Tyrant (Scars of the Wraiths #2)(88)

“Damien, call to it now,” Waleron demanded.

I took my eyes off Abby and glanced at Waleron. “I can’t control it. You know this. And he hates you.”

“I will stay clear of him.”

Fuck, I hated my Ink.

“Now,” Waleron demanded.

I clenched my jaw and said to myself the words to call my Ink to life. “Rise to me. Bring forth life. Rise, faithful familiar, and breathe to protect.”

There was tingling in my shoulder then a slow burning on skin as my Ink awakened and slid down my arm to my palm. A beam of red heat penetrated my skin until a burst of white light swirled into the room.

Abby hissed and covered her eyes with her arm from the brilliant light. Waleron remained still, his eyes on my Ink as the light disappeared and in its place rose what looked like a saber-toothed tiger mixed with a human. Long, white fangs hung from a box-shaped muzzle that was covered in black skin. Piercing burgundy eyes, large and narrowed, glared with menacing intent at me and Waleron. My Ink uncurled to stand upright, his body covered in burnt-orange-and-black-striped fur. His hands were free of fur, but his nails were daggers, long and curved—deadly.

“Simian,” I said, “the woman is mine.”

Waleron snorted.

“She’s not to be harmed, but must be contained. Shackle her with the chains then cover her head so she cannot see.” I lowered my voice and repeated, “She is not to be harmed, Simian.”

My Ink turned his burgundy eyes to me with a low snarl then swept his fingernails across the wall, plaster breaking and falling to the floor. Shit, this was such a bad idea. But I knew Simian was our only chance at getting Abby controlled without killing her.

“Simian, do what I ask. Now.” I held my breath. My Ink was unpredictable and more often than not didn’t do as he was told.

His head jerked in Waleron’s direction. Simian dove for him, his massive paw-hands striking out at Waleron’s throat. “Simian, no,” I barked, but Waleron had disappeared into mist, leaving him striking at air.

“Simian!” I shouted again. “Do as I say. The girl.”

Waleron reappeared on the other side of the room, his face expressionless as if he’d expected the attack.

Abby made a low screech as Simian tilted his head and slowly started toward her. I stepped forward, ready to attack my Ink if need be, although I was uncertain who would win. It wouldn’t really matter though. If I died, so did he.

Abby hissed and clawed at him, her eyes wild as the beast came toward her. She scooted backward on the bed, still crouched as if any second she was going to leap through the air.

I held my breath.

Simian’s padded paws made no sound on the floor as he inched closer until his knees touched the mattress. Abby screamed and tried to dart past him, but despite his size, he was quick and agile. He grabbed her forearm and dragged her up against him. She struggled, her fists pounding on his chest.

“Simian.” I hoped like hell my Ink wouldn’t snap her neck.

He turned toward me, and for an instant, I thought I saw emotion from him, which was something Simian lacked—aside from hatred. He always looked the same, mean and cruel, with a hate-on for females. But when I looked into his eyes, I noticed uncertainty and something else. Remorse? Could Simian feel that emotion?

He wrapped his arms around Abby to control her struggling, burying her head into his shoulder to quiet her screams. His large paw-hand stroked the back of her head. Then he did something I had never seen before—he licked the side of her face.

Holy f*ck.

“Tell him to shackle her, Damien,” Waleron said.

“Simian, Abby is sick. We must help her. I need her shackled so she doesn’t harm herself.” I tried to use a calm approach with the way my Ink was acting. For some reason, Simian was protective of Abby, which could be beneficial or completely backfire.

Abby was quiet now, her limp body up against Simian’s as he continued to stroke her head. Come on, Simian. For once, don’t be a f*ckup.

He slowly lowered Abby onto the bed then, with careful hands, placed the chains from the bedposts around her wrists. I noticed how gentle and caring he was, as if he knew she’d react if he handled her roughly.

“Get him to cover her face,” Waleron said.

I nodded. What we were doing was to save her life—if we could. Abby was dangerous right now. Starving and needing blood so badly that she’d kill anyone to get it. Luckily for us, she was also weak and confused.

“Cover her face, Simian.”

Simian grabbed the pillow, pulled off the pillowcase, and tossed the pillow aside. He went to lower it over Abby’s head when she rebelled, flinging against the chains, her screams piercing. Simian backed away, his eyes wide and filled with—fear. Fuck. My Ink didn’t have that emotion. What the f*ck?

“Yes, it’s fear,” Waleron confirmed, “but it’s for her safety. Simian has been with you these past months and has grown close to her.”

“But that’s—”

“Nothing is always as it seems, Damien. You know that as well as I. You’ve been vulnerable—Simian has felt that. He can rise from sleep enough to know what is going on around him. Call him to you,” Waleron said.

It made me nervous about the connection he held with Abby. “Come to me, Simian. Rest. Sleep. Be one with me.” I raised my hand, palm upright, and felt the stirring of heat in my skin as Simian moved toward me obediently.