Page 36 of Court of Evil

“He wouldn’t die, just be in a lot of pain, and he’d probably like it,” I reply and leap off the edge, counting the drop like I did with him. I land a story down, bending my knees to absorb the impact.

A hand wraps around my throat, and I’m slammed back into the side of the stairs, forcing a grunt from my lungs. I do not fight back, but I do slip a blade free and press it against his groin in warning.

“That wasn’t very nice, huntress,” he hisses, his eyes shining in the dark.

“You didn’t die, did you?” I retort, pushing the blade in deeper. “But if you try to kill me, I’ll take your precious manhood with me, and we both know you like it a lot.”

“I can grow it back.” He smirks. “You’d still be dead.”

“And you’d be left mad and hungry again,” I counter.

He leans in, his eyes on me as his mouth almost touches mine. “You will pay for this later.”

“I cannot wait,” I hiss, refusing to back down.

“Erm, when you two are done flirting, maybe we can deal with that,” Ronan whispers.

“With that?” we snap, following his gaze as we untangle ourselves. The shining orb Ronan is pointing at flickers out of existence, only to reappear again, and this time there are two.

They are floating in the air.

“Eyes,” I whisper just as something snakes around my ankle and tears me across the cave. I do not scream, but I do pull another dagger.

I bend so I can reach my feet, then I slam a blade into whatever is holding me. There’s a roar of pain, and I am lifted into the air. I hit something hard, my head bouncing from it, and for a moment I cannot see. Blinking to clear my vision, I crouch, holding a knife in each hand. If I’m right and this is a tempest, then the knives won’t do much, but it will piss it off.

You need him.Shamus’s words float in my head.

Why did he send me here?

Tempests cannot be reasoned with. They consume and kill. They are darkness and death.

Something huge slides in the shadows before me, obscuring my view of Ronan and the fae. An audible sniff fills the air, and a thick, garbled voice comes from the shadows. “Your blood smells ancient. What are you?”

“Human,” I mutter as I strain my eyes, trying to make out the shape. It moves closer, so I step back, pressing deeper into a maze of tunnels leading from the pit, but I do not have much choice.

“Not entirely,” the voice says, followed by another sniff.

Ignoring that, I narrow my eyes as I continue stepping back to avoid the shadows. “What’s with the sniffing thing? Do I smell or something?” I ask nervously.

“Delicious. You smell delicious,” it growls.

“Lovely,” I mutter as I back up, the shadowy shape advancing on me like smoke but more corporeal. Is this a tempest’s true form? I don’t know much, but what I’ve read about them arelegends and myths. They are not around much for anyone to figure out, and I’m not sure I will make it out to confirm what there is.

“Tate?” Ronan shouts, and the shape stills and turns, ready to head to them, so I try to draw its gaze back to me.

“Hey, tempest.” It doesn’t work, and the shadow moves fast to the fae and Ronan.

It seems intrigued by me and annoyed by them.

I do the only thing I can think of and draw my blade across my exposed forearm. The audible moan shakes the foundations of where we are, and I am suddenly slammed back into a wall of the tunnel.

The tempest’s shadowy shape reappears, Ronan and the fae forgotten.

Something wet and warm drags along the wound—a tongue.

It’s tasting me.

Gritting my teeth against the foreign yet not unpleasant feeling, I peer into the shadow. “I am not here to kill you.”

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