Hate yourself later. Just take it and sleep. At least then, you won’t remember it might be your fault.
Disgusted by her weakness, she closed her eyes against the swirling guilt and tried not to gag as her fangs sank into the wrong flesh. Her mind emptied and darkness encroached on her vision.
A verdant flash, and then she was lost.
Magnus backedaway from the bed and made for the door, his heart cracked in two.
—We’ll find him, Maggie?—
Aye, Pet, but it’s not only Brand I’m worried about.
—Our sister is strong?—
He knew that. He did. But Mag wasn’t sure he’d seen a body as broken as that on someone still living. Not even Baldrir. He didn’t understand how she was breathing at all. Fuck, he didn’t know how any of them had made it through the night.
—You’ll need to gather the family again. Their blood is potent enough. It’ll work?—
Not for a whole city.
“Shite.”
Pet perked up within and wrenched his senses to the surface, his own head turning. Something was here.
His hackles went up just before a petite pair of arms came whipping around his neck swift as lightning, and a set of teeth sank into one of his ears.
“Weeping fuck!” he shouted as they yanked.
He reached a hand back?—
“What did you do to her, you pissing bog troll?!”
Sweet, bleeding Sisters. Even screeching, that throaty voice dripped like honey.
He grabbed onto a head, hair like a silken pillow greeting his palm—which he sank his fingers into and pulled. It, she, whatever the fuck, bit down on his arm hard enough to nearly bring him to his knees, gone a second later.
—You know that scent, lad?—
Alert, waiting, Magnus breathed deep. Petrichor and teeming, sun-drenched blooms collided together—a rebellious perfume that made no true sense but was all the more lovely for its dissonance.
“Fern?”
Then, she was everywhere.
Claws and teeth danced around him in a blur, lashing out to deliver bites and scratches and blows with startling efficiency—before disappearing again.
The sound of a pained thud was not comforting in the least.
—Go easy, Maggie. She’s confused?—
I’m not gonna fucking hurt her. Not that she extended the same courtesy.
Mag found her slumped beside the couch in a gasping heap, having clearly exhausted herself. She was likely weak as a kitten and never should’ve been flailing about like that. Slowing his movements, he crouched and crept towards her with a hand out. His massive damned size was not generally conducive to seeming non-threatening, but he tried anyway.
“It’s alright, Fern. You’re safe with me.”
—I’m not sure she knows that name?—
Aye, thanks. I had no idea.
