Chapter 13 - Wren

Wren's eyes fluttered open, her consciousness slowly returning like a ship emerging from a thick fog. The world around her was a hazy blur, shapes, and colors merging into an indistinct mass. As her vision cleared, she became aware of a warmth enveloping her, strong arms cradling her body.

Articus.

She was too weak to care that he was carrying her, her usual defenses shattered by the ordeal she'd just endured. Her body felt impossibly heavy as if her bones had been replaced with lead.

As Articus moved, each step sent a dull ache through her body. Wren's mind drifted, recalling stories she'd heard back in the place they called 'where the sun doesn't shine.' Tales of snatchers whispered in dark corners with fear-filled eyes.

If the snatchers catch you, it's over. The only escape is death.

She thought bitterly, recalling the whispered warnings from the darker side of the mountain, where the sun never shone, and the world was a constant struggle.

She'd never truly believed those stories. They seemed like exaggerations, myths to keep young rogues in line. But now, as the lingering pain of Juniper's magic coursed through her, Wren understood the terrifying truth behind those words.

The magic those bastards had placed on her felt like a cold shackle.

Binding magic on people's souls.

Of course, that's why they can't escape. There's no running from your own soul.

The realization hit her like a physical blow, leaving her feeling hollow and defeated. She let out a breath, barely more than a sigh, and closed her eyes again. Articus’s presence was a small comfort, but it did little to chase away the despair gnawing at her.

I'm so fucked.

Articus gently laid her down on what she assumed was a bed, the softness beneath her a welcome feeling. She blinked, trying to focus on his face. His blue eyes, usually so sharp and intimidating, were clouded with concern.

Articus’s voice broke through the fog in her mind, low and soothing. “How are you feeling, Wren?” he asked, his tone gentle, as if he were afraid of causing her more pain.

Wren wanted to laugh at the question, but she didn't have the energy.

Was she okay?

She'd just had her soul nearly torn apart by magic. She was bound to a man she barely knew, trapped in a world she didn't understand. No, she wasn't okay. She wasn't sure she'd ever be okay again.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, her voice hoarse from disuse. “I just... I don’t know.”

Articus nodded as if he understood, though Wren doubted anyone could truly grasp her despair. He helped her to sit up, tucking the blankets around her more securely before rising to his feet.

His hand brushed her arm in a surprisingly comforting gesture. “I’ll get you some tea,” he said, his tone still soft. “It might help you feel a little better.”

She didn’t argue, didn’t protest. She simply nodded, too exhausted to do anything else, closing her eyes as he left the room.

Her mind drifted back to the moment when Juniper had tried to break the magic, her power surging through her body like a storm. It had felt like thousands of tiny hooks, latching onto her soul and pulling, stretching, tearing.

It had been agony. The pain had been so intense, so deep, that Wren thought she might die from it. And maybe that would have been better.

Wren shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself. She'd always prided herself on her strength, her ability to withstand pain and hardship. But this... this had broken something inside her.

I’m so tired.

The door opened, and Articus returned with a steaming mug. The scent of chamomile wafted through the air as he approached, sitting on the edge of the bed. He helped her sit up, supporting her back with one hand while offering the tea with the other.

"Here," he said softly. "This should help."

Wren took the mug with trembling hands, the warmth seeping into her cold fingers. She took a small sip, the hot liquid soothing her parched throat.

Articus watched her closely, his face a mask of guilt and concern. "I'm so sorry, Wren," he said after a moment, his voice low. "I didn't know it would be like that. If I had known, I never would have asked Juniper to try. I never wanted to hurt you."

Wren lowered the mug, meeting his gaze. Despite everything, she believed him. She'd seen the shock and horror on his face when the spell had gone wrong. "It's okay," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "I know you were trying to help."

He nodded, relief flickering across his features. “Truly, I was. I am.”

She wanted to believe him. God, how she wanted to believe him. But hope felt dangerous, a luxury she couldn't afford.

"Why?" she asked, finally meeting his gaze. "Why do you care what happens to me? I'm just a rogue you bought at auction. Why not just... use me and be done with it?"

Articus recoiled as if she'd slapped him, his blue eyes widening with shock and what looked like hurt. "Is that what you think of me?" he asked quietly.

No.

Wren shrugged, looking away. "I don't know what to think anymore. I don't know you, Articus. I don't know any of this." She gestured vaguely at the opulent room around them. "This isn't my world."

Silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words and conflicting emotions. Finally, Articus spoke, his voice low and intense.

"I care because it's the right thing to do," he said. "Because you're a person, Wren, not a possession. And because..." he hesitated, seeming to struggle with his words. "Because I see something in you. Strength. Resilience. You've been through hell, and you're still fighting. I admire that."

Wren felt her cheeks warm at his words, a confusing mix of emotions swirling in her chest. She didn't know how to respond, so she reached for the tea instead, taking a long sip to hide her face.

Maybe it was the exhaustion, the lingering effects of the magic, or simply the unexpected kindness in Articus's eyes. Whatever the reason, Wren found herself speaking, words spilling out of her like water from a broken dam.

"I wasn’t always alone where the sun doesn’t shine. I started out with my parents," she began, her voice barely above a whisper. "We were... happy, I think. As happy as rogues can be."

Articus leaned in, listening intently. Wren continued, the memories washing over her like a bittersweet tide.

"We were outcasts, of course, without a pack. But we had each other. That was enough." She paused, taking another sip of tea to steady herself. "My parents... they died when I was fifteen. After everything we had survived, they were killed by another rogue."

"There was this man," Wren continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "We'd known him since I was about ten. He was alone and had been for years. We saw him sometimes—tried to help when we could. But as time passed, he became... unstable. Dangerous."

Wren's hands trembled slightly, and Articus took the mug from her, setting it on the bedside table.

"One day, he just... snapped. He attacked us. My parents stayed behind to fight him off. They made me run." Her voice cracked, tears welling in her eyes. "I never saw them again."

"You don't know this," Wren said, a hint of bitterness creeping into her voice, "but for rogues, family becomes everything. When you're cast out from your pack, you lose your anchor. Your family becomes your new anchor, your new pack."

Understanding dawned on Articus's face. Wren pressed on, the words tumbling out faster now.

"When my parents died, I lost everything. My family, my pack, my anchor. I was truly alone." Her voice cracked, and she felt tears burning behind her eyes. "I've been holding onto hope, you know? Hope that I'd find someone, build a new family, a new pack, and avoid the madness. But now..."

That’s impossible now.

She trailed off, unable to finish the thought. Her dreams of finding her own place, her own family, seemed impossibly out of reach.

Articus reached out, hesitantly taking her hand. "Don't say that," he said softly. "You will find a new family. You’re stronger than you think. I promise you, Wren, I'll take care of you."

But Wren shook her head, the tears still falling. “I don’t feel strong,” she whispered. “I feel... broken.”

Yet, his words sparked something in her. A mix of gratitude, desperation, and a wild, reckless need. Before she could think better of it, she leaned forward and kissed him.

It was a fierce, desperate kiss, born out of a need to feel something, anything, other than helpless . She poured everything she had into that kiss, her hands gripping his shoulders as if he was all that was keeping her from falling apart completely.

For a moment, Articus kissed her back, his lips moving against hers with an intensity that matched her own. His lips were warm against hers, his hand tightening around hers.

But then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. He pulled away, his breathing heavy as he looked down at her, his eyes wide with surprise and something that looked like regret.

“Wren,” he said softly, his voice strained. “You don’t really want this. You’re too vulnerable right now, and I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret later.”

Wren felt her cheeks burning with embarrassment and rejection. She knew, logically, that he was right. She was emotional, traumatized, and not thinking clearly. But that knowledge did little to soothe the sting of his rejection.

You could just kiss me.

She pulled away, wrapping her arms around herself. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, unable to meet his eyes. "I don't know what I was thinking."

Articus reached out, lifting her chin so that she was looking at him. “You don’t have to apologize,” he said gently. “I care about you, Wren. And I want to make sure that if we do this, it’s because you really want it. Not because you’re hurting.”

Wren swallowed hard, her emotions a tangled mess inside her. As she looked into Articus’s eyes, she saw something there that made her pause. It wasn’t just concern or pity—it was something deeper, something she hadn’t expected to find in a man like him.

There was a tenderness in his gaze, a warmth that seemed to reach out and wrap around her, comforting her in a way that words never could.

Articus gently brushed a tear from her cheek, his touch so soft that it made her heart ache. “You’ve been through so much, Wren,” he said quietly. “But you’re not alone anymore. You have me. And I’m not going to let you go through this by yourself.”

His words were like a balm to her wounded soul, soothing the raw edges of her pain. But even as she felt a flicker of hope, the doubts continued to swirl in her mind.

“What if we can’t break the magic?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “What if I’m stuck like this forever?”

Articus’s grip on her hand tightened, his expression fierce. “We will find a way,” he said firmly. “I don’t care how long it takes or what we have to do. We’ll break the magic, and you’ll be free again. I promise you that.”

Wren’s heart twisted at the determination in his voice, and she found herself wanting to believe him, to trust that he could make everything right.

“I’m scared,” she admitted, her voice small and vulnerable. “I’m so scared that I’ll never be free again. That I’ll never be... me again.”

Articus’s expression softened, and he pulled her into a gentle embrace, his arms wrapping around her as if to shield her from the world.

“You will be,” he murmured against her hair. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Wren. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Wren closed her eyes, leaning into his embrace, letting herself be held for the first time in what felt like forever. She could feel the steady beat of his heart against her cheek, the warmth of his body seeping into her, grounding her in the present moment.

For the first time in days, she allowed herself to hope. It was a fragile thing, like a delicate flame flickering in the wind, but it was there. And for now, that was enough.

As the silence stretched between them, Wren felt a sense of calm settle over her. The storm inside her had not disappeared, but it had quieted, at least for the moment. And in the arms of the man who had saved her, she found a small measure of peace.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice muffled against his chest.

Articus didn’t respond with words. Instead, he simply held her tighter, as if to reassure her that he was there, that he wasn’t going to let go. And in that moment, Wren allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t as alone as she had thought.

After a while, Articus stood, smoothing down his rumpled shirt. "You've been through a lot. You should rest now," he said. "But I'll be around if you need anything. Please, eat and rest. We can talk more later if you'd like."

Missing his warmth, Wren nodded, not trusting her voice. She heard him stand, felt the shift of the mattress as his weight left it. As Articus reached the door, she found herself speaking. "Articus?"

He turned, hand on the doorknob, eyebrows raised in question.

"Thank you," she said softly. "For the tea, the hug. And... for trying."

A small, genuine smile touched his lips. "You're welcome, Wren. Always."

As the door closed behind him, Wren sank back against the pillows, utterly drained. She was still trapped, still bound by magic she didn't understand. But for the first time since this nightmare began, hope flickered in her chest.

With the lingering warmth of his hug and the scent of his cologne in the air, Wren let herself hope.. and more.

I can't be falling for him, am I?

The darkness of sleep claimed her before she could dwell on that scary possibility.