Page 117 of Court of Evil

CHAPTER 49

Sipping fresh orange juice, I lean back into my seat and watch my girl. She barely slept last night after what she saw, and I know it’s weighing her down. We watch as she paces back and forth, her eyes a million miles away. She doesn’t even notice when Shamus slips into the room and sits with us at the table where breakfast is spread.

“How long has she been like this?” he asks worriedly.

“An hour,” I respond as I reach for some fruit. Jarek does at the same time, and our fingers brush, but he instantly jerks back.

“I am so sorry!” He drops to his knees before me, his head bowed. “That was an accident. I truly mean it.” He lifts his hand, and before I can even say anything, magic wraps around the fingers he touched me with and he breaks them. Cradling his injured hand to his chest, he continues to kneel.

“Jarek, it was an accident,” I murmur. “It’s fine.” They are all very good about giving me space without making me feel like an outsider. They joke and laugh with me like I am one of the guys, but they are very careful not to touch me. I even saw Tem fall over yesterday so he didn’t brush against me. It’s nice. I know Tate is behind it, and it only makes me care for her more.

Jarek rises, looking completely ashamed, so I put some fruit in a bowl and slide it towards him. “Heal your fingers and eat. We have more important things to deal with than an accidental touch.”

“Tate will not forgive me, accident or not,” he whispers.

“She will, but we won’t tell her. Eat,” I order, my eyes going back to Tate as she continues to pace, lost in her own world.

“What do we do?” Ronan murmurs. “She’s going to wear a hole in the carpet.”

“I could tie her up,” the fae suggests leisurely as he throws a grape and catches it in his mouth. Out of all of us, he’s the most unbothered—no, that’s not the right word.

Excited. He wants this war. He wants bloodshed and death.

Tate is right, he’s evil, but he seems to be obsessed with her and she with him, so I cannot complain. I am just glad he’s on our side.

“I know you are worried about what you saw,” Shamus begins, trying to stop her pacing.

“Worried? We all should be,” she snaps. Tem paces at her side so she isn’t alone, and Addeus reaches up and hands her some toast, which she accepts without a word and begins to eat as she moves.

“The best way to avoid what you saw is to make them fear you, fear us, and show them we mean what we say, which means you need to hunt down all those who would stand against us.” Shamus catches her hand, stilling her movements, and he rises elegantly. His hand grips her chin possessively as her eyes flare. “Do what you do best, angel.”

“I don’t see how that will help.” Her eyes widen when he kisses her, and I giggle for her as she blushes, something I’ve never seen her do.

“Then trust me, angel. Do as I ask and let me worry about what you saw, okay? You do trust me, yes?” He waits, his hand cupping her cheek.

“Yes,” she whispers softly.

“Good.” He kisses her again before dragging her down onto his lap and sliding his iPad in front of her. “Then start here. I have been keeping dossiers.” I lean over, trying to read upside down, so he tilts it slightly so I can see, accommodating me without a word.

“He’s not a complete prick like you said,” I comment to Tate.

“Is that what she called me?” he scoffs. “I’m disappointed, angel. I expected more colourful words from you.”

She rolls her eyes, ignoring us as she scrolls through the folders. “This one.” She pulls up a burly, middle-aged man with a scraggly beard and hair. “I met him when I was a kid. I’d remember his face anywhere. I figured he was dead by now. He was a total asshole. My dad gave him that wicked scar on his face when he used me as bait without warning. I almost died.”

Shamus’s expression closes down as he scans the face. “I remember this one. I coded him red—extremely dangerous. He’s killed many innocents, I just can’t prove it, but his hunts are sloppy. It isn’t just monsters getting hurt, but humans too. He doesn’t care who gets in his way. He simply likes killing.”

“Then let’s give him what he wants.” Tate nods as she closes the file and looks at us. “I want you all showered and dressed and ready to go in ten.”

“This hair takes more than ten minutes, mortal,” the fae drawls.

“Then we’ll leave you behind and no murder for you,” she retorts.

“I can make it work.” He flicks his fingers and his hair is plaited back. His face now sparkles as if diamonds are trapped inhis skin, and his casual clothes have been replaced by battle wear with a sword at his side. “Ready.”

“Show off,” I mutter.

“You too,” she warns me. “You don’t need to fuck around with your eyeliner again. Hurry up.”

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