Page 24 of Bound to the Fae Assassin

He let her thumb open his jaw. Her big friend was as weak as a kitten now. She could hardly believe this was Jericho, with the wide shoulders and wider grin, who always spoke to her in a husky voice that made her think of a roaring fire in winter.

Slowly and carefully, she emptied the contents of the vial onto his tongue. There were only a few drops, but it was honey thick.

When she was finished, she closed his mouth, wondering if she would need to massage his throat to get him to swallow, like she had done for their old hound, Gertie, in her elderly days when she needed medicine.

But she saw his throat work on its own.

Then he began to cough.

Something emerged from the corner of his mouth, and she bit back a scream.

It crawled out, flapping translucent lavender wings. It was a butterfly, but tinier and more beautiful than any she had ever seen before.

It fluttered up and then landed on Jericho’s forehead, opened its wings, and went still.

More butterflies emerged from his open mouth, flitting around him in a breathtakingly beautiful cloud, then settling on every part of his flesh that was bared until her friend looked like he was nothing but a cloud of butterflies wearing a man’s clothing.

The first butterfly began to flap its delicate wings. Her eyes lit on it and she saw that it was no longer lavender. It was a dark gray and going darker.

She leaned in and realized what was happening.

The butterflies weren’t resting on Jericho, they were feeding on him.

“Nooo,” Farrow moaned, reaching out her arms to pull them off.

Blackthorn’s hands wrapped around her arms instantly, pulling her up and holding her with her back to his chest.

“You can see them,” he breathed into her ear from over her shoulder, as if he couldn’t believe it. “So, watch.”

Too overwhelmed to fight him, she did as she was told, finally understanding what was happening. They weren’t feeding on him. They were feeding on the poison.

As the tiny butterflies sucked the toxin from Jericho’s blood, they all turned gray and then black. It went on for a minute that felt like an hour, until the first butterfly exploded into ashes and disappeared.

One by one, the others followed suit until they were all gone, and only Jericho lay on the mattress.

The color was already back in his cheeks. He blinked and rubbed his face, then sat up.

“Jericho,” Farrow moaned, wresting herself from Blackthorn’s grip to kneel on the mattress beside her friend.

“I thought I was dying,” Jericho said softly, breaking her heart.

“I’m so sorry,” she told him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I will never experiment again. You don’t have to be my guinea pig.”

“I like being your guinea pig,” he chuckled.

She pulled back to see that he was grinning at her with an almost shy expression. Gods, she had wrapped her arms around him like they were children again.

She stood up quickly and adjusted her skirts.

“I’m very glad you’re feeling better,” she told him.

“Me too,” he said. “Where did you find the antidote?”

The truth slammed down on her and she was rendered speechless for a moment.

Magic was not allowed in Fairweather. And that antidote was obviously magical.

Even if the others hadn’t been able to see the butterflies, surely they would have to realize what she had done. The antidote had worked too quickly, too effectively to have been mortal-made.

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