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I can’t bring myself to leave my cot again. The flimsy blanket became too much for my overheated skin overnight. I balled it up and threw it across my cell. I was sweating to death inside my leather jacket. That had to go, too.
Now I’m lying on my side in my tank top and my jeans, my knees pulled up to my chest. My hair is slick with sweat. A thick hunk of blonde hair clings to my neck, a shorter streak of teal curled around my cheek.
I bite back a moan.
From behind me, I hear Rys call out softly, “Are you feeling well?”
No.
It’s even worse that he noticed it. I purposely kept my back to the bars when I woke up and realized I was feeling off. I hoped like hell that one of the guards would show up with the morning meal. When it became obvious that they were still too occupied, I crawled back to my cot without a word.
Rys has been quiet since late last night. It’s almost as if we had an unspoken agreement to ignore each other after he shattered my hopes of escape. Not like it’s his fault. I gambled with my freedom when I chose a trip to Siúcra over staying with Veron and being his pet. I lost. The only one I can blame for that is me.
Just like it’s all my fault that I’m hooked on the faerie food at all.
I don’t answer him. Why? I can’t imagine he really gives a shit.
And then he says the one thing guaranteed to catch my attention:
“Are you hungry, Leannán?”
I roll over.
In his tanned hand, he’s holding a whole pear.
I’m not like the fae. I don’t know how to keep my emotions close to my chest, how to hide what I’m feeling. It’s written all over my face. I’m an open book.
One glance and he knows exactly how bad I want that.
But he doesn’t make me ask for it. I don’t even have to answer his question.
“Here. Catch.”
His aim is impeccable. It’s my catching skills that are shitty.
Rys waits for me to hobble out of the cot, my hand pressed to my lower stomach. With an underhand toss, he lobs the pear through the bars on his cell. It flies in an arc, sliding right through the gap in front of me. He couldn’t have made a more perfect throw.
I miss it anyway.
I’m just lucky it doesn’t go splat when it hits the floor. Instead, it bounces off the stone before rolling a few inches away from me.
My first instinct is to pick it up and sink my teeth right into it. Considering every fae I’ve met acts like I’m no better than an animal, Rys probably wouldn’t be surprised if I gobbled the fruit down like I’m dying to do.
Once the pear stops rolling, he shifts away from the front of his cell, sinking down on the floor once he’s gone to the other side. He props his back against the wall, one knee folded while the other lays flat. The soles on the bottom of his boots are thick yet worn, I notice. Probably from the way I’ve caught him constantly pacing his cell.
Instead of snatching at the pear, I pick up gently, letting it fall into the cup of my palm. My stomach is still aching from hunger. It really hurts. I’m used to it, though, as much as I hate it. This isn’t the first time I’ve gone too long without some faerie food. Once I take my first bite, I’ll be fine.
I think back to the other day, when I first met Rys and he watched me eat the meal brought by the Seelie guard. He tried to warn me off of the fruit but I knew it was too late.
Now he does, too.
Still, that doesn’t stop me from asking, “What’s this?”
“For you, Leannán. Sometimes the guards are too distracted by the Fae Queen’s fancies to remember her prisoners. They’ve been good with feeding us for a while, but it wasn’t bound to last. Especially now that she’s dead.”
“And the pear?”
“I saved it in my cell in case you would need it. I want nothing in return. Just eat it.”
