The large table shook violently as Sin sat upon it, giving the healers the perfect height to tend to her wounds. With the sharp tang of blood and pungent oils from the healers’ treatment of Sin’s wounds, the heavy scent of burning sage filled the air.
The healing room was nothing like Magnolia’s cottage. Everything was clean. Too clean. No sign of any ingredients used in the witch’s salves.
Leaning against the door’s threshold, Max stood there with his arms crossed. His eyes moved like a hawk’s, tracking every small motion the healers made, his fingers flexing as though he were preparing to strike at the first sign of danger. His shoulders were stiff, every muscle taut, ready to snap at the slightest provocation.
Occasionally, a low, threatening growl would rumble deep in his throat. He wasn’t just watching her—he was guarding her, his presence like that of a predator protecting his wounded mate.
Despite the pain, Sin managed a shaky, dismissive, “You don’t have to stay here.” The thought of him seeing her like this—scarred and weak—was unbearable. But Max didn’t respond. He remained rooted in place, his jaw clenched, his gaze unwavering.
Before she could stop it, a sharp pain ripped a scream from her throat. The healer’s salve seared through her like molten fire,forcing her tightened muscles to spasm. When Sin got control of herself, her voice shook as she begged. “A bit—please.”
One of the healers froze before she nodded and grabbed her one. Immediately, Sin put it in her mouth and nodded to the healers to proceed. One continued placing the salves on her head, while the other was attempting to keep it clean. Muted by the bit, Sin’s scream was still a horrifying sound, a strangled cry that barely escaped her lips. The healers swore under their breath, their fingers moving swiftly over her damaged flesh that was nearly destroyed.
Peering down the hall, Max’s roar pierced through the chaos. “Find those fucking sisters and bring them to me—now!” The voice vibrated through the air, echoing off the walls.
With the last healing incantations done, a witch stepped back, her gaze settling on a deep wound on Sin’s head—a wound so severe, it nearly exposed her skull and needed a day to heal, they said. It was the one place her hair didn’t magically grow back, but it would once healed.
Stepping back when finished, the healers looked down at her with horror, undoubtedly noting the older scars covering her body. One witch paused, her eyes widening at the Vhaevari scripts tattooed across Sin’s skin—words no scar could hide from another witch. She traced one with trembling fingers, her voice quivering as she read,“Settle the weight of what lingers, balance what has been borrowed, hailstorm, destroy.”A dark shiver ran through her as she whispered, “This is tempestum—wrath given form.”
Max narrowed his eyes. “What does that mean?”
The witch was hesitant to answer.
“Audrira?”
The witch, Audrira, forced herself to look away from Sin, from the rune that looked carved into her wrist. “It’s a darkmagic born of trauma—Tempestum. No one has wielded it and lived for long after, aside from Jafar across the seas.”
Feeling Max’s gaze intensely on her, almost burning her skin, Sin still refused to turn and face him. She didn’t need to see his expression to know he was balking at the horror of her appearance, trying to understand the truth of what she carried, the reason he should’ve let her die.
Max stepped forward, his boots echoing against the stone floor, the sound almost deafening in the now-silent room. Callused fingers gripped her chin softly, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. His eyes, fierce and intense, surveyed the jagged scar running down the side of her face. Leading to many others, they trailed down her neck and body.
“You glamoured yourself,” he said in a low, steady voice. It wasn’t a question.
“To live,” she whispered, her voice faint and fractured. “Even if it was just for one night… even if it ended me… it would’ve been worth it.”
Shifting his gaze from the flickering candles to Sin, Max sighed, a softness entering his expression as he shook his head. “Your own mother—”
“Step-mother,” she corrected.
If possible, his frown deepened. “Where is your mother?”
Still being held by his hand, she looked down at his chest. “My step-mother killed her.” Her voice was a whisper, but silenced the room.
“Even after everything,” he murmured, his voice soft but resolute, “I’m grateful you came.”
Sin scoffed, rolling her eyes at him for acting like such a male.
“Because if you hadn’t,” he cut off her thoughts. “I wouldn’t have been able to save you.”
“Save me?” Sin echoed, failing to pull away from his unrelenting grip. “I was a slave for a hundred years, and I’m a slave now. You should’ve just let me die.”
Max’s eyes darkened, his fingers tightening around her chin. “I will forgive your truly unforgivable words, with your blatant disregard for your life. But remember, it is nowmylife, and I won’t hear another fucking word about you dying. Understood?”
Sin’s brows shot up to her hairline.
Amusement flickered in Max’s eyes before he let her go.
The witch Audrira grabbed her wrist, murmuring an apology under her breath.
