Page 66 of A Thief Among Fae

“Who did you see?” I ask him, turning to look at him even though I know the answer. The blank faces of the four fae flash through my mind.

His jaw tenses, his lowered gaze darkening. “Ghosts.” Then he stares out at the trees.

He killed the fire-wielder without hesitation to protect me. He saved my life. Not only that, but the feelings I sensed through the bond were rage incarnate, so unlike his cold and uncaring mask.

“Do we leave the body?” I whisper. Since she’s fae, she should disintegrate by morning.

“I’ll take care of it,” Desmond says. He swallows and clenches his hands. They’re shaking again.

I thought that someone called the Prince of Death would revel in making a kill. Maybe not something as dramatic as drinking his victim’s blood, but at least a sadistic smile or an unhinged laugh.

I reach out, steadying his hands with my own. He flinches. “You had to do it,” I murmur. “If she had killed me⁠—”

His eyes darken and he breathes in to speak.

“You wouldn’t have a way through the tomb,” I finish.

That makes him still. Then he pulls away from me and holds one arm against his chest, the side where his shoulder bleeds. Even in the darkness, I can see the shimmer of wet blood.

“You’re hurt.” I search myself for anything that could help, but all I have are those damn coins.

Instead of answering, Desmond reaches out toward me. He pulls a stray leaf free from my hair. It must’ve gotten tangled when he tackled me to the ground. “You’re unexpectedly calm,” he says. “Most people would be panicking right now.”

My eyes widen as his hand travels to my cheek, brushing away some dirt. “I am panicking, but I know how to compartmentalize it. You’re bleeding, and I have nothing clean to staunch it with.”

“You’ve been forced to do that since childhood, haven’t you?”

I stare at him, stunned. “Did you just sense that from me?”

An amused smile dimples his cheek. “Perhaps. Or maybe someone with a similar past saw the signs.” Then the smile falls. His fingers lift my chin, checking my head for bruises or cuts. “And you’re not hurt?”

“I’m fine.” I know I should swat his hand away, but I can’t bring myself to. His touch is warm and calming, especially as the cool night air makes me shiver. It’s the only thing grounding me after the horrors of tonight. “But you’re not.”

Desmond blinks as if torn from a trance. He sighs as he pulls away. “You’re right.” He starts to walk at a brisk pace. Any turmoil he felt after slaying the assassin no longer shows, like he’s shoved it deep inside him.

As we walk, I glance out into the forest. A shiver crawls down my spine as I remember the purple light beneath Gashil’s skin when Desmond grabbed him. “Your grip must be terrifying. That’s not your Gift, right? Super-strength?” I press, even though that can’t be all it was.

He doesn’t answer.

I haven’t forgotten that my knives are still somewhere in the forest, but I’ll have to look for them in the morning. I shove my hands into my pockets to keep them warm. The cold silver marks that I had forgotten burn like ice against my skin.

They’re a reminder of who Desmond is when he’s not keeping me at arm’s length. A fae who would bandage a stranger in a seedy market. A prince who would rent the cheapest room at the inn instead of a suite. A weapon who has doubted his Gift, but would kill to protect me.

Yet I’d be a fool to believe he’ll ever drop his mask for good.

Chapter 20

Maeve bites her nails as she follows us down the hall. “My tonics will help you heal, but the iron. . .”

I remember how Desmond put on gloves before he touched the iron doorknob at Hawthorn Inn. Glancing at his shoulder injury, my jaw locks. Red, angry welts surround his weeping wound.

“I know,” Desmond says. He spares his shoulder a single glance. “It will scar.”

“Badly.” She winces. “I’m brewing some explosives in my alchemy room, so we can get you cleaned up in yours. Meet you there!”

She opens a door wide enough for her to slip through and nervously waves in parting. A strange hissing and popping echoes from inside, and blue smoke trails out.

Desmond strides further down the hall and stops in front of the bedroom door with the chain lock fastened to the outside—a lock meant to keep him in. He opens the door, but stops me from entering with an outstretched arm.