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Chapter
Thirty-Seven
WILLOW
Iwake to a familiar weight on my chest and smile at the baby Wild Hunt’s snoring lullaby. I’m warm and cozy and almost want to return to sleep, but I force my lashes to lift. Repetitive gouge marks on the ceiling let me know where I am. I count Fox’s tally. He’s added a few more marks.Interesting. Maybe he wasn’t counting the days until they met me.
The baby dragon’s horn is perilously close to stabbing me. His head is twice the size as before. Black eyelids cover the eyes beneath the bone sockets. Little cute lashes fan the space beneath. Black shimmering scales ripple as he moves and huffs. I crane further and see that he’s bigger everywhere. Once the size of Tinger, he has doubled overnight.
Tinger.
My hand slaps over the pendant. He’s here. Thank the Well.
Last night’s events crash into me. The feast, the Cornertwister, Fox kissing me, ditching me, the Burn After Reading shenanigans. My stomach flutters when I recall Fox feeding on Irisa, but then I scowl when I remember Alfie and his friends—I gasp and sit up, disturbing the wildling.
That Radiant, thatfae-fucker,had pulled me onto his lap and told me to play hide and seek for a charm in his pants. Thosebitches fed me to him. And Alfie—a ball gets lodged in my throat—he said I could trust them.
I could barely walk straight from all the booze they plied me with. Fox had unleashed on the Radiant. He consumed every last vital cell in his body. Then heflickeredme home, but something went wrong with his magic. My mind scrambles to piece together more. He tried to help me across the bridge, but I refused. I fell. He dove in after me.Savedme. Then went back for Tinger. Afterward, I think a warm bath was involved, and now I’m in his bed, in his shirt. Was Varen here, too? Cricket?
Or was it all a dream?
“Get off, sleepy head.” I push the heavy skull from my legs.
One black eye opens. He has the decency to look guilty, then scrambles away and settles on Fox’s pillow with a snort of shadow.
I toss the covers, go to the toilet, and wash my face in the basin. So much has happened in the space of a few days I’m reeling. But most of all, I feel less alone this morning—more at peace.
Braving a look in the mirror, shock barrels through me. Am I still dreaming, or is my ugliness less... ugly today? The scars are smaller, closer toward their old silvery lines. The bulges and malformed angles are less... I poke and prod... less obvious.
Why?
Alarmed at the difference, I rest my hips on the basin and contemplate the floor. Something monumental shifted last night. Between the feast, Fox’s kiss, Alfie and his friends, and almost losing Tinger, almost drowning. I rub that tight spot in my chest—Ineedto understand it.
Pushing off the basin, I pad through Fox’s room but find no sign of him. A glance outside the window reveals I’ve slept most of the day. Shit. I promised Geraldine and the others I’d spend time with them this weekend. I’d better hurry and find Fox, then.
His bedroom door leads to the hallway, not another room. A few steps down the corridor, the cold temperature seeps into my system. I should have brought a blanket, but when the scent of burning wood lures me into the library, I linger in the warmer air. The fireplace simmers with old logs and dying embers. It’s been on for a while.
Tugging the shirt down my thighs, I search the long, shelved room and find Fox hunched over a table, sleeping on an open book. A dark blanket covers his shoulders, but his feet are bare and sticking out at an odd angle.
The round spectacles from his room are beside him, still without glass lenses.
As I approach, I realize the blanket is actually his draconic wings. They drape majestically down his spine in a silken, tattered waterfall. Two curved, stubby horns protrude from short, disheveled hair. His wings hug him because he’s only wearing cotton drawstring pants.
Biting my lip, I remember something else from last night.
I shouldn’t be able to recall what happened at Burn After Reading last night. But here I am, staring at Fox’s fully dark Sluagh form, and I’m not afraid.
After he consumed Milford, I vomited from that sparkling drink they gave me. To be honest, I vomited other drinks too. Better out than in, though.
I was close to passing out but still conscious when I heard Fox speaking with Cait. She warned him that if he didn’t erase my memories, I’d always see him as a monster from witnessing his feeding of Milford. But he refused to tamper with my mind. He said, “I need her trust more.”
The fluttering in my stomach intensifies. The unexplained ache in my chest vibrates, urging me to go to him.
Touch him.
I shouldn’t.
Do it. Just see what he feels like.
