Page 145 of Flirting with Darkness

With nothing left, nothing left,

Your mama will cry,

Your papa will howl,

But the fae will laugh, fae will laugh,

Gods, they’ll laugh

All day long.

I fought to keep my breaths even, but they fought back, heaving through me, shaky.

I’d come here to help Ari, and I would. But I shouldn’t have allied with a creature like the one who’d taken her.

The knife shook in my hand, glinting in the silver light.

It was a way out.

He lay there, so serene, trusting.

“Iron cuts through fae.” The old woman who’d given me the blade had said it with her eyes hard, crooked teeth bared—a look of pure hatred that had chilled me to the bone. “Monsters live beyond the wall, girl. Don’t become their prey.”

But Faolán had saved me from the pack. Even if he had his own motives, that was a fact. And going to sleep first was an act of trust. He’d left himself vulnerable to me, even knowing I had an iron blade.

Even if they had claws, did monsters really gather a bunch of bluebells and slide them into your hair that gently?

And maybe I was wrong about him, but I wasn’t wrong about myself.

I wasn’t a killer—amurderer.

I couldn’t have his blood on my hands.

Good gods, what was Ithinking? How could I entertain, even for a second—?

“I told you to keep that hidden, little flower.”

I jolted at his movement, my arm lashing out without me consciously telling it to move.

But his fingers closed around my hand, and before I’d even blinked, I was on my back against the springy floor, his solid weight upon me.

“If you’re going to draw it,” he snarled, teeth an inch away, “you’d better be prepared to use it.” He slammed my other wrist into the thick carpet above my head and held it pinned.

My heart was no longer separate beats, but a continuous roar in my ears. I could barely draw little snatches of breath. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean… I…”

But his wrinkled nose, the eyebrows drawn together, fierce and low, the long, sharp canines—he was just like those werewolves, every bit the beast I’d feared.

And I needed to defend myself.

Energy flooded me, searing my veins, lighting up my muscles. I fought against his hold, biceps burning, shoulders and elbows creaking. But it was useless; his grip tightened, making my bones groan.

But he didn’t push the blade away, hepulledit towards him.

Its gleaming edge inched closer to his flesh.

I tried to let go, but he kept my fingers around the hilt. “No! What are you doing?” Was he possessed? Did he have a death wish? I wriggled—or tried to, but the hard planes of his body held me still. “No, no, I don’t want to hurt you! I don’t—”

He laughed. It was cold and utterly humourless. Practically another snarl. “‘I don’t want to hurt you!’ Says the girl with a fucking iron blade in her hand inmytent. I told you…” He ground the words out, then raised his chin, baring his throat, and pulled the knife against his skin.

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