Page 24 of A City of Emeralds and Envy
He runs both hands up my arms, through the shredded fabric of my sleeves, until he’s cupping my shoulders. His body grinds more firmly against mine as he leans in, his rough breath against my ear. “Understand that I can and will do anything I want to you—any form of torture I desire, short of killing you,” he murmurs. “I will peel transparent slices of skin from this lovely body and snap these clever little fingers, bone by bone. I will fuck you hard and leave you bruised, bare, and sated for your friends to find. I will incinerate them without warning, if it suits me. They exist for my pleasure, and so do you.”
He leans back a little, creating a sliver of space between our upper bodies. When he looks down at the ragged bodice of my gingham dress, I follow his gaze.
His fingers leave my right shoulder and skate along my collarbone before moving lower, teasing the fabric that barely covers my chest. I watch, hardly breathing, as he drags it down with a single claw, until one brown breast is exposed, its dark nipple tight and peaked in the valley of air between us.
My body thrills, my pulse thumping fast and hot.
The Witch dips his dark head to my breast and takes the pointed nipple between his teeth. Tiny pricks of pain burst from the spot as he bites me, lightly, and a corresponding throb of arousal pulses through my pussy.
With a low, rough sound of urgency, he rakes my dress down off both shoulders, until my other nipple pops free, and he bites that one too. He takes more of that breast into his mouth, while I hang there, helpless to the molten delight pooling between my legs.
After a moment he lets me slide down the tree where he pinned me, until my feet touch ground again. Roughly he cups my chin, jerking my face up. “Your eyes are different colors. Even among the Fae, that is rare.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.” He bends low, until his breath skims across my lips. “I’m going to fuck you, Kin-Slayer.”
“No,” I whisper, writhing.
“Oh yes,” he croons, nuzzling along my cheek. “And I’m going to come inside you.” He licks the wound on my forehead again. “I’ve always found sex with a human to be more satisfying, and you’re only part Fae, which is close enough.” He ducks down to pull one of my nipples into his mouth again. “These are so biteable.”
I almost moan, because the tugging, pinching suction of his mouth is sending tiny spears of pleasure right through my clit—but a distant shout catches my ear. Alice is calling my name.
Immediately the Witch spins me around and holds me with my back against his chest, clamping a hand over my mouth. “My fun will have to wait,” he murmurs in my ear. “Keep that pussy wet for me. I’ll be back to claim it. And be careful in the forest. There’s a monster in these parts who is too dangerous even for me. He is sensitive to sound and movement, so if you encounter him, be very still and silent until he goes away.”
With that, he vanishes, leaving me panting and half-naked, with only a wisp of green smoke to prove he was ever there at all.
10
Dorothy emerges from a thicket, tugging at her torn dress. A blush darkens her brown cheeks, and her eyes are liquid and bright. Maybe she’s ashamed that she got scared and ran so far ahead.
“Are you all right?” I ask.
She nods. She’s bleeding in a few places. So am I, and so is the golden-haired Scarecrow.
When she dropped the basket of food the villagers packed for us, I picked it up. It hangs on my arm now, tugging at one of my wounds. If we’re lucky, maybe the villagers put some healing supplies in there, too.
“Let’s sit,” I suggest. The azure grass is thick and pliant, almost pillowy as I sink down into it. Fiero turns around a few times, making himself a little nest before settling in.
Dorothy sits carefully down next to her dog, keeping her thighs pressed together. She looks stunned.
“You saved us,” I tell her. “Thank you.”
“I wasn’t the only one,” she says.
“The green witch,” Riordan says, still holding the Scarecrow. “Why would he help us?”
“Because he wants to kill me himself when the seven days are over.” Dorothy swallows, looks away, and begins plucking the heads off small white flowers.
“By then we’ll have reached the Wizard and wished ourselves off this isle,” I assure her. “He won’t be able to touch you.”
She shoots me a look I can’t interpret, the flush on her cheeks deepening.
Riordan bends stiffly and lets the Scarecrow roll out of his arms. The blond Fae tumbles into the deep grass, where he lies motionless, looking for all the world like a pretty, broken angel I might see in a painting at the village chapel back home. Not that we ever visited there much. And those angels wouldn’t have sported such fascinatingly dreadful tattoos.
“Would you care to tell us your name?” I ask him.
He laughs a little, faintly. “You saved me. Of course I’ll tell you my name, gladly. It’s Jasper.” He gazes up at Riordan’s armored form with admiration, then turns worshipful eyes to me. “What can I do to repay you?”
