“What are you doing?” She scowls up at me. “Bran? What the fuck are you doing?”

“We have plenty of people on our side, but we need a wild card, Mouse. And stealing the queen’s mercenaries? That’s exactly my kind of move.”

Arion winds his arm around her waist, holding her upright. She tries to pull away from him, but he tightens his grip. “Let him do his bidding,” he says.

“No fucking way.” She looks over at me. “If they feast on suffering, Bran, they’ll—” She catches the look in my eye. “Bran.”

“Stay put, Mouse.”

I cross the meadow. Our friends have held back, giving the fairies a wide berth.

I stop when twenty feet lies between me and their leader. His eyes are so bright, they’re almost glowing, almost like mine when I’m in predator mode. Any other circumstance, he and I might become fast friends.

“Would you be open to negotiating a new price?” I ask him.

He looks over his shoulder at the rest of his soldiers. “Perhaps,” he says to me.

“The suffering of lesser fae might be enticing, but how about the suffering of an immortal vampire? I heal quickly. I cannot die. Unless you stake me, of course. I offer you myself in exchange for joining our side and forsaking your agreement with the Summer Queen.”

He tilts his head, appraising me. It’s obvious what I am. There’s no doubt about that. But perhaps he’s uncertain just how strong my fortitude is.

“Come forward,” he says.

I don’t fear very much. But the sound of his voice is like the sound of an ancient monster whispering to you from the dark shadows of a bottomless cave.

I once spent thirty-seven days being tortured in the French dungeon of a rival vampire family. Surely, I can withstand some fairies.

I step forward.

“Closer,” he says.

Another foot. Two. Five.

When I am within reaching distance of him, I sense his power. It’s a ripple on the air. Like a magnetic field that raises the hair along your arms, sends a shiver down your spine.

His dark mark splashing across his face makes his golden eye even brighter.

“Close enough?” I ask.

“Close enough,” he agrees and then plunges a blade into my gut.

The pain is immediate and intense. If you ask me, a gut wound is the worst kind. Like tearing out the roots of your soul through your fucking nostrils.

I’m on my knees before I can gasp out in pain. Blood pours down the front of me.

The Fairy of Suffering sinks to his knees in front of me and hangs his head back. Several tendons stick out from his neck like he’s drinking down the air.

I yank the blade out and list sideways, clutching at my stomach trying to keep my insides from spilling out as my skin stitches itself up. The pain remains for several more heart beats, spreading out like a spiderweb.

When the fairy tilts his head back up, his black mark is moving.

Several tendrils swirl and bend across the bridge of his nose like it’s a living thing just below his skin.

He drags his tongue over his puffy upper lip.

“Delicious,” he says and smiles. “You have a deal.”

Episode Ninety-Six