Page 107 of With Wing And Claw

Naxi snorted. ‘You don’t have to be.’

An icy, unpleasant silence fell.

Naxi looked suddenly small again, sitting on the bed in that gorgeous black and red dress, shoulders so tight even the puffy sleeves couldn’t hide it. The room seemed to cool around them, totighten– the discarded clothing on the ground and the crumbs on the pillows suddenly a mockery of trust, of their charade of intimacy.

They were standing in the Labyrinth again.Come live somewhere else with me.

‘Let’s not do this again,’ Thysandra said, feeling her heart slink away from the conversation.

‘Why not?’ Something like despair shimmered in those wide blue eyes – something far too painful and far too genuine. ‘I know you said you want to do this, but it’shurtingyou, Sashka! It mightkillyou! Saving the world and the court and the humans is all great and heroic, but it’s hardly worth that sort of sacrifice, is it?’

The humans.

Standing paralysed in their own damn home, clutching their children to their chests, watching her like deer corralled by wolves. Anguish that Naxi must have felt in their hearts, too, and yet …

‘So you’d just run off,’ she bit out, bitter disappointment welling in her throat as she abruptly turned away from the room. Away from that bed in which they’d slept together. ‘Of course you would. Must be so gods-damned easy, mustn’t it, to never feel love or loyalty to anyone?’

The rejoinder she expected didn’t come.

Thorns clawed at the silence behind her as she paced to the overgrown kitchen counter and blindly began piling up plates and glasses, her own words stinging in her ears. Had that been too harsh? But fuck, itchafed, the brutal reminder of reality – of the idiocy of her own thoughts, having found an illusion of togetherness in something as meaningless as a demon’s one-time choice of dress …

Sweet words on the balcony didn’t matter. Mind-blowing pleasure and marmalade buns didn’t matter. It was embarrassing, frankly, that even after all these centuries at the Crimson Court, she had imagined anything else for even the briefest, most mindless moment – that she’d needed the reminder that Naxi wasnotgoing to be part of her life.

Just of the fun.

Just of whatever Thysandra would bribe her into.

A demon so blatantly dismissive of any form of selflessness … it would be a miracle if she still attended the Hunter’s Moon feast at all.

‘I’m going downstairs,’ Thysandra bluntly announced, her voice too loud for the confines of her quarters. The vines and flowers seemed to wince in response. ‘If you decide to come with me, I’ll try to make it worth your while, but—’

A scoff emerged from the bedroom. ‘Stop being like that, Sashka.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like this is about meticulous bookkeeping.’ Naxi skittered through the doorway as she spoke, dark and floral, a feral little nymph queen of the night. Her glare was vicious, her eyes a fraction red. ‘Did you keep track of how many times you’ve had your tongue in my pussy? Want to tell me exactly how many dead fae that’s worth, perhaps?’

Thysandra blinked. ‘I justmeant—’

‘I know what you meant,’ Naxi testily interrupted, rolling her eyes. ‘That’s the whole bloody problem. Are you coming, then?’

What?

Wait, she wanted to shout, the Hunter’s Moon forgotten.Tell me first what the hell you’re talking about – what do you mean, the whole bloody problem?

But Naxi had already flung open the door and bounded into the corridor beyond. On her way to the feast below – to that celebration that might just eat the both of them alive.

Chapter 23

With the bone halldestroyed, this year’s Hunter’s Moon took place in the slightly smaller crystalline hall instead – no towering throne presiding over the room, no skulls lining the high ceiling, and yet Orthea had skilfully crafted an atmosphere just as ominous against this unfamiliar décor. A small ensemble of violin players filled the air with their haunting melodies. Thick red velvet drapes hung like gushing blood behind the dais, and the light of thousands upon thousands of candles reflected in iridescent shimmers from the irregular walls, turning the crystals that dripped from the ceiling arches into moving, living things.

In the middle of the hall, the long tables lined up on either side of it, lay the carcass of the hound slain that morning.

Thysandra held her breath as she walked past it, trying not to inhale the smell of drying blood and ragged fur. The creature’s dead eyes seemed to be following her on the long, long way to the head table, an accusation in them that even hundreds of fae glares from the surrounding tables could not begin to match.

Thysandra!her father screamed.

Her heart pounded in her ears, that familiar rhythm oftraitor, traitor, traitor.

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