Page 45 of A Court of Hearts and Hunger
“Fuck, Clara. Anything could leap out of those trees—”
“The danger is what makes it worth doing. Or whatever you said.”
“My saucy little freak,” he whispers. His wings hum as he flies a little higher, until his crotch is level with my mouth. “Have a drink then, dearest.”
My panties are slippery, my insides sore with a tender need for him. I want to put him inside me, but this way is safer, faster. I can give him some relief, at least.
But I only get one of his buttons undone before three figures stagger out of the trees behind him. “Fin!” I cry.
He whirls instantly, planting himself between me and the Heartless.
There’s no doubting what they are, not with their chests cracked open, ribs bent outward as if someone pried them aside. In the blackened center of each chest cavity hovers a churning, pulsing ball of red fire—some foul magical replacement for the hearts their dark mistress stole. Their bodies are naked, streaked with gore and dirt; their eyes are bloodshot and crazed. They moan, each gaping mouth a forest of fangs. Claws as long as my forearm extend from their fingers.
“My god, Fin,” I breathe.
“Sorry, sugar, your treat will have to wait.” Smoothly he draws two long knives from his boots. I remember the first time I saw him use knives like those—when he sliced the head off the mole-rat.
My daggers are too short to protect me against those claws, so I slide my whip out of its bag and crack it sharply in the air. Pink flashes of magic sizzle along its length, and the Heartless hesitate, snarling.
“I’ll take the two on the left,” Fin says. “You take the one on the right.”
“We both know you could take them all yourself,” I say, moving to stand beside him. “Kind of you to leave one for me.”
“I aim to please.” Tucking his wings tightly against his back, he charges in, lopping off the clawed hand of one Heartless, spinning to strike the other one square in the jaw with his boot. Fangs crunch with the force of his kick.
I may not have Louisa’s aptitude for battle plans, but I recognize Fin’s strategy. He’s saving his magic, his spells, and his darts. This first battle is about testing our ability against this new enemy, preserving our best weapons for a time when the danger is much worse. Besides, Opal said these creatures had some resistance to magic. Who knows if Fin’s powers would even work on them?
Flicking my whip, I rotate my wrist so the lash coils around the arms of the Heartless who is reeling toward me. The magic of the whip works more slowly than usual. Instead of slicing through the limbs easily, the whip burns into the creature’s skin and flesh while it howls and writhes.
It’s pitiful, honestly. Beyond the straggling hair, the fangs, and the red-veined eyes, I glimpse who this Fae once was. But she’s already dead—no going back. Killing her is a mercy.
“They’re slow,” I call to Fin. “That’s a good thing.”
“Agreed.” He crosses his swords and slashes them outward, slicing off his second attacker’s head.
My whip finishes burning through the Heartless’s hands, and they tumble to the ground with a soft thump, claws twitching. I step in, drawing one of my knives, and finish the Heartless with a stab to the eye socket.
The eyeball squirts, splattering me.
I have just enough presence of mind to drive the blade all the way into the brain, then drag it out again. The Heartless crumples, the red light in its chest vanishing.
Then I turn aside, drop my weapons, and vomit into a bush.
“Oh precious.” Fin takes over holding my hair while I heave again. “I’m sorry.” He produces a pebble-sized bead between his fingers and crushes it, scenting the vomit-fumed air with sweet citrus.
“You’re very useful,” I gasp, drawing in a deep breath.
“I know.” He’s braiding my hair swiftly, and when he reaches the end he ties it with a conjured strip of ribbon. “There. Better for fighting.”
“I can do this, I promise. It’s been months since I had to fight anything, and I—” And I hate that he’s right after all. I’m going to slow him down. I don’t have the guts and the inner steel to handle the Unseelie kingdom.
“Clara.” He pulls me upright, takes my chin in his hand. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”
A grateful response hovers on my lips, but then I frown. “You’re bleeding.”
“What?” He glances at the back of his hand. “One of them scratched me. It’s nothing.”
“It’s not healing.” I catch his fingers in mine and examine the tiny cut.
