Page 47 of Wrong Squad, Right Mess

The sharp end, the one I’d broken off from the trunk, struck her in the jugular. It didn’t hit and rebound, though, and instead the way the flesh gave beneath the pointed edge, the way it pressed in deep, the gurgling sound she made, all of it was almost worse than her touch.

Almost.

She released me only long enough to reach up and yank the branch out of her. Blood sprayed from the wound, painting the ground in a mixture of red and purple—another sign of her corrupted status.

I didn’t wait for her to recover, turning and running. The softness of the ground kept my feet from getting a good grip, but that didn’t stop me. Even when I stumbled, I caught myself on a tree and used it to propel me further forward.

A laugh broke out behind me, high-pitched and maddened and somehow even worse than before. It was as though the wound had broken any grasp she had on the world.

Something struck me from behind, knocking me forward, and I couldn’t roll or rise before a weight settled over me, keeping me down, trapping me there. Wetness dripped down on me, and a glance to the side showed my hand covered in a mixture of red and purple blood.

“You’re mine,” she whispered. “Took this long but I found my one, perfect guide. All mine.” She laughed as she spoke, a hysterical cackling that broke through all the words.

I tried to use my powers, but I couldn’t. They didn’t work, only giving me the smallest of bursts, one she didn’t even seem to feel. It had to have been because I’d used to much power earlier to knock the men out.

I refused to accept this, though. Years ago I would have, but now? It felt like I had all the men in my head, screaming at me to get up, to keep fighting, not to dare let go. Even if I’d left them for their own good, I knew they’d tell me to keep going, to look for an opportunity, to just live.

Nothing I did changed it, and when a hand wrapped around the nape of my neck, I sent up a silent apology for…well…more than I could possibly put into words.

No pain consumed me, though. Instead, one moment she was there and the next? Gone. Like she’d dissolved into air.

I opened my eyes to find a pair of dark boots in the soil before me.

Carter?

My heart beat wildly as I forced myself to look up, past the pants, past the shirt, to the face of the person who had saved me, the one standing over me like that.

And the moment I saw his face, everything crumbled.

“Welcome home,” Corsa said.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Carter

I groaned as I woke, staggering to my feet, my hands searching for a weapon.

Had something knocked me out? It was rare, but it happened from time to time. I figured first I’d be impressed that something managed to get the upper hand on me, but after that? Well, after that I would definitely kill the fucking thing that dared.

Being impressed was one thing, but retribution was definitely more my style.

What exactly had gotten me, well, that I’d have to figure out. My brain felt fuzzy, muddled. I didn’t much care for that. There was a reason I’d never been that into drinking, and it was because I liked to have my wits about me. No matter how strong I was, no matter how fast, my brain was always my best weapon.

I finally got my eyes open, and the scene before me confused me more than anything.

I was naked, and that was a little unusual. Ingram was naked, but that was entirely normal. The stranger thing was that Shear and Kenyon were also naked. That part I couldn’t quite come to terms with. Had we all had sex, and it was just so wonderful we all passed out?

That didn’t seem very probable, but I didn’t have a lot of other ideas either. Had the girl run off in the middle? Had she stolen a kidney? I patted my side, looking for some sort of incision. I hadn’t woken up in a bathtub full of ice, so that was a good thing, right?

Or maybe there hadn’t been a woman at all? I wouldn’t put it past us entirely, but I’d never been all that inclined to swing that way, not without at least one vagina in the room.

A groan had me turning my head to find Ingram sitting up. He glanced around, his expression saying he was equally as confused by our situation.

“What the fuck happened?” He rubbed his hand over his head, pushing his hair out of his face. It showed off his tattoos, and something about that sparked my memory.

Yun.

The name struck me, and once it had, everything else came back to me in a rush. We hadn’t been here alone, we’d been here with Yun. I tried to remember what had happened just before everything had gone black, before I’d passed out. I recalled how tight and wonderful she’d been wrapped around me, how damn content it had made me, but then…