Page 45 of Trials of Dusk and Dreams
I scoff. “A Cait Sith doing something for nothing?”
“You’re not the only one who was changed by Oberon’s rule.” Her eyes darken, pupils narrowing to slits. “Continue to judge me for my actions back then and I will do the same to you.”
Did we know her before?
Displeasure flattens Legion’s lips, but he answers, “Noted.”
At my frown, Cait points at me with her thumb and asks Legion, “Is it true, then? He remembers nothing about your canary? None of them do?”
What?
He flicks a concerned look my way before returning to her. “Fox told you?”
“He had no one else to talk to,” she replied. “Despite what you think you remember about me, it’s wrong. And as I mentioned to Willow, my offer to talk stands.”
His reply is lost to the sudden roaring in my ears. A wave of heat engulfs me. My vision wavers as yellow, bloody feathers flash across my mind. I sway on my feet and grip the bar to keep my balance.
“Bodin?” Willow touches my burning forearm, and I flinch.
She tries to hide her hurt at my reaction by looking away, but I see it lurking in her posture. I can’t seem to do anything right today. I try to breathe through the unsettled feeling but the air in here is stifling. Who the fuck needs it to be this warm, and where the fuck are we that I hear the ocean?
I tug at my collar, but the laces are already untied and loose. If I remove any more layers, I’ll look as reprobate as Styx. Fuck.
Legion tells Willow, “I noticed a fresh tray of food head outside a moment ago.”
Her golden eyes widen. “Iamkind of hungry.”
“I’ll take her,” I growl through a clenched jaw. Anything to get out of this place. Even the noises seem amplified. Bottles clank, laughter shrieks, and drumming music vibrates my bones.I push off the counter and check Legion is comfortable with the Sith.
“I will be out shortly,” he explains. “See to her needs.”
“Naturally.” The response rolls off my tongue in a familiar way. Legion gives me an odd look but then a firm nod. I tail Willow into the balmy night air. Outside, she takes one whiff, grabs my hand, and tugs me as she hunts her meal. With my head still swimming, I allow her to guide me around haphazardly placed lounge settees cordoned off with flowing banners and torches.
The air is stifling, yet her warm touch is not. I find myself tightening my grip and focusing on that connection to drown out the horrible, unnamed emotions still churning within me.
Those occupying the settees range from misbehaving Radiants to desperate mortals, drunkards, and those conducting shady business that likely goes against Old Code mandates. Some eat luscious foods; others drink elixirs and concoctions like they’re water.
I never understood the appeal of such sustenance. The taste is bland in my mouth. I’ll eat if I must or if I forget my true diet, but it is somewhat lackluster. Still, it fascinates me. I hate not knowing why it is so delicious that these people will eat or drink until they burst or cannot walk straight. The music grows louder as we approach dancing and musicians on a raised grassy dais decorated with wild botanicals.
Willow catches the waiter just before he heads into the throng. She taps him on the shoulder. The slim, sparsely dressed male with gold glitter around his eyes swings around to face us, his tray held high. When he looks up at my face, he almost loses balance, but I steady the tray with my free hand and say, “My Shadow would like your sustenance.”
“Shadow?” he squeaks.
“Hi.” Willow waves. “That’s me. Do you mind if I grab a few?”
The waiter blushes at her, his cheeks turning a deep crimson. “Oh. Yes. Um, here.”
His assortment of food seems to be a mix of bite-sized meat and juicy little balls of fruit. Willow plops a meaty morsel into her mouth and then collects as many as she can in one hand while the other still holds mine. Helpless desperation crosses her expression as she glances between her full hand and the plentiful tray.
“Give it to me.” I relieve the waiter of his tray. “Bring a drink for her to wash this down.”
He’s more than happy to scurry away, nearly tripping over his feet in haste.
“Sorry,” Willow mumbles through a mouth full. “I’m hungrier than I thought. I’ll be quick, I promise.”
With us caught between the sprawled settees and raucous dancing throng, she attempts to swallow as much as possible. Every time she licks her lips, she leaves sparkles granted by the nearby torchlight. But she shovels more food into her mouth . . . while still holding my hand.
I raise the tray out of her reach. Her scowl of defiance is a direct line to my cock, and it baffles me. Something primal in that gaze calls to my slumbering, like-minded instincts. They unfurl and take notice. They want more. They want to hunt—just as they did at the end of our sparring session. When I next speak, my voice is hoarse. Tight.
