Who cares what her name is? I didn’t care when I was fucking her, and I sure as hell don’t care now that we’re no longer paramours.
I tighten my grip on her frail wrist, flashing my eyes in warning. Then I let her go once Stannog growls at me to stop.
Milda, Merrow, or whatever her stupid name is, is one of his best workers, so he doesn’t want me to ruin her face.
A face that’s as forgetful as her name.
The winged female rubs at the red mark that I left on her wrist. Then she whacks me across the back of the head with her tray, making me spill my gnat’s piss.
I refuse to participate in honeyed wine; I won’t touch anything that Unseelie bought with his gold.
Lord Valent can’t take his cold, glacier eyes off Ivy as she dances just for him, and I hope her death will be quick and painless.
All I can do is brood at the bar while Ivy makes a fool of herself, dancing for the amusement of these wicked creatures. She will wear down the soles of her feet before Valent is through with her.
Everyone cheers her on, and someone even starts to play the flute for her as she twirls and twirls, and whenever she trips or stumbles, I die a little inside.
The bar erupts with cruel laughter.
Mildew caws the loudest, and I growl when the bitch grabs Ivy’s shoulders, spinning her faster and faster.
The human falls into the arms of the puca, and the two toss her back and forth, turning it into a game.
Ivy titters the whole time, and she thinks she’s having the time of her life.
But faeries like to play with their food first. It makes their suffering taste all that sweeter…
“Enough!” Lord Valent bellows, coming to her rescue at last.
The patrons withdraw once the lord makes his presence known. Moola returns to serving punters, while the puca resumes his card game.
Me, on the other hand… I stare down into the bottom of my empty tankard, hoping I’ll find the answers I seek.
The world tips on its axis. Then my vision distorts, making it hard to tell fact from fiction. A small part of me just wants to head home. Why should I care? Ivy made her choice.
Still, I turn on my barstool, my heart plunging to the deepest depths of my soul when I spy her there.
Lord Valent plays with a lock of her beautiful blonde hair, and a giggle pours from her sweet lips, chasing away the darkness, like the pealing notes of a Yule bell... a bell that will soon stop forever.
I can’t bear to watch. Time to head home to my dark mountain.
Yes. Run away, coward.
Rosemary’s taunting voice swirls through my drunken mind, but I ignore her nasty comments, rising from the stool.
“Are ye really going ter leave her trapped in that spider’s web?”
I peer across the bar. Stannog side-eyes me with that familiar disdain, and for once, I deserve his hostility.
Yes. Iamgoing to leave her with the spider. What more can I do? She’s already gone.
“Well?” he demands.
I put up a strong front, hoping he doesn’t notice that I’m dying inside. “Pretty spider... Wouldn’t you agree?”
I go to swig the dregs of my disgusting drink, but Stannog snatches it from my hand, showing me his crooked teeth. “Get that lass home before it’s too late.”
I sigh. “It’s already too late…”
