Page 20 of The Stones for It
He might be the Psycho King, but even he wasn’t that insane. Usually.
The mortal huffed, and her shoulders slumped. “Why do you assume it was my fault?”
It sounded more petulant than angry, and something uncomfortable knotted in my gut.
My eyes narrowed on the alluring female. “Because it’s not my first time dealing with mortals.”
She snorted. “Yes, and we’re all war-mongering arseholes, right?”
I scoffed. “Well, you did start a war with my kind when we were merely seeking help.”
“Oh yes, and kidnapping us is such a great way to go about asking.”
I snarled, fangs bared as too many blood-soaked images slammed into my mind in quick succession. Fae of all kinds falling under the hail of bullets. Limbs ripped apart as explosions shook our camps. Too-still bodies of my own warriors who’d manned the front lines, fear and pain forever etched into their features.
“Nobody was kidnapped before you filthy cowards opened fire on us within days of crossing the portals. We came in peace!”
“And killed thousands!” she shouted back, hands curled into tiny fists at her side.
Firelight gave her eyes a vicious gleam, like they were as fiery as mine.
My chest heaved as I fought not to keep snarling at the irritating little thing. Instead, I wrenched my gaze back across the river.
“I don’t know about the jackalopes and stags… but Neiron killed the Bouda King after he tried to lay his grubby little paws on me.”
Another low growl ripped free before I could stop it. The thought of anyone else touching her had my spikes flexing along my spine, my claws aching to sink into flesh.
“Yeah, I get it. It’s my fault.” She stabbed me with a venomous sneer. “We’re going back for him. Right fucking now.”
Chapter nine
Kelsea
The gargoyle huffed at me like I was some blabbering lass. “Of course we’re going back for Neiron, but I’m not fireproof, and neither are you.”
I flicked my messy waves over a shoulder and bared my teeth in a fake smile. “So you’re not literally made of stone, you just have the personality of one?”
“Bratty mortals get punished, remember?” he growled. “Or I can find another way to keep that smart mouth occupied.”
Do. Not. Think. About. His. Monster. Meat.
An unexpected heat warmed my cheeks at the inappropriate images he conjured in my apparently filthy mind.
A sinfully deep chuckle rumbled through him loud enough to rustle his leathery wings. “Oh, my silly little mortal, you’ll have to open much wider than that.”
I shut my mouth with a resounding click.
My blade found its way into my hand. “Try it, pally. You won’t be the first puffed-up fae I’ve poked in this forest.”
That arrogant sneer of his returned. “Classic human, you think all your problems can be solved with violence.”
“Classic fae, you think you’re so superior, big dick swinging.”
A muscle ticked along his square jaw, and a small thrill of victory tried to pierce my worry over Neiron. The bastard gargoyle was far too calm about his friend possibly dying at the hands of vicious shifter fae.
A part of me craved to see him as out of control as I felt.
“Do you want to keep being a brat or do you want to rescue your mate?” he asked, flexing his spiked wings.
