ASHER
Aurelia — like most small women — scares the crap out of me. Call me a pussy if you want to, but you have to watch out for the tiny ones. They are at the perfect height to grab you by the balls and twist.
Plus, I’d seen her wipe the floor with my King. Powers or no, John is over a thousand years old, having succeeded to become King almost seven hundred years ago in the fourteenth century. His succession was not by lineage, but by blood – the blood he spilled culling the herd of corrupt Wraiths from our numbers.
And it was necessary.
There was infighting in the Wraith community, enough that our presence was making itself known in the whole of Europe. Ever hear of the Black Plague? Yep, that was us.
Millions of humans died, plucked from the breast of life by bloodthirsty Revenants and a King who turned a blind eye to the corruption that was spread and prevalent in his own house. John put a stop to it. Even if he had to kill every male member of the royal family to do it, he ended the scourge caused by the corrupt Revenant’s and took the throne.
So to see a man who has won battles against impossible odds, reigned for centuries, and commanded his retinue in relative peace get his ass thoroughly and soundly kicked by a five-foot-three slip of a girl, makes me a little wary. I especially hate it when her pallid, jade-green eyes begin to glow. I’m not sure she realizes how often those pale orbs spark, giving away any and all spikes of her emotions.
Like her sister, Mena's eyes glow when she’s upset. I find myself wondering what they would do when she was happy. Or aroused. Or if they would glow when she came.
Do not pop a boner when she's on your lap, moron. Don't do it.
It takes me a while to collect myself, only aware of the conversation in the periphery of my consciousness. Mena’s thin body is still in my arms, and even after all the drama of this ridiculously long day, even though she is so painfully thin and injured, I still want her. I see past her wounds, her apparent malnourishment, her scars, her fear, to see the beautiful, strong woman she is. My dick obviously doesn’t give a shit about any of it.
Well, at least the two brains are on the same page.
“Granted your power makes mine look like a rowboat next to an aircraft carrier, but I have the ability all the same,” Aurelia’s voice breaks through my thoughts, and she crosses her arms over her chest in a threatening manner, glaring at me.
“Was this a secret?” I ask, genuinely confused.
“No, I just hadn’t had the chance to go through the laundry list of familial dramas with my sister, and I would have preferred to tell her my shit myself,” she says with an exasperated huff.
Aurelia turns her body slightly toward her sister, effectively dismissing me even though Mena’s fingers are wrapped around the fabric at my shoulders.
I look over Mena’s shoulder and meet John’s eyes. He is weary and doesn’t seem even a little bit surprised. He does, however, look worse in just the few hours since I last saw him. I think he has been ducking Cameron and me – not that it’s that hard to duck Cam – to go see Olivia. His brow is furrowed in distress and exhaustion, his drooping shoulders shouting at me that I’m running out of time.
I shouldn’t let Mena get this close to me. I shouldn’t let this beautiful, fragile woman rely on me when I’m leaving her. I look at John again, and my fingers ache to hold Mena closer – to clutch her to me until I’m ripped away from her. My chest feels like someone has torn out my heart. I won’t get to see her happy. I won’t get to see her well. I won’t get to do anything but leave her.
She’s gone through enough. I can’t put her through more. Why would John encourage me to pursue Mena if I was just going to die before I could keep her?
No one is that cruel.
I can’t help myself, and I bring my hand to the back of Mena’s neck as she calmly talks to her sister. She doesn’t even notice as I shift her body closer to mine and bring my lips up to the side of her forehead, brushing a kiss there before pulling back. Her words stall out for a moment, and she turns her now amber eyes to me.
“What was that for?” she murmurs.
“It’s time for me to go, Princess. Are you good with Half-Pint over here or do you want me to make other plans?” I ask her, only half hoping she picks door number two. I can’t in good conscience let her rely on me. Not when I’ll just fail her.
“I think I’m okay for right now, but I do want to know about the man. Could you find out if he’s all right?” she asks sheepishly as she ducks her head, a blush spreading up her neck to her cheeks.
“Sure thing, Princess,” I say as my hand reaches down to her hips to shift her off me to the bench, and I pause. I notice a large bump at her hipbone, the bone of her femur jutting out of the socket.
“Jesus Christ, Mena. Your hip is dislocated,” I rasp. How long has she been like this that she isn’t screaming the house down in pain?
“What?” Mena and Aurelia exclaim in unison.
“Did you not notice when you walked?” I ask her in disbelief that she could endure so much pain and not notice.
She pauses, and then her eyes go wider as she whispers, “I-I don’t think I’ve walked in weeks, Asher.”
Well, fuck that.
“Ian!” I yell, my eyes searching the open expanse of the gym for the one person I know has the most medical knowledge in this ragtag bunch.
“You rang? I was busy making sure the oxygen was shut off in the med bay. No one needs the house to go boom,” he says as he jogs up from my left, already holding his med duffle. I guess after the commotion he was ready for action and amen for the backup med supplies in the locker room.
“I think her hip is dislocated,” I tell him, gently clutching her to me as if she were spun glass. Her body is vibrating with distress, and it kills me to have her so fearful.
Ian’s eyebrows rise halfway up his forehead in surprise, and he is uncharacteristically silent.
“I want to know why no one checked her before now. I want to know how this got past everyone. I know she’s a Phoenix, and they heal from damn near everything but fuck, man,” I rail to the room. Mena sits there in my lap in shock, and her look of utter confusion would be cute if it didn’t piss me off that she has been injured this whole fucking time.
“She didn’t say anything, Asher. We didn’t know. She said she was fine, so we haven’t done a med check yet. We were waiting for the morning so she could get used to us,” Aurelia murmurs, contrite.
I want to yell at her, but I see how shaky Mena is, and I understand her logic. There is almost nothing that can kill a Phoenix true dead, and their healing rates are remarkable. Unless a wound comes into contact with Morganite, a Phoenix can heal from a cut in minutes, broken bones in hours – hell, I heard Rhys healed from a decapitation in less than a week. Aurelia must have assumed if she needed assistance she would have asked for it, but Mena has been in captivity so long, I’m not certain she would know to ask for help. I don’t know if she would have allowed someone to prod her – even if it was her sister doing the prodding.
Ian moves to touch Mena and she wakes up enough from her dazed stupor to flinch back. She burrows into me, ripping a snarl from my throat before I can think about what I’m doing. I want to comfort Mena, reassure her – tell her it will be fine and she has nothing to worry about – but I can’t get past my dueling emotions to open my mouth to soothe her.
Aurelia shoulders Ian out of the way, and she roughly grabs Mena’s face in her hands. I don’t like that, but I rein in my growling objection by the skin of my teeth.
“Ian is a good man. He is not going to harm you. He has been to battle with me, fought with me, nearly died with me and I would risk my life to protect his. You can trust him. I swear it,” Aurelia tells her, giving Ian probably the best compliment a Wraith can get. A Wraith’s honor is determined by how many would fight alongside him. Telling Mena this is probably a better apology than anything she could offer to John. Mena nods as she shudders out a breath, looking at me for a moment before nodding at Ian to proceed. Then I have to brace myself, so I don’t rip his arms off as he pokes and prods her to assess her injury.
“You have to tell me if it hurts, Mena,” Ian instructs her. She’s clenching her teeth, but it looks like she’s straining, not in pain.
“How are you just sitting there?” Ian asks, baffled.
“It doesn’t hurt, I’m just t-trying not to shock you.”
“Mena, you should be screaming,” Ian tells her while Aurelia nods just behind him. Her eyes are wide and worried, her face looking mildly green.
“I don’t feel pain anymore. I haven’t for years,” Mena tells him.
“So I don’t need to dope you up on pain meds before I pop this back in? By the look on Asher’s face, if I don’t treat you like crystal, he’s going to rip my head off. You know, I think it would be better if you stepped out for this,” he says to me before turning to Aurelia. “You too, Squirt. Beat it. You look like you’re about to puke.”
“Dislocated joints make me want to hurl, so sue me,” she bites back irritably as she turns and walks toward Rhys, who’s sitting on the concrete steps leading up to the main house. She curls herself like a cat and sits on his lap, hiding her face in his shoulder as he gently rubs her back. I guess she’s staying.
“Why do I have to leave?” I ask, getting really pissed now. I want to crack my knuckles and then beat his face in. Pulling me from my woman? I don’t fucking think so.
“Because I like my head firmly attached to my body,” he says like any teenager would say ‘duh,' and I’m reminded how young Ian is. Sure, he may be just over a century old, but he’s still the youngest person in this room.
John’s grave voice sounds behind Ian, and his tone brooks zero argument. “Your mate has to have another man’s hands on her and is most likely going to be in pain. You need to leave this room so she can get the treatment she needs.” I wince at John’s tone as Mena stiffens. I instantly feel like an asshole for holding Ian up. I don’t realize the implications of what John said until Mena sucks in a breath.
“Mate?” Mena breathes in my ear.
Oh, shit.
I glare at John for a beat before I stand with Mena in my arms and gently set her on the bench. “We’ll talk about it later, Princess,” I tell her.
“Oh, sure. In between me blowing up rooms and shocking the ever-living fuck out of people, we’ll just pencil it in,” she snaps, and the quip is laced with enough sarcasm that it startles a laugh out of me.
“Soon. We’ll talk about it soon. Yeah?” I say even though I have zero plans to do so. How could I possibly tell her? How could I explain?
She raises an eyebrow at me, suspicion all over her expression before her face falls and then wipes clean of emotion so quickly I almost miss it. So this is what having a mate is like.
I am so screwed.