Hunted [Wild Hunt Series: 1]

35: Devil His Due

Thought I'd leave you with a song from my playlist. "A Little Wicked" by Valerie Broussard.❤

There was a lot to be said since we'd last been in this room together; neither of us seemed up for saying any of it. Chiro leaned comfortably against the wall with one foot on the desk. His eyes were closed when I lifted my head and brushed hair off my cheeks. I got the feeling he was aware I'd moved, the chair had creaked after all, but when his piercing grey gaze failed to lock on mine I took the chance to study him. Not the way I had when we'd first met in the snow or later on the open plains. Not the way I'd seen him in the echoing cave where venom tainted my system. I examined him under an artist's lens, searching for meaning in the shape of the man before me. His body before had told me little about him, but now that perfect sculpt of demon had been dusted with bruises and scarred with cuts, mostly hidden beneath his clothes.

It was a good thing his face and limbs hadn't taken much of a beating. If the other demons knew about the hex he was screwed. Royally screwed, if the King learned of his condition.

Even in the privacy of his chambers, Chiro sucked it up as any wounded animal would. People were good at showing pain. People were even better at complaining. But the Prince did none of that. It had to hurt. The spot where Akta had stabbed him was deep. I wasn't a doctor but those wounds were the kind that lingered, festered, killed if left unattended. And how much did he know about caring for injuries? Still, he was healing faster than a regular human; regular human would be dead by now, I reasoned, recalling that fight with Akta. I hadn't been much better off.

Maybe worse off, though I dared not think too hard on that. At least Chiro knew the extent of his hex. All I had was a growing awareness that something had been done to me, just like that awful sensation where a person knows something had been done to their drink or food, but only after they'd gulped it down. I'd been laid out like a lamb to sacrifice. Something had been done, something deep and personal and wholly wretched, but my bones couldn't feel any more than that. Yet.

I stared hard at the faint outline of bandaging around Chiro's torso. We'd made it out of the woods, but a part of him was still in there. A part of me was still there in the Oaks, too. I reached forward.

"Don't," he snapped in an instant, popping one eye the moment my hand inched curiously to his hemline.

I tipped back in the chair to better regard his surly features. "Gonna need you to answer a few questions."

"I'll answer some of them if you promise to leave when I ask."

"It's getting late. I don't know if I want to be wandering these halls alone."

"I'm not escorting you anywhere."

"I could stay here."

His eyes narrowed.

"Fine, fine." I sighed. He assessed me with the poker-faced expression of a cat deciding whether or not it wants to slid out from its narrow little hiding place. Then, after a moment, he got up wincing and slunk around to his bed. I waited for him to settle on top of the soft comforter to ask, "At least tell me how bad it is?"

"Better."

I spun around on the chair and laid my hands and chin on the back to watch him ease into a more comfortable position, propped on pillows. "Chiro," I said, realizing with vague horror that my voice had broken into the pitched warning my mother used on me when she'd catch me sassing her.

He flexed his hand. Clear, distinct discomfort swept through his voice, but it wasn't from pain. "I can't shift. Not a single claw. I'm almost-"

"-human," I finished. He nodded. My stomach sank. I should have known and yet... "We'll lift the hex then. Tell me what to do." He had to give me something to work with. Didn't have to be much. Anything was better than the alternative.