Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 171450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 857(@200wpm)___ 686(@250wpm)___ 572(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 171450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 857(@200wpm)___ 686(@250wpm)___ 572(@300wpm)
Kierse got a look at Lorcan’s infuriated face, at being kept from her. Graves’s expression was too serious to be amused, but under the circumstances, it was as close as he could get. “Go home. You don’t belong here.”
“Kierse,” Lorcan said, his eyes finding her. “Wait…”
“She’ll let you know when she’s better,” Graves said. “If she wants to…”
Then he kicked the door closed, slamming it in Lorcan’s face.
Chapter Fifty-Four
“And here I thought you two were finally starting to get along.”
Graves scoffed. “He knew where you were.”
“Right,” she said on a sigh.
“I’ll be nearby,” Lorcan said, slinking into her mind. Graves’s wards might keep him physically out of the house, but it had never stopped the bond. “I won’t leave until I know that you’re all right.”
“Niamh is here. It’ll be okay.”
“I want to be there,” he said in an ever-increasing, frustrated tone. “I want to be the one taking care of you.”
Could he really blame Graves for not trusting him? The last time Lorcan had been in Graves’s brownstone, he’d used the winter solstice to do a ritual that pulled down his wards. He’d held Gen and Ethan at gunpoint in the Holly Library. It didn’t change anything between them now that they both were invested in her.
“You found me, but you can’t help here. Go home, Lorcan.”
The bond went silent, but she could sense that he didn’t take her advice. That he was lurking on the street nearby, waiting to get confirmation that she’d been healed. And she felt too shitty to deal with his emotions right now.
Niamh appeared at the top of the stairs. Her boots clunked against the creaks in the wood. The hollows under her eyes were dark on her pale skin. “You look like shite.”
“Thanks,” Kierse said.
“Get my patient into the study,” Niamh ordered Graves.
And for once he didn’t have a word to argue with her.
A fire was roaring in the grate of the study, and Anne Boleyn hissed as they entered. The couch was clear of its typical debris. Niamh slid a pillow under her head as Graves set her down. Kierse groaned as she shifted in his grip, the pain in her wrists almost unbearable.
Niamh dropped to her side and examined her wrists. “What did this?”
“I…don’t know,” Graves admitted.
Niamh shot him a look of disbelief.
“Lorcan didn’t know, either.”
“Well…fuck.” Niamh took a breath and released it. “The thumb is the easy part. We’ll set that and then figure out if we can deal with the burns and blisters or if they’re magical.”
“And if they’re magical?” Kierse whispered.
“We’ll try something else.” Niamh put her hand on Kierse’s shoulder. “Not my first healing. You’re in good hands.”
“I know.” It wasn’t even the first time Niamh had put her back together. But this felt more momentous than being stabbed in the Goblin Market.
Niamh set her thumb with a pop and an explosion of pain that shot through her entire body. Kierse curled in on herself, protecting the aching joint.
Graves stroked a hand through her hair, his voice gentle as he said, “You’re doing great. We’re going to get you all fixed up.”
But when Niamh touched her wrists, it felt like those cuffs were circling her all over again and dragging her under. She whimpered and squeezed her eyes shut as Niamh went to work. Tears gathered in her lashes, and she couldn’t stop them from tracking down her cheeks.
“Niamh,” Graves said, command but not anger.
“I’m working, Holly King,” she said through gritted teeth. “Give me room. Or better yet, go get Gen.”
“I’m not leaving her side.”
Niamh blew out a harsh breath and leaned back over Kierse’s hands. Her skin was knitting back together, regrowing a new layer. It itched and burned and felt like someone was scraping it all off again. Another sob escaped her. She couldn’t keep them back. She’d worked so hard to keep it together under Jason’s practiced torment, but she couldn’t hold it in here.
Then a weight jumped up onto her feet.
She opened her eyes a sliver to watch Anne Boleyn walking perfunctorily across her legs and stomach. Then with the ease of a cat who had found a particularly indulgent box to settle into, she sat on Kierse’s chest and purred.
All three of them stared at the cat. Even Graves looked stunned by this development, and Kierse momentarily forgot about her aching wrists. Graves’s cat famously only liked Gen. She and Kierse had been frenemies for as long as she’d known her. Kierse had been convinced that she’d never really like any of the people in this room since they were all technically birds—a wren, a robin, and a raven.
“Well, okay,” Niamh said with a shake of her head. “We’ll work around the kitty.”
“As she prefers,” Graves said.
With Anne’s weight and comforting heavy breathing, Kierse could focus on the cat and not just on what happened to her wrists. The pain was still there. It certainly hadn’t gone away, but it was almost dimmed by Anne’s presence.