Page 85 of Tales of a Deadly Devotion
‘I don’t know why you think we’d be harbouring your pet,’ Gideon interjected, clearly not trusting Emrys to say a civilised word. However, his carefree tone didn’t hide the threatening hum of his aether.
The Countess shrugged, suddenly bored with our company as she slipped her hands back into her gloves, covering up that cursed ring. ‘He always did enjoy sniffing around dear Emmaline. Even her ghost, it appears. My patience wains. Pray you’re on the right side when it depletes.’
‘Your fighter needs treatment,’ Sigrid commented, eyes pinned to the Countess as if each of her movements was a threat.
Her fighter. The miroc in the ring who had relished in harming fey. Of course, the miroc was under the Countess’s control. Another puppet on a different string.
‘He’s outlived his usefulness. I have no time for failure.’ She straightened her gloves before she moved to the door. ‘Keep the scraps.’
Her men left behind her. Callen gave the barest pause, eyes sweeping over all of us before he exited, a tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there when they’d entered.
Only when the door closed did my magic settle inside me. Emrys was instantly at my side, his magic curling around me as if hating every inch of distance that had come between us.
‘I almost forgot how abhorrent she is,’ Lady Ramsey sighed, taking a deep drink from her glass of port.
‘You don’t fucking say,’ Gideon snapped. ‘You tell us next time you need help, Priscilla.’
‘I’m afraid it’ll be sooner than you like.’ She sagged heavily, fingers massaging her temples. ‘Take the Portium door back. The boy will show you the way.’
Sigrid moved to the door to summon the help we needed, as Emrys took my arm, eyes still dark as if unable to control his temper as he made to leave.
‘Emrys,’ Lady Ramsey called, hesitant and filled with sorrow, making him pause for a moment. ‘I’m sorry there wasn’t another way.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
Kat
The house – seeming to know the trouble we’d got tangled up in – decided to dump us in Emrys’s room, much to Gideon’s grunted annoyance. The smell of Lady Ramsey’s tobacco following us back.
‘Get yourself cleaned up before you give William a bloody fright,’ were Gideon’s parting words as he dumped Emrys’s coat on the desk and strode for the door, muttering something at the coin in his grasp.
I pulled my cloak off as Emrys perched on the edge of the bed. His head bowed in contemplation as his bloody knuckles rested on his knees. A shudder rolling through him with a flash of darkness across his skin before it settled again. As if it had taken everything in him to hold it in.
‘Here.’ I pulled my bag free of my belt and tipped the contents onto the bed next to him to find my healing kit. Thankfully, the house materialised a bowl of hot water and a pitcher. As well as a small pile of clean towels.
‘At least the house is being helpful.’ I wet and wrung the cloth quickly, moving around the bed so my skirt filled in the space between his spread knees. ‘It must have sensed your idiocy in going against a miroc.’
He tipped his head back so his troubled gaze could roamover my face as I worked on his knuckles. ‘Lady Ramsey enjoys harmless fun.’
The splits in the skin looked worse than they were. By the pale scarring beneath the wounds, Gideon was right. This clearly wasn’t Emrys’s first fight.
‘Harmless?’ I raised a brow as I reached around him for the milky healing tonic from my pack. ‘This is the best one I have.’
The last one I had, which meant I’d need to brew more. When the world stopped falling apart. Ignoring the dread of that thought, I pulled out a ball of cotton, soaking it quickly before pressing it against his split skin. The healing tonic stung but Emrys didn’t even flinch, despite how his magic shifted beneath his skin, as if in discomfort. I watched the angry cuts settle and stop bleeding before quickly swiping some thick balm over each one.
‘You left your side unguarded,’ I admonished quietly as I pushed the shirt from his shoulders, letting my fingers trail over the faint bruises beginning to bloom across his shoulder and his side, just below that strange crescent moon mark over his heart. My fingers moved to the scratch across his pectoral, wondering if it was from the miroc’s sharp horn as I pressed the cloth to it. How solid and warm he was beneath my hand.
I dragged the cloth downwards to wipe at some stray blood. Then over to where the Countess had touched him. Foolishly. Drawn by nothing but strange primal urges. As if my magic could sense her on his skin. Emrys caught my hand, stopping me. Probably a good idea considering I was apparently intent on scrubbing him raw.
‘Croinn?’ The bastard inclined his head. Almost teasing.
‘Don’t smile at me.’ I let the cloth drop. Flustered that I’d been caught. I snatched up my tin of balm, pushing back hishair to put some over the cut above his eye. ‘The Countess isn’t someone we need the attention of.’
‘She’s occupied with Montagor for the moment.’ He rolled his neck as if it ached. Good. He deserved the discomfort.
‘She seemed far more occupied withyou,’ I snipped, irritated by the fear coiling in my gut.
Once the cut above his brow was beginning to mend, I turned away from him. Needing something to do with my hands. To process all the things I didn’t understand.
