Page 48 of Saints & Sinners

I stared at Hunter, at the pain etched on his bruised face. “I thought his brother died?”

“That’s what Cain thought, too,” Silas explained. “But then he got a letter that seemed to be from Aaron, telling Cain he was still alive and needed help.”

“And he believed it?”

“He was so sure that it was Aaron’s handwriting,” Brandon said. “But ever since then, he’s risked himself and his position at the academy by looking for him.”

My heart broke then. Everything I had said to Hunter—the day out in the pit, the moment we were together in the common room... he had been looking for his brother all along.

“Do you think this could be a Riftkeeper’s doing, then?” I asked, glancing at the slash across his chest.

“If it was, I don’t know why they’d keep him alive,” Silas said, and I shook my head at the thought. “It doesn’t make sense, really. It doesn’t even make sense that his brother would still be alive.”

It was hope. Hunter was willing to take the risk if there was even the slightest possibility of his brother being alive. Anyone would.

“Come on,” I said as I stood up. “Help me at least get him to his room.”

The boys gently lifted Hunter by the arms and carried him into his room. We laid him down on the bed, and I quickly turned to Brandon.

“Grab me a bowl of water, disinfectants and some clean cloths.”

Brandon nodded and hurried off while Silas lingered by the doorway, looking torn between wanting to help and feeling guilty.

I sat down beside Hunter, my hands shaking slightly as I began to rip his t-shirt, revealing cuts and skin glistening with sweat and blood. I blew out a shaky breath just as Brandon came back with the bowl of water and a cloth. I began to clean the blood from his face, wiping away the dirt and grime. His injuries weren’t as many as I thought, but whoever had done this had given him a gash that seemed borderline punishing.

His chest rose with every deep breath he took, and I watched as he stirred and winced whenever I touched an injured spot. For once, he looked vulnerable. One could almost assume that he wasn’t the temperamental person I’d seen him be.

I squeezed the excess water into the bowl and dabbed at his skin. He felt warm under my fingers, and I contemplated texting Marnie. I didn’t want to get her in trouble, but something like this should be healed by an actual Healer with abilities, not someone pressing a damp cloth to his body.

His eyes fluttered open for a brief moment, unfocused but soft, like he was barely there. When his hand twitched, it brushed against mine, and I froze.

But it wasn’t the contact that made me stop—it was the glint of gold.

I slowly turned his hand over, and there it was. My ring still wrapped around his pinky.

My throat tightened.

He hadn’t thrown it away like I thought he would have.

“Do you need us to get anything else?” Brandon whispered.

I blinked from my stupor and glanced over my shoulder. “No, it’s fine. I’ll take care of it.”

He seemed skeptical. “You sure?”

I nodded. It wasn’t the first time I had to tend to someone.Often, Joe had gotten into a tiff with a Riftkeeper, prompting us to move from place to place.

Brandon didn’t say another word as he slipped out of Hunter’s room, leaving the door to creak shut behind him. I stayed for a few minutes, perched silently at Hunter’s side, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing as it evened out. Knowing he was in less pain was a strange kind of comfort.

Eventually, I stood, hesitant to leave. My gaze wandered around his room, caught between the urge to stay and the feeling that I might be overstaying.

The walls were painted a cool grey, the exact shade of his eyes when they darkened with thought. I turned slowly, taking in the small, unassuming details such as posters of old classic cars and bands, until a neatly stacked pile of CDs by his desk caught my attention. My fingers drifted over the covers, lingering on one with Bon Jovi across it. Beneath it was a collection of soul music and alternative rock.

A quiet laugh escaped me.

Of course,this was his musical taste.

On the left side of the desk, a CD player stood out among the otherwise sparse space. I grabbed a CD from the stack, slipping the disc into the player and pressing play. A familiar melody began to fill the room, and I checked the back of the CD cover to see it was the song Power of Love by Frankie Goes to Hollywood.

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