Page 32 of Of Wind and Terror

Yeah. I make myself laugh.

Once again, Kassandra signs to me, but this time, it’s not Faye who translates.

It’s fucking Blaze, the fucking prince of the fucking Fall Court.

I narrow my eyes at the fae and resist the urge to bare my teeth like a rabid animal.

I know his hair is mussed because of my cherub’s fingers.

I know those scratches on his chest are from her nails.

I know that mark on his neck came from her plush, pink lips.

On a scale of one to ten, how mad do you think she’ll be if I murder him?

I’m ashamed to admit—okay, that’s a lie; I’m not ashamed at all, but it’s the thought that counts—I consider ripping Blaze’s head off for a fraction of a tick. It would be so damn easy…

But then Blaze places a hand on my cherub’s waist, and she subconsciously leans against him, seeking comfort and solace from his touch. Some of my mounting anger vaporizes. Not a lot, but enough for me to focus on the two of them and not the desperate need I have to rip Blaze’s still-beating heart out of his chest and smush it under my foot.

Progress.

“Are you even fucking listening to me?” Blaze roars, tightening his grip possessively around Kassandra’s waist.

I blink.

Blink again.

Blink a third time.

And then decide—fuck it, I’m going to kill him.

Kassandra will forgive me eventually, right?

Kassandra must see something in my face—isn’t it adorable how well she can read me already?—because she hurries forward with her hands raised, desperation etched on her features. She begins to shake her head wildly, but I don’t know if it’s because of me or because of Blaze or because of Faye or because of the purple-haired fae still in the air, pleading for his life.

Kassandra takes a deep breath, and her chest rises and falls in a way that’s almost hypnotic. My gaze certainly strays to her perfect pair of breasts, the white mounds straining against the confines of her dress.

Slowly, almost as if she’s afraid she’ll scare me off, she signs a second time.

Blaze scowls but translates. “She wants to know what you want. And she asks you to stay the fuck away from her.”

My cherub rolls her eyes at the prince’s obvious improvisation, but Blaze shrugs unrepentantly.

I can’t help but give him a smug grin. “My cherub would never ask me to stay away from her.”

“She locked you in a dungeon,” he points out.

“That’s our version of foreplay.”

Blaze’s scowl deepens, and the sight of it causes my own smile to broaden. But it immediately fades when I turn to face Kassandra and zero in on the brand marring her bicep.

“We need to head to Amorite before it’s too late.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Blaze demands, interrupting whatever Kassandra was about to sign.

I know Blaze won’t have a clue what I’m talking about—the Mark of Chaos hasn’t been around for hundreds, if not thousands, of years—but I still attempt to jerk my chin in the direction of the mark.

“She needs to get that mark removed, and the only creature who can do that resides in Amorite.”

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