Page 83 of Court of Evil

“The fae offer no loyalty to anyone but their own kind,” I whisper, reciting what I know.

“We offer loyalty to those we choose to, those who earn it,” he retorts.

“Your sister?—”

“Is a queen. My place was never at her side. I never fit into that world because I was never strong enough to resist the darkness, but at your side, I can. It is purely a selfish reason, so do not read anything into it.” He turns away, but there’s a smile dancing on his perfect lips.

“Selfish, huh?” I ask as I look at the sky, but it’s working. He’s distracting me from my bad mood.

“Yes, no other reason.” His smile grows, and I cannot contain mine. I never expected a truce between us, and I don’t particularly like Zeev, but I can’t deny there is a connection between us that is stronger than anything I’ve ever felt. There are no lies or illusions, and we are our worst selves when we are around each other.

We are each other’s worst half, and when we are together, they only seem to explode.

There is a feral kind of need between us, the kind that reaches past love. It’s so strong, we cannot resist. I still hate him, but it doesn’t change that.

Maybe that’s why I feel like I can be myself, because he will never judge me. He will never be disgusted. He understands. He lives in the darkness with the part of me I hide.

His monster is the same as my own.

“Zeev,” I whisper. I don’t know what he hears in my voice, but he sits up, watching me. “Fuck me.”

He blinks once, and then he snarls and rolls above me, slamming my hands to the roof above my head. We both know if I wanted to, I could break free, but I relax beneath him, needing this. He searches my face and must see that because he leans down. I close my eyes, expecting his kiss, but his lips brush over my cheek at the last second, making me flinch.

“You wouldn’t use her, but you will use me, hunter. I like pain. I like it to hurt . . . . I want you to rip me apart and feast on my flesh, desire, and blood. That is where we are different. I will offer you this—no deal or lies between us, just shared need. Use me, Tate Havelock. Take your revenge out on me.”

He leans back, straddling my thighs, a smirk playing on his lips.

“You want to fuck me? Then do it,” he taunts. “Unless you’re scared? All talk?”

Sitting up, I search his eyes, but all I see is a cold sort of patience. He’s curious about what I will do. Most would be afraid to dare a hunter, but not him. He fears nothing, and maybe it’s that or the fact that I can’t hold back my hatred anymore.

Wrapping my legs around him, I flip us so he’s below me. I draw my dagger and run it across his perfect face. He leans into it without a flinch, his smirk only growing, and when I rub the metal across his lips, his tongue darts out and wraps around thesharp end, cutting him. Tugging it away, I lean down and kiss him hard and fast.

We both groan, our tongues tangling.

I break the kiss, both of us panting. The darkness spilled out of me at the first taste of his blood. I’m a hunter, so it’s my job to protect innocents, but he is not innocent, and neither am I.

I slam the dagger into his chest, burying it deep, and then my eyes widen as I still, my hands falling away as it protrudes from his chest, blood pooling around the wound.

He gasps and closes his eyes, and for a moment, horror fills me at what I’ve done . . . at what I have become. His eyes suddenly snap open, on fire with desire.

“That’s the best you have? I’m an immortal fae, a god in your world, and you think this will hurt me?” He wraps his hand around the hilt and slowly pulls it out, groaning the entire time.

The sound isn’t born from pain. It’s from desire, and my fear is swallowed by my darkness.

There’s an understanding in the darkness, an acceptance of who I am, allowing me to release my feelings across his perfect skin.

He lifts the dagger to my mouth, and without hesitation, I sweep my tongue down the sharp edge, tasting his blood and surrender. He watches me hungrily before he licks the blade too, tasting his blood now mixed with mine before he flips it and offers it to me, cutting his palm.

I know if I take the blade again, I’m accepting this and who I am deep inside.

Wrapping my hand around the dagger, I take it.

“Do your worst, huntress. I can take it.” He stretches his arms above his head like an offering, his lips stained with our blood.

I am not Black, and this is a willing partner. I might enjoy hurting him, but he does as well.

We are different, and Black is dead.

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