Watching them fight, with nothing to do beyond staying out of their way, has cemented a thought that’s been slowly building in the back of my mind for a while. As much as I dislike the idea of hurting anyone, the world we live in is at war. Not being able to defend myself is only going to become more of an issue as we approach the northern courts where the fighting is worse.
I may be afraid of violence, but that won’t stop it from seeking me out. The only one who benefits from my weakness is Elatha. If he should take me prisoner again, I don’t want to be a helpless waif.
Maeve’s lessons in dodging weren’t enough when the king of the Fomorians had my wings in his hands. I need to learn to defend myself. Better still—I need to learn to fight, so I’m not just a glaring vulnerability.
I’m still trying to figure out how to broach the subject with my males as they finish off the last of the wounded. Lore is dipping his hat into still-bleeding corpses with one hand as he rifles through their pockets with the other. A few minutes in, he lets out a feral grin as he tugs something gold and shiny from a corpse and skips over to take my hand.
“This matches the blood of your enemies,” he comments, like that’s an everyday comparison.
He draws away, heading back to the dead without waiting for my response, leaving a chain bracelet with teardrop rubies glistening around my wrist.
Drystan’s jaw clenches, but he says nothing. I don’t know how I feel about taking jewellery from the dead, but I swallow back my objections. The craftsmanship on this is nothing like anything I saw in Fellgotha, which means the Fomorian who had it likely murdered a fae to take it.
So much death.
The horses have stayed put, thankfully, and Drystan and Jaro take their reins and begin to lead them up over the rocky ground to the crest of the hill. Lore trails behind, but only for as long as it takes to swipe his hat through as much of the blood as possible.
My mind flashes back to the dagger Lore gifted me back when we first met, and I fix my eyes on him as we crest the ridge and stare down at the river beyond. I’ll ask him first. I’m pretty sure the others won’t approve—in fact, I’m certain Drystan will outright forbid it. No. In the dullahan’s case, it’s definitely better to ask forgiveness than permission. Perhaps Jaro will help, if I can convince him it’s mainly for self defence, and Bree… he’s so quiet it’s hard to tell what he’ll say.
Three Fomorian ships are moored at the river’s edge below us. Their iron hulls are leeching the vitality from everything around them, turning the clear water brown and cloudy. I don’t really want to get any closer, but I stumble down the hill after them, anyway.
Choosing a flat-ish boulder to sit on that will keep me a safe distance from the shore, I hold my breath as my Guard advances on the seemingly abandoned ships. Evidently, my chosen spot is far enough away that Jaro doesn’t see the point in shielding me, because I have a clear view of my males as they approach the bank.
“Let’s flush them out of their boats,” Drystan mutters.
Sweat beads on his brow, and I wonder what he’s up to as the water begins to steam.
Of course. His magic would struggle to affect the iron boats, but the water around them is fair game. It takes a few minutes, but the Fomorians throw open the trap doors that lead below deck and flee their ships or risk being boiled alive.
“Out of the frying pan and on to my little knife!” Lore whoops, racing down the hill before the howling blue warriors can pinpoint our location.
“Stay here,” Drystan growls in my general direction, before following swiftly after the redcap.
Bree’s wings pop out from his shoulders a second later, and he swoops down after them. Giving up on his axe, Jaro shifts into his wolf form and races Wraith the rest of the distance.
I try my best not to close my eyes, but there are some things I just don’t want to see.
Like Jaro’s jaws clamping down on a Fomorian’s head and breaking it open like an egg. Or Bree slicing open a female’s gut until the gory innards fall out.
The downside of closing my eyes is that my other senses are heightened. I can hear the squelch of…somethingand taste the coppery tang in the air. And, without my sight to distract me, the urge to itch is becoming hard to ignore. Every inch of me is so sensitive that the mere movement of wind over my limbs feels like too much. My palms stroke over the skin, but I resist digging my nails in to scratch as I want to.
Barely.
I open my eyes again, but the damage is done. A whimper builds in the back of my throat, splintering free before I can help it.
The blur of red that fills my vision makes me fall back, making space for Lore as he blinks beside me with a frown on his face.
“What’s wrong, pretty pet?” he asks, brows creased in confusion as he reaches out to swipe a tear from my cheek with his thumb before bringing it to his mouth.
“I… I need you,” I admit, meeting his eyes through my own watery ones. His pupils are so dilated they almost eclipse the red of his irises. “Please, Lore.”
He cocks his head to one side, nostrils flaring as every single muscle in his body locks up. “Oh, pet… you shouldn’t have done that. You have no idea…”
My shoulders slump, and I curl into myself as I realise he’s not going to help me. My hands claw at my neck, drawing blood. That’s his undoing. He leans closer, drawn by some invisible tether, eyes falling closed as he presses his nose to my hair, breathing in my scent. He groans.
He blinks me away from my boulder—and out of my clothes—landing us both in the mud in the middle of the fight. Before I can even process what’s going on, he’s sunk his shoulders between my thighs, wrapped his arms around them to keep me spread open, and dropped his mouth to my sex.
“Lore!” I scream—and not entirely from fear.
