated over and over that he couldn’t intervene and help her or we’d all be disqualified and punished.
His words rubbed me the wrong way, and I bristled as I stitched.
If he cared, he would have done something.
Scorpius agreed with me, because he said some choice swear words under his breath.
His daughter was lying in pieces as John pushed her back together, and Lothaire stalked out of the room while mumbling that he couldn’t interfere.
Flames leaped across my shoulders.
As he left, Lothaire slammed the door with unnecessary force that made the floor vibrate.
The needle jostled, and I poked Orion’s arm.
I growled with frustration and fought the urge to run after him and punish him for being a shit father.
My thoughts were completely irrational.
After a few deep breaths, I kept working.
Twenty-four hours later, my Revered was stitched up to my exacting standards.
Fingers cramping, I dropped the needle.
My vision blurred.
My untreated injuries had been exacerbated over the last few hours. Orion was covered in more of my blood than his own.
I sat there staring down at him.
His eyelids fluttered open, and he coughed.
I collapsed with relief.
Scorpius shouted for the demon’s help, and he hovered over me. Darkness consumed me.
I groaned as I blinked.
Disoriented.
Someone had moved us both. I was tangled with Orion and Scorpius in our bed. I pulled the sheets back, and Orion’s wounds were partially healed. Someone had stitched up all my wounds. Both my mates were safe, and my Revered looked much better.
He snored softly and cuddled both of us closer.
Relief hit me like a bullet.
The invisible pressure evaporated off my chest, and I relaxed into the soft mattress and rolled over.
But the tension returned as I looked around the room.
The demons were in their usual bed, but that wasn’t what made me stiffen.
No, I was taut because of what was happening in the other bed.
Arabella was sprawled across John’s naked chest, and the fucker was propped up on his pillows, holding her. She was covered in stitches and looked a million times better than the last time I’d seen her.
John scowled at me and nuzzled the top of her head.
He shouldn’t have been the one to fix her. She is ours.
I didn’t consciously make the choice to move, but suddenly I was across the room, ripping Arabella out of John’s embrace.
She dared to sleep in his arms while wearing his sweatshirt when she was our slave? After everything we’d been through, she taunted us with her promiscuity.
A small, rational part of me understood my thoughts made no sense.
I knew the brand on my hip was addling my brain.
But knowing didn’t make a difference.
I was so angry that I almost missed the fact that Arabella wasn’t just stitched up; she was also clean.
She scrambled out of bed in John’s sweatshirt.
Had they showered together?
I saw red and stalked her across the room like a wild animal. Seethed as she locked the door and ignored me.