Page 33 of A Court of Hearts and Hunger
“Can you protect me from your friend? He wants to take me apart—harvest me for his magic.”
“I can promise to do my best,” the Cat responds. “He’s stronger than I am, but I will try to persuade him, and failing that, I will fight him for you. It’s been too long… since he and I had… a good fight…” His voice trails off, and his eyes roll up slightly.
“Don’t pass out!” I say sharply, and he jerks a little, his eyes refocusing again as I add, “Tell me how to fix you.”
With him half-crawling and me half-dragging his body, we manage to reach a large room, rather like a pantry, full of wooden boxes, ceramic jars, and glass bottles.
I drop the Cat, and he lies tumbled and broken in that spot, blood leaking slowly from his body. There’s a huge smear of his blood along the stone floor of the hallway.
I pluck my damp chemise away from my sweaty chest. “The oath first, and then I’ll help you.”
“How very Unseelie of you.” He gives me the ghost of a grin. “Kiss me then.”
Wincing, I kneel beside him and slide one hand beneath his head, lifting it. Where it isn’t matted with blood, his hair is silky-soft.
When I hesitate, he blinks at me. “I’m dying, mousie.”
“I know, but I—I haven’t kissed a man before.”
He groans. “Fuck, I wish I could do it properly. Make you squirm. Loosen that tight little virgin pussy of yours, soak it with desire for me—”
I kiss him just to silence him.
His wide mouth tastes salty with blood, but there’s no coppery, metallic tang to it. Instead there’s a dark, dreadful sweetness, like the swirl of some deviant poison. His mouth opens wider and my tongue slips into it—into him. His sharp teeth close briefly, trapping me, puncturing the flesh of my tongue, releasing a bit of my blood. I’m about to protest when I remember what he said about the sealing of the oath.
For a brief, wet, heated moment, his tongue sweeps thrillingly through my mouth.
Then he starts to cough again, so I pull back.
“I swear to honor this life debt,” he says hoarsely. “To do you no harm myself, and to defend you if anyone attempts it.”
“Good.” I rise from my knees, feeling rather flushed and unsettled. “What do you need?”
“Slaintwort,” the Cat mumbles, so low I can barely hear him. “Get the ladder. It’s on the top shelf, there. By the god-stars, this fucking hurts—ahh—”
“What else?” I ask, while I scoot the rolling ladder to the spot he indicated.
He names a couple of other ingredients, and at his direction I mix them together in a glass of strong-smelling liquid, repeating the names and amounts three times in my head.
I eye the dark, lumpy mess doubtfully. “Is that all?”
But the Cat doesn’t answer. His long tail lies inert on the floor, and his chest barely rises with a single shallow breath.
He’s heartbreakingly beautiful like this—beautiful and grotesque, with his lithe body drenched in blood, his pretty face tipped up, lips parted, dark lashes sealing his strange, lovely eyes.
I hurry to his side and lift his head again. His mouth opens wider—in fact, the startling width of that mouth and the sheer number of sharp teeth inside send a pulse of horror through my soul. I have never seen anything so enticing and frightening as the two residents of this house.
Steeling myself, I tip the contents of the glass into his mouth, pouring slowly until his throat bobs. I keep pouring until he has swallowed it all.
The effect is nearly immediate. The wounds across his face begin to close; it’s fascinating to watch the edges of the torn flesh knitting back together. I sit beside him, gazing curiously, wondering what makes Fae physiology so different from that of mortals.
Something soft brushes against my bare leg, curling around it. When I look down, the Cat’s long tail has looped itself twice around my calf.
I don’t brush it away. And when I look at his face again, his ears are twitching, and his lashes blink apart.
He gives me a slow, wide grin. “At your service, mousie.”
A low thrill snakes through my belly. “Some good your service will do me if I can’t get back to my world.”
