Page 89 of A Thief Among Fae

When we first met, I would’ve hesitated, but now I gulp the sweet liquid down without a second thought. “What was that?” I ask.

“Another of Maeve’s tonics.”

Before I can ask why it was in his flask, Desmond unsheathes a dagger. He cuts through the corseted laces on the back of my bustier, and I gasp as the fabric slips free. I clamp my hands over my breasts just in time to hide them. My pulse stutters wildly, and then a damp cloth is pressed to my back.

I hiss and fight the urge to wriggle out of his reach. “You could’ve warned me!” I scold, breathless from the pain.

“Yes, I could have, but I’m more preoccupied with making sure your wound doesn’t keep reopening.”

“Is this something you do often? Cutting women’s clothes off?” I bite back.

“Would you be jealous if I said yes?” he asks, too calmly to get a read on him. Is he provoking me? Or is it true? Has he ever ripped Auri’s clothes off? I thought they were lovers, but then why care if she glamoured me? Why tell her to stay away from me?

Either way, my hesitation is damning. Thank the gods he can’t see my flushed face.

“Hmm.” Then his voice lowers, so subtly I wouldn’t have noticed if I didn’t feel a pang of tired resignation from him. “You’re forgetting what I am to my people, Cynthia.”

I swallow. His words come back to me. Half-enemy. “But surely not all the fae see you that way,” I prod, thinking of the five fae from the vision Gashil had forced upon me.

He’s silent, and I look over my shoulder at him. He’s pouring disinfectant over a cloth, but his gaze is hollow and faraway. “Some were willing to look past it.”

“Were?”

“They’re dead.” He finally looks at me, devoid of emotion, as if grief had stolen his ability to feel anything at all.

“You have Auri,” I point out, meaning to reassure him. The words taste bitter on my tongue.

He sighs. “Turn around.”

I obey, but flinch as he presses the cloth to my wound. With my teeth clenched and hands balled in the sheets, I let him wipe away the dried blood. His other hand rests against my shoulder blade to steady me, his thumb rubbing gentle circles.

“Now lie down. You need sutures.”

Rolling my eyes, I carefully shift until I’m lying belly-down on his bed. “And you’re qualified to place them?”

“It wasn’t required in my training, but I like to be prepared.”

Training. What I’ve heard about his sister, Deitra, and her unsanctioned legion flits through my mind.

When Desmond straddles my hips, I hide my stuttered breath against his quilt. He’s sitting right on top of me, his crotch against my ass, but puts his weight on his knees on either side of me.

“Hold still,” Desmond orders.

I gasp as a sharp, astringent liquid runs across the slash. “Gods, that hurts!” I’m no stranger to pain, but the hot burn of the liquid makes me want to scream. “Tell me about your training?” I ask, desperate for a distraction.

“I don’t like to talk about it,” he says, sharper than before. “Going after Olin’s tomb has given me a break from the war. One that I desperately needed.”

Everything still hurts. Closing my eyes, I whimper as the pain-relieving tonic kicks in, making my insides warm and fuzzy.

Desmond’s legs firmly squeeze me, his feet warm against my thighs. I hum as I imagine him squeezing even harder, the tonic drowning out the pain until all that’s left is an awareness of him and every place we touch.

He moves slightly, putting just a bit more pressure against my ass. Fuck. That feels good. He didn’t sense that through me, right?

I hide my face in his quilt, praying he doesn’t know how much he’s affecting me. Maybe I shouldn’t be feeding my fantasies, since my every reaction will be seen and felt by my boss who I. . .

The boss who I what? Respect? Find attractive? Gods, I am attracted to him, miserably so.

A sharp needle dips into my skin, and I gasp. I clench my hands and hiss as the needle pierces me again. The lascivious thoughts vanish, snuffed out by pain that even the tonic can’t dull.