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He laughs, a breathless sound. “Now you’re making me hard, priest.”
Gods give me strength. “Speak, will you?”
“It’s a Drakoryas. He killed the beast.”
“A Drakoryas,” I whisper, blinking at nothing. I have a feeling about this. Not necessarily a bad one, but a strong feeling nonetheless. “Where is he? Did you let him go?”
“Excuse me, asshole, for wanting to check first if you’re still alive.”
“Get him.” I clasp his hand and use it to haul myself to my feet. I weave dizzily. “Go get him!”
When he lets go, I almost go back down. Stumbling drunkenly, I follow the sounds, the lights having gone out already. Only during fighting and sex, I think and I want to laugh—or throw up, because more and more clues to my Fae nature are piling up.
The Drakoryas roars and Taj swears and I stagger toward them.
“Taj! Talk to me.” I hold one arm outstretched in front of me, as I was taught as a child to walk the rooms of our house. As if it can help me out here. “Taj, dammit!”
“Look what I got you, honey,” Taj drawls, a savage grin shaping his voice. “A honeymoon present. He bites a little but is otherwise quite cute.”
“You’re an idiot,” I say absently, following the thread of his voice.
“Where is the pat on my head?” Taj says. “Won’t you tell me I’m a good boy for fetching him so quickly?”
I swallow a sigh and find to my consternation that I want to laugh. “Damn you, Taj.”
“Yeah, yeah, you said that before,” he grunts.
The Drakoryas growls but no sounds of scuffle reach me. “Got him?”
“He’s not fighting me,” he says, confirming my suspicions.
I step closer and closer, the Wildman’s low growl directing me to him.
I grab him by the neck and hear Taj’s startled hiss. “Aren’t you the one who took our girl, Wildman?”
“You think he’s the one?” Taj mutters.
“I doubt there are many Drakoryas in each territory and he can’t have taken her far.”
“Ariadne,” the Wildman breathes.
“That’s right.” I feel another growl rising in my throat. “She talked to you.”
“Talk. Yes.”
“You know Ariadne? You…” Taj sounds like he’s about to explode with rage. “You’re the one who stole her from us? I’m going to fucking kill you.”
Oh Gods.
“Wait. Taj, just wait!” With my one free hand, I reach for him, grab him.
“What?” he snarls. “Let me hurt him.”
“He knows this place. Knows where she is.”
“Ariadne,” the Wildman says again and I wish I could see his face, his expression, read what the sound of her name means to him. It almost sounds like longing—which is another word for lust, I tell myself, and why wouldn’t he want her?
“Take us to her,” I growl and shove him forward, some distant part of me wondering why he isn’t fighting us, in fact why he saved us and why the fuck he smells like a cake.
