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“I thought that was Jason?” Ashton says. “I personally think my timing is spot on.”
“Why,” Emrys drawls, “wanna join us?”
“Rys.” I punch his arm. He doesn’t seem to notice. Frigging man of steel.
“Actually, we’re about to have a look at the arrow you got out of your chest,” Ashton says. “Coming?”
“Pun intended?” Emrys growls, gazing at him from under his lashes. “Because you spoiled that spectacularly.”
“Keep telling yourself it was my fault. Whatever rocks your boat, man.” Ashton glances at me, a strange emotion in his pale gray eyes. “And our resident witch is of course welcome to attend.”
9
ASHTON
Emrys looks shaky. I’m feeling kind of shaky myself. This last surge was a bitch. I might have cried a little, curled up on the floor of my room, trying to wrestle the magic down before it turned me inside out.
This is getting out of control, fast. If Mia can help us, then it’s time she got started. Though something has been bugging me…
Emrys stops and leans against the wall before we reach my room. Mia is staring stonily ahead, arms folded under her breasts as if to stop herself from reaching for him.
Is she in love with him? If what he said was true—and she didn’t deny it—he’s had privileges with her the rest of us haven’t had access to.
It shouldn’t matter to me at all. It’s not as if I feel anything for her.
The clench in my chest is unexpected—or maybe not. I just don’t want to expect it when she’s around, not to think about what it might mean.
To stop the thoughts, I overtake them and throw my door open, stepping inside. Sindri lifts his gaze from a book of mine he must have taken from my shelves, and Jason scratches at his arm. They both act so nonchalant. I’d found Jason on the floor of his room, writhing in pain, and Sindri… He looks back down at the book now, but his face is white as milk and maybe it’s the beast his body was trying to turn itself into that is so painful.
Something with wings.
I wonder if he could ever shift into that. If the shift could kill him. The Fae used to have wings once, right? And they’re supposed to be fallen angels, so… wings. It wasn’t an angel he was turning into, though. He—
“Here we are again,” Emrys says from behind me, and I realize I’ve stopped stock-still.
“You’ve never been in my room before,” I mutter.
“Well, I couldn’t tell. It’s not a memorable place, is it?” Emrys replies. “Where are the chains and whips? The mirrors on the ceiling? The black silk sheets on the bed?”
“Not everyone is into S&M,” I mutter.
“No, you’re apparently into torture via the printed word.” He gestures at my shelves. “For shame, Ash.”
Mia, who’s following after Emrys, chokes and coughs a few times.
“My room is memorable for those with taste.” I walk over to the red velvet settee by the window and sit down gingerly, trying not to wince. Drinking blood helped but my leg still feels as if I have nails embedded in my flesh. “This is antique furniture from my ancestors’ manor—”
“It’s a well-known fact,” Jason interrupts me, “that vampires have terrible taste.”
“High-five, wolf,” Emrys mutters as he makes his way to my bed and plonks himself on it as if he owns the place. “Couldn’t have said it better myself. I mean, the frilly white shirts and tight pants, silver buckles and high riding boots, it’s all bit much, even for a demon.”
“You mean the piratechic-slash-fin-du-siècle-ennuistyle?” Sindri says, closing the book. “Sopassé.”
“We don’t dress like that,” I mutter. “Well, except for some of the old ones. You’ve been watching too many bad vampire movies.” I rub my leg around the wound, trying to relax the bunched-up muscles there. “Take a seat.”
“I’ll stand, thank you,” Jason says just as Sindri drops into the chair by my desk with a fleeting look of relief on his face, instantly hidden once more.
These Fae… I swear.
