Finn lifted his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll just hug her.”
And he did, his kind face softening. But Finn’s expression was pale, as if he were still as uneasy as I was.
More of the Hall’s staff crowded the foyer, voices overlapping in relief and cheer. Outside, the city’s commotion carried to us.
So much relief, so much laughter.
My gaze lowered to my hands, to the red stains I tried to clean against my dress, but they didn’t leave.
Finn had healed my wounds in the cabin. No marks or bruises marred my skin anymore, and a visit to the washroom had allowed me to rid my mouth of the bitter taste of bile. Only the blood beneath my fingernails remained.
Reagan’s eyes met mine, and I knew he saw it, whatever flicker had betrayed me, some phantom twitch I couldn’t hide. A sea of people pressed around him, nodding and murmuring about Zara’s mercy. He met each gesture, clasping every hand extended toward him.
I shook my head subtly.
He shouldn’t leave them; he should be celebrating with his people. This was the culmination of seven years of work. Of course he was happy.
He was free.
Still, Reagan made his way through the crowd and took my hand, saying nothing as the others watched, drinking in the sight of us. After a few brief words with the staff, he drew us out of the foyer and into a nearby room.
In the quiet space, I let myself take in a breath. Slow and deep.
As he stood in front of me, my arms found their way around his neck, and his hands pulled me closer. Gentle fingers warmed my skin.
For a moment, we just stood there, our foreheads pressed together, his warmth seeping into me, the silence between us filled with the sound of shared breaths.
“Jane,” Reagan murmured, bowing his head to the crook of my neck, breathing me in. “Jane.”
My eyes fluttered shut. The tip of his nose traced a path along my jaw, over the curve of my cheek.
Reagan finally asked, “Are you all right?”
I bobbed my head, my inhale catching the faint scent of him. His fingers threaded gently through my hair. When he spoke, his voice was a murmur. Raw. Each word thick with the same fear that lingered inside me.
“I was afraid I was going to lose you. I went to that cabin without a plan, without thinking of anything but getting you out. When I saw them hurting you...” A strained breath hissed between his teeth. “I’m sorry. I wish I had killed them all.”
I pulled back just enough to meet his shadowed gaze, wondering if the curse would have broken then, if Reagan had four deaths weighing the scale.
His fingers gently brushed my scalp as he went on, “But I’ll find them, and they’ll suffer for what they did.”
Something inside me stirred with a similar feeling. I tightened my grip on the back of his neck.
“You’re not supposed to fall back to vengeance so quickly.”
He let out a humourless chuckle. “Of course not.”
I recognised the sardonic tone and frowned.
“I know,” Reagan said. “But when I get my hands on Varian...there’s no growing past that. Not when you still have that haunted look on your face.”
I inhaled deeply. “I’m fine. Just a little shaken. We’re celebrating, but...” The words scraped my throat, hoarse. “I still saw you bleed. I watched that thing drain you.”
The memory flashed in my head. Blood flowing from his mouth. The Wraith taking his power.
My hands trembled faintly, and he caught them, holding them to his chest.
“No one will touch you now. Touch us,” he murmured, his eyes holding mine. “We’re free of the curse. Without it, we’ll be stronger.”
