Page 56 of A Court of Sugar and Spice
He laughs, low and menacing. “Maybe I’ve been waiting for just such an opportunity. A little feral play, and then—I take you, torment you, maybe even end you. We only need your sister, after all. Her blood can sustain my cousin. You are the spare. The mouse between the paws of the cat.”
His fingers flutter lower, over my heart. He hums with predatory satisfaction when he feels how fast it’s beating.
“Maybe I won’t listen to your special word after all.” He lowers his face to the curve of my neck. “No, I don’t think I will. I think I’ll do whatever I like with you. Skin you with my kisses, lacerate you with my tongue, cleave you with my teeth.”
I feel the ripple of urgency that undulates through his body, as if he’s barely holding himself back. That primal shudder, more than anything else, terrifies me. A flood of goosebumps rises on my skin.
“By the gods of old, I can smell every bit of you,” he groans, his tongue lashing between his sharp teeth. “You would taste so good. Do you know why the Unseelie consume flesh and blood, little one? Because it gives them more power, yes. But not only that. They do it because it tastes delicious. It yields such exquisite sensations. Practically... orgasmic.” He tilts back his head, gazing at me out of the corner of one yellow eye. “Want to know how I know that?”
Horror vibrates in my bones, and I shake my head.
“You’ll find out soon enough, sweetness.” His voice is nearly a snarl now. “I think you should start running. Because when I catch you, I’m going to claw away everything that hides you from me, and I’m going to fuck every hole you have until you scream for mercy. And I won’t grant the relief you crave. I will sink my teeth into your sweet pussy and drink you, devour you. I will savage those pretty breasts and thrust my cock down your throat until you choke. So run, little sweetmeat. Run.”
He reaches for me, claws out, a snarl on his lips, and I jump back, my heart pounding from the sight of him, his yellow eyes and lolling tongue. I remember him throwing a sharpened peppermint stick through the jelly of the rat-bear’s eye.
He could do anything to me. Anything. And I wouldn’t be able to stop him. My safe word might be useless—I’m not sure if he was serious about that part or not.
“I’ll count to a hundred,” he says through his fangs. “If you can elude me for an hour, I’ll spare you. Otherwise—you’re mine to do with as I please. Mine to tear, to fuck—or to kill.”
My pulse is pounding through my skull, my heart thudding heavily in my chest. My mouth is dry, my limbs galvanized with an exhilarated panic.
He won’t kill me. He’s been sweet to me, he appreciates my talent—
But the other things he threatened—I’m not sure how far he’ll go.
His wings shudder behind him as he lowers his head, then tilts it sharply, an unnaturally quick movement. “One.”
I inhale.
“Two.”
With a soft squeal I leap away, racing into the undergrowth.
“Three.” The word leaves his throat as an exultant groan of anticipation.
Like a rabbit with the hounds on her tail, I run, leaping over logs and roots and rocks, dodging branches, ducking around patches of thorns.
He can smell me. And with my scent uncloaked, there are other things in this realm that can smell me, too, that will want to rape me and devour me. He’s taking a risk, letting me run like this. What if somethingelsefinds me first?
A thorny vine rakes my arm, tearing the skin. Warm blood drips as I keep running. The blood will make it easier for him to track me, so I clamp my hand over the spot, scrunching the sleeve of my tunic together and pressing it to the cut.
I skid down a pebbled embankment and struggle up the other side, cut through a quiet glade powdered with snow, fight my way through a tangle of interwoven black branches.
When I break out of that thicket, I hear him. A quiet, derisive laugh slithering through the dark silence of the forest.
Abandoning all thought, I flee. I thought I was running fast before—this is a speed I didn’t know I was capable of.
But he is Fae. A warrior, a tracker, a wielder of powerful magic. There is no escaping him.
“Clara.” A disembodied whisper at my ear. Then again, “Clara,” this time to my right.
I jump ahead, spurred by terror.
I can’t see him anywhere.
The cold air pierces my weary lungs, and each rapid breath shears through my lungs like a blade. Tears of cold and suspense ooze from the corners of my eyes, tracking hot lines down my chilled cheeks.
He appears ahead of me, dark and lean and dominant, with those bright yellow eyes. I scream and swerve, angling to the right. He veers to follow, running beside me now, his wings pinned back, his claws extended. I scream again and dart away. He hisses, leaps after me, and rakes my arm with his black nails.
