The look he turns on me freezes me where I stand. Hatred. Not fear. Not panic. Hatred so sharp it feels like a blade pressed to my throat.
“You’re so fucking pathetic,” he spits.
The words hit hard enough to make me rock back on my heels. For one horrible second, I can’t breathe. This isn’t Wren. It can’t be.
He takes another step away from me, shaking so badly his flower crown slips crooked. “Leave me the fuck alone. Go back to the Fae lands. Maybe you’ll find someone there desperate enough to love you, but it’s not going to be me.”
“Wren?” My voice comes out thin and wrong.
He flinches like hearing his own name from me hurts him. “Don’t say my name. No one wants you here.”
Every word lands exactly where it’ll do the most damage. Like someone rifling through my insecurities and feeding them back to me in Wren’s voice.
People start to notice. Heads turn. Conversations stutter. I can feel eyes on us from every direction, but I can’t bring myself to care because Wren looks terrified and furious and lost all at once. He shoves me hard in the chest.
“I respected you until you tried to tether me,” he snaps. “I won’t be your companion. Not ever.”
This isn’t about me. It isn’t. I know that. But hearing it from his mouth still cuts deep enough to leave me reeling.
“Wren,” I say, forcing myself to stay calm. “This isn’t you. Lord Yelling is in your head.”
“Shut up!” he screams. “Stop trying to manipulate me. You’ve been in my dreams for weeks and now you’re taunting me in my new home. I won’t stand for it.”
Oh skies. He thinks I’m Lord Yelling. He’s looking right at me, but he doesn’t seemeat all.
“Wren, listen to me.” I reach for him carefully, palms up, trying not to crowd him. “It’s Talon. You’re in Hex. You’re safe.”
“Leave!” he shouts, voice cracking. “Leave Hex and never come back or I’ll?—”
I catch his shoulders before he can bolt into the street. “Wren. He’s not here. He’s not here. Come back to me.”
He screams. The sound is piercing enough to split straight through the festival. Magic shudders in the air. Overhead, the floating moss rose canopy tears apart as if the scream sliced through the spell holding it together. Flowers rain onto the street in a soft avalanche of pink and yellow. Several booths rattle. Someone gasps. Somewhere glass breaks. Wren rips free of my grip and stumbles back, chest heaving.
Wick shouts our names from the bakery booth, but he sounds impossibly far away. Everyone is staring now. I should care about the scene. About the questions this will raise. About the fear on people’s faces. I don’t. I only care about Wren.
His eyes are wild and wet, fixed on me with terrified fury. I can’t leave him here like this. I can’t let him humiliate himself in front of half the town while Lord Yelling uses him like a puppet.
“Damn it, Wren,” I say, voice breaking around the edges. “Come back.”
A laugh whispers right against my ear.
“Silly griffin.” Ice shoots down my spine. I whirl, but there’s no one there. Just the milling crowd and drifting flowers. “Can’t you see I have him?” the voice murmurs, full of cruelty. “He’s so soft willed. He let me slide right into his mind. All he can see is me.”
I bare my teeth and search for the meddling Fae.
The voice chuckles, delighted by my panic. “He has no idea he’s breaking your poor weak heart, does he?”
Rage slams into me so fast my vision whites out at the edges. I don’t think. I move. I grab Wren around the waist and haul him against me before he can fight free. He thrashes instantly, nails scraping my arms, flower crown falling into the street as he screams and kicks. I lock my grip tighter and picture the field behind my house with every ounce of focus I have. Magic tears through me. The festival vanishes.
We land hard in the field behind my house. Wren screeches and bucks in my hold like a trapped animal. The second my feet are steady beneath me, I set him down and jump back before he can claw my face open.
“Wren,” I say, breathing hard. “Wake up. Come back to me.”
He whirls, eyes wild, chest heaving. Tears spill down his cheeks, but his expression never changes from one of pure fury.
“Go away,” he chokes out. “You can’t collar and chain me. I’m free from court rules. You can’t have me.”
The words aren’t for me. They’re for the Fae wearing my face in his mind. So why does it still feel like he’s gutting me?
