Page 38 of Blood On His Lips

He glanced at the tiny cuts on my face and hands intermittently, his brows furrowed, his eyes moonstone pale and distant. I wondered what worried him, or what in particular triggered the mental retreat.

But taking his warning to heart, my goal was to make it home without incident. House warriors intercepted us halfway, forming a quiet escort Renaud ignored. They would have sent out several teams to track me, but I’d left the District, obscuring my trail.

“You’re injured,” Numair said, hazel eyes flat with worry.

He ignored Renaud, who for once wasn't flinging taunts or threats all over the place like a little boy in a sandbox throwing rocks to keep the other children away from his new toy.

The Prince stood next to me, silent and brooding. I glanced at him once, tempted to snap my fingers in front of his face just to see if he would respond.

Something was wrong. I didn't know if I should press him, and my energy was low. I weighed my options, and decided he was a big boy and could use his words if he needed to inform me of a danger.

Besides, something was wrong withme.During the last part of the march home, the inside of my skin had begun crawling, though I couldn’t tell if the sensation was physical or psychic.

I turned to Numair. The cuts on my face and neck stung, but infection wasn’t a concern. “I'm fine.”

“The cuts need to be treated,” the Prince said.

“He speaks. Speak again, bright angel.”

Pale eyes narrowed.

“They'll heal in an hour or two,” I added.

Suddenly he lowered his head, and. . .lickedme, tongue swiping a long, slow caress along the tiny cuts on my cheek. Then he tilted my head to lap at the cuts on my neck. I stared at him when he straightened, but there was no lust in his eyes. With his detached air, it was almost as if he’d been tasting my blood to analyze it.

He snapped back into focus. “They require healing now.”

Even Numair turned at the note in Renaud’s voice. It was more than a crazy male in heat being overly protective.

I tried to think, but my mind was slowly slipping away from me. “What is the danger?”

I asked the question right before an invisible mental claw seized me by the neck and dragged my consciousness down a dark tunnel. I fought viciously, tearing the fabric of my own psyche to escape, and managed a single moment of lucidity. Enough to warn them.

I dropped to one knee, my nails lengthening into talons, and jerked my head toward Renaud when he lunged towards me the same moment as Numair.

I shoved power at them both, smashing them away.

“I’ve been compromised. Take me down.”

I managed the words as everything went black. Knowing that Renaud would let the city burn before he killed me.

* * *

I panicked, grimly shunting aside that emotion as I fought.

This was a different kind of darkness. Not the darkness of rest, or meditation, or even the grayness of the misty place. This was as if some outside entity had packed up my mind and shoved it into an impenetrable box.

I clamped down on my rising emotions. If there was no sensation of breath, that must mean wherever I was, breathing was optional. If I was still within my body, and clearly, I possessed some form of consciousness, then I was alive.

This had to be related to the attack tonight. Darkan had said not to let the giant tether me.

So how to fight this?

If I assumed the enemy entity had somehow cut my mind off from my senses, then I needed to reforge that connection.

All of this passed through my mind in seconds. I had not stopped scrabbling for purchase, my efforts instinctual. But I managed to grasp something, vicious triumph surging when a faint sensation of pain returned.

Pain was good. Pain meant I was experiencing my body.

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