Page 24 of Rogue's Possession (Covenant of Thorns 2)

“Iwill decide what is and is not a big deal, Gwynn.” He nearly hissed it and I took a step back. The black lines on his face seemed to snake, in the way they did that prefaced the Black Dog asserting itself. That slice of white inside my heart responded, a chill breath of foreboding.

Around us the war camp was dancing with carnival life, full of music and hilarity. A hand-to-foot wheel of lilac pages rolled past, chanting some incomprehensible tune. A miniature unicorn with what seemed to be a pair of pink panties in his teeth trotted by, muttering to itself about fairy sluts. I took a breath, released it and sought that calm place of control.

Rogue visibly did the same. “Falcon keeps no healer in camp?”

“No. He thinks it breaks the whole dying gloriously and painfully theme.”

Rogue nodded, curt, his thoughts too wrapped up in whatever was eating at him to be amused at me. Then raised his hand and opened his palm, the lily earrings as lush and perfect as before. “Youwillwear these. And in return, you will allow me to do what I can to heal your wounds tonight.”

Arguing with him in this mood would be clearly futile, but I still balked. “That sounds an awful lot like you giving me two things.”

“It’s not.” He bit it out. “You will allow me this reparation. You owe me that much.”

“Fine, fine.” I held up my palms in a no-foul gesture. “I accept these earrings and, in even exchange, I’ll let you heal these bruises and scratches.

I snatched the earrings from his palm and suddenly remembered that the fae healer had closed up my pierced ears when she fixed up everything else following the infamous throat-rending incident. A little unnecessary surgery that had likely added months on to the time I owed Falcon. The ends of the earrings, which would have hooks in my world, had instead little fibrous hairs that waved slightly, as if reaching for something.

“Hold them against your earlobe. It will attach.”

Creepy. But in for a penny, in for tentacles on my earlobes. The sensation was odd but kind of pleasant. They did smell of Stargazers, sweet with spice.

“There—happy?”

Rogue’s eyes glittered, the centers cobra-black. “No. Far from it. But taking a bite out of Falcon shall go a long way. Shall we?”

He presented his arm and I slid my hand through it, grasping his lean forearm through the black leather. Larch popped out from wherever he’d been lurking and began to precede us through the camp, demanding in his surprisingly booming voice that all make way for the High Lord Rogue and his lady, the sorceress Gwynn.

“Now I’myourlady?” I muttered.

“Don’t be difficult, Gwynn. I’m not in the mood.”

“All the better to sic you on Falcon, I say.”

His lips twitched and I knew he suppressed a smile this time. “Hush. Look dignified.”

I rolled my eyes but decided against baiting him further. Instead, I mentally rewound our conversation, parsing it for clues. I knew the Black Dog progressively escaped his control, so I suspected his anger stemmed from that. He’d also counted on the fact that the Dog, for whatever reason, seemed to have a fondness for me and so wouldn’t, oh say, crush my skull with his jaws as I’d seen him do to others.

The thing about him having proof of our relationship on me, though, that was troubling. Especially with Larch announcing us as if we were a married couple. Not that I was hoping to date around or anything, but I really wondered what the undoubtedly complex rules were here about that sort of thing.

“Do you ever stop thinking?”

I sent Rogue a sunny smile. “Nope. Not so much. You’ll want a different girl for that.”

“You say that as if I have a choice in the matter.”

“That’s me—the old ball and chain.” Still, the remark stung and I felt stupidly hurt—a response I took care to bury very deep. After all, I wasn’t thrilled either about the metaphysical forces that tied us to each other. His life, and blue balls, would likely be far better off with one of those countless noble fae girls Starling mentioned.

Not that I was feeling sorry for myself or anything.

We climbed the rise toward Falcon’s tent-complex. His people always seemed to find a high point for him to lord over the camp. Not easy here in these lowlands by the ocean. The tent sides were all tied back to the poles, creating a kind of open-air pavilion feel. Falcon sat on what amounted to a throne, built up high so he could glower down from it, yellow eyes bright, even from a distance.

He was another with a face-pattern, though on the right side of his face, and nowhere nearly as complex as Rogue’s. I’d also never seen it seem to come alive and visibly grow as Rogue’s did. But he had once shapeshifted into a falcon in front of me. Involuntarily, to all appearances, but he didn’t seem as driven by his demons as Rogue did.

Or as I might be.

I shivered and Rogue glanced down at me, a warning in his eyes. Right. Dignified.

Larch led us up to the foot of Falcon’s chair and stepped aside. Falcon glared at Rogue from above his harshly hooked nose, thick fingernails digging into the wooden arms.

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