A single tear of gratitude slips from the outer corner of my eye.
Thank you.
My appreciation screams inside my mind even as the demon laughs in my face.“Foolish woman. When he’s no longer mine, he’ll be your problem to tame.”
And that’s why I smile when the demon vanishes into the shadows. Quinn now unknowingly has hope of escaping an eternity of torment in hell, but he also doesn’t need to be tamed. He is perfect as he is.
Wild.
Wonderful.
Free.
Mine.
ChapterSeven
The skittish buck hears it before I do.
With a flick of its ears, the animal rears its head. Scans the area, then takes off, running deeper into the forest.
Fuck.
I’m instantly on alert and shift my attention—and loaded bow—to the speckled brown steed charging toward me. Silently cursing, I focus on the man guiding the galloping horse. In my peripheral vision, I watch our meal disappear into the trees. The sunlight filtering in through the autumn leaves gives the illusion that the forest is on fire. I remain crouched and ready to impale the person foolish enough to infringe on our quiet corner of Rygard. But shaggy blonde curls tell me it’s Ian, and I relax my stance and un-notch the arrow.
I rise from the brush to reveal myself and give a wave. Ian offers nothing back.
Fuuuck.
Something’s wrong.
Gripping the horse’s reins with one hand, he’s holding his side with the other. The closer he gets, the worse he looks. His hair hangs matted to his sweaty face. His expression contorted with pain. The animal skids to a stop next to me, with Ian’s shallow panting worrying me as much as the blood staining his torn brown tunic.
“I followed them, Wren,” Ian grits out. He blinks long and hard before pulling his hand from the blood-crusted wound. “Followed them for days. All the way to Blythe Forest.”
The bow and arrow fall forgotten from my fingers at his announcement. “What?”
Ian swallows. Drags in a hard breath. “Aye.” He nods slowly. Sways in the saddle, his lips twisted in a rueful grin. “With the princess gone, the curse… It’s lifted.”
Lifted? The fuck? A flood of questions rips through my mind, with the loudest one being… Does this mean Sybil is dead? Christ. If so, it will destroy Rapunzel.
But I push all those questions aside as I help Ian off his horse. The moment his feet touch the ground, his knees buckle, and he collapses in a heap. Loyal to its rider, his horse takes a few steps back but stays close, acting as a sentry.
Following Ian down, I crouch beside my friend and try to keep my expression neutral even as I glimpse the wound that slashes up his side. “What happened?”
Ian bites the fingertips of his worn leather gloves to pull them off. Dried blood flakes off them and freckles his face. “The soldiers.” He gulps for more air. “They found the tower. Oh, God, Wren. They saw me following them.” He drags in another breath, then grimaces. “Water, please. I need water.”
“Of course.” With a leap to my feet, I dash to where I left my supplies and grab my waterskin. I hurry back, uncorking it as I go. Hand it to him, then angle him up in my arms. Ian drinks it fast, gulping it down until he coughs. “Easy, brother.”
He nods, coughing some more before drinking slower. When he hands it back to me, he heaves a rumbling sigh. One that troubles me because it’s a sound I’ve heard too many times on the battlefield.
It’s the death rattle.
“I felled two of the bastards, but they got me.” Ian’s words are a struggle. “They got me good.” He cringes when he touches his ruined side. There’s so much dried blood staining his shredded shirt. “Those fuckers left me for dead, but you know me. Stubborn as a mule.” He gives me a bloody grin. “I had to die on my terms.”
With Ian propped up on my lap, I nod as I fight back a surge of heartbreak and anger. “You’re home now, and we need to get you inside.”
“Wren.” Right when I’m about to move him, Ian grabs my wrist. “They’re on the king’s orders to resume a path of destruction until they find Princess Rapunzel.”
