Page 52 of A Court of Hearts and Hunger
“Silly mouse,” he hisses. “Stop fighting me.”
I was quiet and subservient to the Rabbit—taking what I could get, learning from him. But something about the Cat brings out all the panicked resistance I’ve been keeping in check. They left me alone for too long, and I’m angry beyond submission. I’m an animal who has festered in a trap for days until it’s out of its mind.
I scream at Caer, bucking and writhing while he pins me to the wall with his body.
“Stop,” he says. “You’ll only hurt yourself.”
I shriek at him again, and he collars my throat with his hand. “Stop.”
A hiss escapes my teeth, a feral sound I’ve never made before.
Caer crowds against me, dominating me with his height, using the throat-grip to tip my face up to his. “Little lioness,” he whispers. “You’re so much more like us than he thinks you are.”
And then he kisses me.
I bite him. I bite right through his lower lip.
He gives a strangled cry of pain and squeezes my throat harder. My lungs and my brain tighten together, intensifying every sensation in my body—sensations I shouldn’t be having at this moment, no matter how pretty my captor’s face may be.
He’s looking down at me, his purple eyes bright with shock, pain, and lust. Our hectic breaths collide, heating the air between our mouths.
I move before he does—unthinking, unreasoned. I crush my mouth to his.
A guttural moan breaks from him, and his grip on my throat yields slightly. His other hand sinks to my bare bottom, grasping one of the cheeks. The possessive hold floods that area with delicious, tingling pleasure. And suddenly I understand sex—not just self-pleasure, but all of it. I want the hard column pressing through Caer’s trousers to beinsideme. I want it to fill up that aching, melting hollow between my legs. I need something there, desperately.
His hands are in my hair now, his claws grazing my scalp. His mouth is hot and full of teeth—there’s blood in our kisses, salty and slick.
He’s working his way down my neck, sealing my skin with his lips, over and over. My trembling fingers brush over my lips, and I stare at my fingertips, wet with his scarlet blood. Fae blood.
It’s the reminder I need, of where I am, what these creatures really are, and what they’ll do to me if given the chance.
Caer sinks to his knees, holding me around the waist, kissing one of my breasts. I reach to my right, finding a bookshelf. There’s a marble paperweight on top of a few books—I seize it, and I strike him on the temple.
“Fuck.” He tears the paperweight out of my hand and springs back. “You hit me again!”
He eyes me warily, his ears pinned back and his tail fluffed out slightly. He looks—ruffled. Like a startled farm cat.
The bruise on his temple is already fading. Even though I didn’t manage any lasting damage, I rattled his calm.
And I think maybe I hurt his feelings.
“Why did I think you’d be a good playmate?” he seethes. “I should chain you up in your cell.”
Now that I’ve tried and failed to escape, my panic is fading. If I can’t get away, playing games in the parlor with him is a better option than staying in my cell. It’s pointless to keep fighting someone with Fae strength, speed, and healing abilities.
But how do I mollify him and convince him that I won’t attack again?
When I was little, I was terrified of our farm cats. I longed to pet them, but they were savage things, hunters. Back then, my father did not find every excuse to be away from the farmhouse and our family; and he taught me how to blink slowly at a cautious or angry cat.
“Cats smile with their eyes,” he told me. “A direct stare is a challenge. So you have to show them you don’t want to fight.”
I meet Caer’s gaze again, and let my lashes dip slowly. A brief close of my eyes, and then another long, slow blink.
He stares at me. And then, after a second, his lashes lower, returning the blink.
The fur on his tail flattens again, and his ears shift forward.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him, breathless. “I had to try.”
