Chapter 11: Wren - Twisted Vows

“You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?” August asked through a sigh.

The answer was a resounding, unmistakable no. Wren was still giggling at the thought of August covered in sparkly pink fish scales as they strolled out of Memorium and back into the cool night air. Evening had fallen upon Blackwood, bringing with it plumes of fog and a silverish glow emanating from the black sky.

“I wonder what would have happened if I had waited any longer,” Wren mused, hands clasped behind her back. They ventured farther south, walking along a winding line of oak trees, attempting to find their way back to the main path. “Do you think you’d have formed little fins?”

“Why would my fins be little?” August replied, almost comically offended.

Wren snorted. “I don’t know.”

“I think they’d be very large fins,” August muttered through a scowl. “Impressive, manly fins.”

“You’re being awfully defensive about your fins,” Wren drawled. “Overcompensating for something?”

August rolled his eyes, unfazed. “Definitely not. I’m just deeply offended you’d think I’d have small baby fins.”

“Okay, fine.” Wren sighed. “You’d have gargantuan fins. Super big, burly fins.” She peered over at him, biting back a smile. “Happy now?”

“Thank you.” August nodded. “Elated.” He remained serious and stoic, though Wren could see just how much effort he was putting into containing his own smile. There was a lull in their conversation, a brief pause, and then August said, “Good job, by the way. You did well in there.”

“Wow.” Wren raised her brows in astonishment. “A genuine compliment! I’m stunned. I don’t know what to say.”

August rolled his eyes. “You could try thank you.”

Wren came to a halt. She turned to face him squarely, scrounging up as much sincerity as she could muster. “Thank you, August.”

August nodded, pleased. “You’re very welcome, Loughty.”

Once again, a thick, tangible silence fell over them. But it wasn’t uncomfortable. It wasn’t the kind of silence that made you want to crawl out of your skin and seek solitude. It was the kind of silence that felt warm . . . comforting. The kind of silence that reminded Wren of afternoons curled up by the bay window of her room, book in hand, delicate streams of morning sunlight pouring over her skin.

She hadn’t felt that way since arriving at Blackwood.

Except now. Here. With August.

“Should we head back to Pettyworth?” Wren asked, suddenly panicked. “It’s pretty late.”

August nodded. He cleared his throat, running a hand through his curls. He seemed to be just as aware of the tense moment that had passed between them as Wren was. “Probably for the best.” He crossed his arms, staring up at the sky, before slowly dragging his gaze back down to Wren. “Look, Loughty . . . I wanted to say—”

But August never got to finish his sentence. There was a flurry of movement. A sudden puff of smoke in the air, and then a pair of hands was gripping Wren by the neck, the edge of a knife held to her throat. As the smoke cleared, Wren saw a girl standing behind August, a sharp dagger aimed directly at his back. She had cropped blond hair that fell right above her shoulders, and wore an emerald-green sweater tucked into a pair of pleated tartan pants. Wren hadn’t seen her before—or, if she had, she surely didn’t recognize her.

Panicked, Wren tried to run, but whoever was behind her held on tighter, yanking her backward before she could try to escape again.

“Don’t move.” The voice behind her was deep and menacing. The anonymous boy pressed the knife harder against Wren’s neck. Logically, Wren could sense it. An almost invisible pressure. But there was no pain. None that she could feel, anyway. It was dizzying, knowing he was drawing blood, knowing it should hurt her but didn’t. “Don’t you dare move another fucking inch.”

“She’s not moving, Carson.” August’s words were directed toward her assailant, but his gaze was locked on Wren. He looked perfectly at ease, though there was a lethal edge to his voice that sent a shiver down Wren’s spine. He didn’t seem at all bothered by the blade at his back. It was as if the other girl wasn’t even there. “And neither am I, Evie, so don’t worry.”

“How did you know it was me?” the girl behind him muttered through a scowl.

“Because you two are fucking inseparable. And predictable.” August lifted his hands in the air in surrender, though the gesture seemed pointless. Just because he wasn’t holding a knife or a weapon didn’t mean he couldn’t hurt them. After all, he was the real weapon. “Doesn’t take a genius to know Carson would rope you into whatever scheme this is.”

“Fucking hell . . .” Carson let out a manic laugh, jumping up and down. Wren felt the blade press harder against her neck, though still, no pain. “Look at us, Evie! We did it. We actually did it.”

“Did what exactly?” August asked through a sigh. “I’m assuming this ridiculous plan has some sort of motive?”

“Ambushed the Demon of Blackwood,” Evie drawled, leaning in toward August. “And his new little protégée.”

“His new little protégée?” Wren echoed. “Who the hell called me that?”

“I kind of like it,” August muttered, grinning. “Has a nice ring to it.”

At August’s teasing remark, Evie kneed him squarely in the back of his legs, knocking him to the ground. August let out a grunt but he didn’t fight back, kneeling down upon the ground, his eyes still glued to Wren.

“Enough out of you,” Evie muttered. She dragged her blade from his back up toward his neck, pressing it against his jaw. Wren watched, breath held, as she drew blood. It trickled along August’s jaw, sliding down his neck in thin ribbons. “You’re not getting out of this one, so why don’t you just shut your mouth and let us do the talking, okay?”

“I’m all ears,” August muttered through gritted teeth, angling his head away from the blade.

“We made a deal,” Carson explained, voice wavering. Wren could sense that his initial bravado had begun to fade. That whatever show of confidence he’d put up at their initial attack was faltering, and the reality of what he was doing had settled upon him. “We send you and the girl to the infirmary, and we get immunity for the next three months.”

“Not to mention the password for the next Ascended party,” Evie muttered with a smug grin.

“Immunity from what?” Wren asked.

“Not from what,” August replied before either Carson or Evie could. “But from who.” He waited, brow lifted. “Isn’t that right?”

Carson shifted uncomfortably behind Wren. His grip loosened slightly, and for the first time since he’d grabbed her, she could turn her neck slightly and get a good look at him. He didn’t seem all that menacing—just another student. Large brown eyes hidden by wire-framed glasses. Tousled brown hair. A small scar in the corner of his top lip.

“Yeah.” Carson nodded. “From—from someone. But that’s none of your business!”

“So let me get this straight,” August said through a sigh. “This person promised you that they wouldn’t send you to the infirmary as long as you send me to the infirmary. And you believed them?”

“They made a blood vow,” Carson muttered back defensively. “Can’t break those.”

August chuckled. “A blood vow?” He turned down his lips in a mocking pout. “Well, now I feel important.”

“Wh-what’s a blood vow?” Wren asked, voice shaking. She was beginning to wonder what August’s play was here. He clearly was buying time—but for what reason, she wasn’t entirely sure.

“Binding contract,” August replied calmly. “Break it, and your ass is getting sent to the infirmary, anyway. It corrodes your insides. Basically eats you from the inside out.”

Wren shivered. Nausea coiled around her throat. “Charming.”

“Listen . . .” August sighed, swiveling his neck to look between the two of them. “Carson. Evie. You’re not the first ones to be sent after me. And you most certainly won’t be the last. So why don’t you walk away while you still have your souls and pride intact?”

“Don’t listen to him, Evie,” Carson practically growled. “Do it.”

Evie shook her head.

“You first.”

Carson blinked, taken back.

“What?”

“The girl.” Evie nodded toward Wren. “Make him watch.”

Panic shot through Wren like an electric current. She was going to be sick. She tasted bile on her tongue. Her stomach churning at the anticipation of what was about to happen. A part of her wanted to reach for the knife August had given her, but she knew she wouldn’t move fast enough. By the time she got her hand around the knife, Carson would probably be slicing her open.

What would it feel like? Having her neck split open with the absence of pain? Would she feel her soul fade? Would she fall into oblivion? Tumbling through darkness? Would it feel like dying had felt? Cold. Lonely. Eternal.

“Don’t,” August choked out. With a single word, the nonchalant mask he’d been wearing fell away. “That’s not—” He shook his head, panic burning behind his eyes. “She has nothing to do with the contract.”

Carson chuckled, deep and gruff. “Well, well. Looks like we hit a nerve, Evie.”

“Maybe the Demon of Blackwood has a bit of a crush on the newbie,” Evie pondered out loud, humming softly beneath her breath.

“Then we better take our time with her,” Carson drawled. “Drag it out real slow.” With one hand, he gripped Wren by the hair, yanking her head backward, exposing her neck. With the other, he pressed the blade firmly against her flesh, prepared to slice her open. “You hear that August? We’re going to make sure that her body is so mangled and destroyed that she’ll be stuck in the infirmary for the rest of the term. She’ll be in there for months. And you’re going to be right there—lying beside her.”

Wren knew she should say something. She should try to plead her case. Beg for mercy. But her mouth seemed to be glued shut. The frantic words she was desperate to utter trapped in the back of her throat.

But it didn’t matter. Because it was August who broke the silence. And not in the way Wren expected he would.

It was a low sound. Deep. Hoarse.

It took Wren a few seconds to process that it was laughter.

“Dammit.” August chuckled, shaking his head. He looked at the ground with a bone-chilling smile.

“What?” Carson practically barked. “What’s so fucking funny?”

“You just . . .” August sighed. When he looked back up at Carson, Wren had to stifle a gasp. His gray eyes had grown unnaturally dark. Lethal. Overflowing with rage. For the first time since she had met him, for the first time since she had seen him strolling down the corridors of Elysium Hall, he truly looked like the monster that everyone made him out to be.

The Demon of Blackwood smiled.

“You really shouldn’t have said that.”

It all happened so fast. Wren barely had time to process August’s movements. One second he was on his knees, and the next he was side-sweeping his leg, knocking Evie to the ground. The girl fell, tumbling, and August snatched the knife from her hand and plunged it into her stomach.

The wound was deep. Brutal.

And then he slashed across her stomach, splitting her open. Evie’s face went ghostly white as she collapsed, her eyes brimming with anger. “No!” she choked out, hands helplessly pressing against the open wound. She didn’t even seem scared, just annoyed, as if August had merely pushed her as opposed to carving her open and ripping out her insides.

Carson dropped his grip on Wren, shoving her to the ground, and sprinted toward August. Wren didn’t even have to warn him. August moved with a supernatural swiftness, lifting his hand and commanding a nearby tree branch to snap off. Before Carson could even reach August, the branch was barreling toward him, shooting through his chest.

The sound was the worst part. The crunch of bones breaking. Flesh tearing.

Carson screamed and fell to his knees. It was a scream not of pain but of pure, unfiltered anger. He tried to crawl toward Evie, who had already begun to fade, her eyes staring vacantly up at the sky as she lost consciousness, her soul entering that vegetative state Wren had heard so much about.

But August stopped Carson before he could reach her. He stepped in front of him, squatting to his eye level. “You really should have known better, Carson. You should have known not to do this.”

Carson shook his head, teeth chattering. He stared up at August. “Please.”

“Now you beg?” August cocked his head.

“I-I’ll walk.” Carson nodded, a manic sort of laughter spilling out of him. “I’ll break the contract. P-promise.”

“If you break the contract, you’ll be in the infirmary even longer,” August explained calmly. Pragmatically. “Just think of this as an act of mercy.” He tapped the edge of the knife against Carson’s cheek and grimaced. “Not that you deserve mercy after what you said you’d do to her.”

A sudden awareness crept over Wren. The blood. So much blood. Evie’s body splayed open like a frog ready for dissection. Her soul numbed and frozen, unconscious for God knew how long. And now . . . another body. Another soul. More suffering. More blood. More destruction.

“August—” Wren tried to speak. To call his name and tell him to stop. That it was enough.

But it was too late.

August brought the knife down, striking his target. Instantly, the world seemed to grow hazy around Wren. Her vision went dark and splotchy. If she weren’t already kneeling on the ground, she was certain she would have collapsed. Terror rushed through her body, pooling in her lungs. She couldn’t breathe. A heaviness pressed on her chest. A rush of panic lighting up her body.

She needed to run. To get away from this mess. To get away from him—

“Loughty.” Somewhere above her, August’s voice echoed, deep and gruff. He was in front of her. Touching her. August cupped her face gently, eyes searching. Wren blinked, attempting to focus and still her racing mind, but her vision blurred, the edges turning gray and murky. “Look at me.”

“You . . .” Wren choked out. Her gaze flitted from August’s bloodstained face to Carson’s unmoving body sprawled out like a deer left for slaughter. “He . . .” Wren swallowed. Bile rose up her throat, nausea twisting her insides. She hadn’t realized she could still feel nauseous, given their absence of pain. “His neck.”

But August didn’t seem to hear her. He was zeroed in on Wren’s condition, on inspecting her for injuries.

“Are you okay?” His eyes roved over her face, down her arms, analyzing her. “Are you wounded anywhere? Are you losing blood?”

“I—I don’t know.” Wren shook her head. Her lips felt impossibly dry. “I don’t think so.”

Wren couldn’t tear her gaze away from Carson’s body. His neck was slit open—carved open—in a gaping trench of flesh and ligament and muscle. Blood sputtered from the wound, pooling around him, soaking the ground beneath him. It was so deep that Wren wondered how his head was still attached to his neck.

Maybe it wasn’t.

Wren found she couldn’t hold it in any longer, and twisted from August’s grasp, emptying the contents of her stomach. But there was nothing in there. Just bile and acid.

Wren cringed, scrambling to her feet, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She tried to still her breathing, dragging her gaze back to August. He seemed . . . still. Unnervingly calm, given the situation. His hands were soaked with blood. His white shirt stained. Carson’s and Evie’s blood was spattered across August’s face. He looked like carnage. Like complete and utter destruction.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” August whispered. Wren flinched at the hurt in his voice.

“I just . . .” She shook her head, attempting to find the words. “I didn’t recognize you. For a moment there . . . you looked like someone else.”

August glanced at Carson’s and Evie’s bodies. He didn’t seem bothered by them, but he didn’t seem apathetic either. There was a tinge of sadness in his stare—of pity. “Sometimes you have to become something unrecognizable in order to survive here.”

“Is that how you do it?” Wren asked, voice wavering. “How you rationalise it?”

Her question must have offended August. His gaze snapped back to her, his brow furrowed. “What would you have had me do, then? Let him attack you? Let him slit your throat?”

Wren shook her head.

“It’s not pretty business, darling, but it’s necessary.” August was seething, each word punching out of him angrily. He lifted his hand to his mouth, attempting to wipe a bit of blood from his face, but only streaked more along his jaw. “I take the ugliest parts of my soul and lay them bare because I have to. Because we have to. If you don’t”—he pointed at the mangled bodies with unapologetic candidness—“that’s what happens to you. That is your fate.”

“I just don’t see myself ever being that desperate to come out on top,” Wren whispered, unable to hide the disgust from her voice. “Getting the best grade? Beating the other students on an assignment? Is it really worth all this?”

“When you’ve been here for centuries”—August shot back bitterly—“then you can talk.”

Centuries.

Wren’s head shot up. August looked wrecked—his eyes were bloodshot and glassy. His face streaked with blood. It had never occurred to Wren that some students could have been here that long. That August could have been here—trapped here—for centuries. She couldn’t even imagine how he felt. She hadn’t even been at Blackwood for a week and she already felt suffocated. A tidal wave of grief rising higher and higher with every passing hour. It wouldn’t surprise her if some students lost their minds.

It was no wonder they turned into this.

“How long have you been at Blackwood, August?” Wren asked, breaking the silence.

“Loughty.” August winced, shutting his eyes. He flexed his fingers, inhaling a long and steadying breath. “I’m begging you. Do not try to poke and prod into my past. Do not try and chip away at me.” His eyes fluttered open, and there was a pleading look blazing behind them. “It’s only going to hurt you.”

Wren took a step closer, shaking her head. “What does that even mean?”

“It means . . . this is it.” August let out a broken sigh and gestured to himself with a defeated wave of his hands. “This is all I have to offer you. This is all I’ll ever be able to offer you.” His voice shook with every word. “Nothing more.”

Wren didn’t know what to say. It was as if her voice had been snatched from her throat.

“What now?” she managed to whisper, swallowing back the unwanted emotions.

“I’ll relocate their bodies to the infirmary,” August muttered, running a hand through his curls. “Least I could do, I suppose.”

Wren nodded. She scratched the back of her arm, staring up at August. “Should I . . .” She paused, gnawing the inside of her cheek. “Should I stay with you?”

“Do you want to?” August asked, voice soft.

Silence fell between them. Wren tried to find her answer, but truthfully, she didn’t know. A part of her understood why August had reacted the way he did. He did what needed to be done. He had protected her. He had saved them from meeting the same fate. But another part of her—the very human part of her—couldn’t help but want to distance herself as much as possible. To run away and hide and never resurface.

August must have seen her answer written on her face. There was a tinge of sadness in his eyes, of bitterness, and then he was turning away from her, not bothering to glance over his shoulder as he spoke.

“Go back to your dorm, Loughty.” August knelt beside Carson’s body, placing a hand on the boy’s chest. A wispy silver smoke billowed out of August’s palm, devouring Carson, until his body had vanished. “We’re done here for the day.”

“Are you sure?” Wren asked. She wasn’t sure why she felt so hollow. Why there were tears building behind her eyes. “I can help . . . if you want. I can—” But August interjected, voice sharp and commanding.

“I said go.”

Wren flinched. She said nothing as August stood up and made his way to Evie’s body, transporting her to the infirmary the same way he had Carson. She said nothing as August straightened his shoulders, brushing the dirt from his bloody shirt.

“I will see you tomorrow,” he said. Calm. Level. As if nothing had happened. “Once we get that third jewel, we’ll be done. You won’t have to deal with any of this again.”

It was in that moment, standing in the middle of the forest, that Wren could see it. The darkness latching onto August. The deep, unending abyss he was plummeting into. She didn’t know why. She didn’t know what was clinging to him, dragging him under, forcing him into this. A part of her wondered if she should ignore his demands and stay. If she should simply close the distance between them and wrap her arms around him and find a way to put him back together again. Maybe he could be saved from whatever was clearly tormenting him. Maybe she could pull him back before it was too late.

But she didn’t. Wren simply stood there, silent, and let August walk away.

She let him fall deeper into that abyss and said nothing.