His Trouble Maker

Chapter 109

Chapter 109

GRAYSON

“I’m not watching you kill her!”

“Pierce-”

“No. Let him!” I throw a hand out, stopping Theo from going after him. “Let him go.”

I fucking get it. That shithead loves her. In his own twisted, useless way.

I get it.

But I’m not him.

I kneel by her again. Her lips are parted. Blood drying in the corners. Her pulse is thready as hell.

Fuck.

I swipe the sweat off her collarbone. She flinches. Not even awake, but still trying to fight. That’s my girl.

Theo’s pacing behind me, muttering under his breath like that’s gonna fix shit. I don’t look at him.

“Get me a knife,” I snap.

“What?” Theo freezes. “What the hell for?”

“I need blood. Mine.”

“You’re not making her drink again-”

“No. I’m claiming her.”

Silence.

Then Pierce laughs. Bitter. Loud. From the top of the hatch. “You’re insane.”

I don’t look at him. “Get me the damn knife.”

“You’re gonna do the mating here?” Theo asks, voice low, like maybe he didn’t hear me right. “Right now?”

“She’s not gonna make it to a fucking altar.”

“You’re not thinking-”

“She’s dying”

If I don’t do something, she’s going to die.

I’m not stupid. I know what I’m doing. My hands shake, but I keep them steady enough to unzip the black kit bag on the floor. There’s a drawer inste hidden under the first flap of gauze and burn gef, behind the false wall I stitched in years ago I already know what’s on there. I kept it the way she taught

me.

Obsidian blades wrapped in salt cloth.

magic.

Old magic. Blood magic. My mother’s magic. Stuff that got buried when the new regime took over, when the Elders outlawed half the shit that used to save lives, Stuff no one talks about anymore unless they want to be exiled.

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Chapter 109

I remember. She taught me before she died. Taught me with her hands over mine and

understand. Pierce sure as fuck

I don’t need them

concentrate–if I get it exactly right–I can sever the imprint. I can cut Riot’s rot out of her spine and anchor her to me instead Hot mark claim the usual way. This is older. Dirtier. It’s the kind

is not fucking possible!” Theo shouts, his voice cracking as he lunges forward and yanks the bag out of

louder than

burned

three strides and

isn’t the way.” He’s panting. Eyes wide. “You don’t

know exactly

needs rest–she

“She’s out of time.”

spine bows. Her fingers curl like claws around the edge of the sheet.

not rest. That is not healing. That is her dying slow while he watches from

Theo looks away.

negotiating. I’m not following orders. She’s mine. I’ll tear the rot out with my own fucking

He hesitates.

gasps again, a low rasping

let go of Theo’s wrist. He

God,” I mutter, “if you try to stop me again, I’ll put you through that

yank the bag back, drop to my knees beside the cot, and

Dull on the edges. Sharp at the point. My fingers are

and still beautiful–and I know there’s only one

cut. One spell. One

Her to me.

Or nothing.

salt cloth

blood dried last time–my mother’s blood, maybe mine too. I don’t care. I ball the rag and toss it aside. The blade glints once in the low light, dark as hell, dull until it wants to bite. My palm curls around

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Chapter 109

than

Good.

snap without looking. “Boil water. Tear open anything with alcohol. Wipe your fucking

A jug slams. Metal clatters. Theo paces the wall like

one knee wedged to the cot to steady her twitching body. I press the flat of my hand to her collarbone–right a púlse point where she used

“If you can

now but looking straight through me. Pupils blown. Irises wildsilver. Her lips move t

press harder. Anchor

body bows again like someone’s hooking wire through her spine and yanking. A low snarl slips

Not her voice.

Not her.

That means I’m

100%

it up and over her head, toss it aside. She’s burning. Skin flushed deep red, veins dark, coiled

I gave her when we were kids and she tried to jump that fence behind the butcher’s yard. She bles all

New blood.

two fingers to

Find the pulse.

beating it into my back with

Root. Blood. Anchor.

Jessica shrieks.

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