“What do you want from me? I can provide anything.” I whine, not beneath begging anymore. I need him to stop criticising me.
“I have everything I want right here,” he says and flicks my nose. How dare he even have the audacity to touch me?!
I take a deep breath. He will be the death of me. I will detonate us all, as Jestin unhelpfully suggested, if Aidon won’t stop irritating me.
“I have no part in your weak self-control,” he berates me, crossing his arms.
“I need to apologise to the owner,” I say, measuring the wall.
“Spare her, she is horrified enough. I will go.” Aidon disappears in the shop. I wait for him outside. After a few heartbeats, he leaves with plenty of bags and a grinning female waving him goodbye. Fucking silver tongue male, but only for others.
“Are you planning on tagging along forever?” I ask, taking a look inside the bag. Donuts, oh my, my.
“We will see after your moon cycle.” He smiles, and I jerk my head back, losing my footing and finally getting the full grip of my situation.
I mercifully have forgotten that part. He needs blood for his skills, and the most appetising is the one from the moon cycle. The freshest, or something. Additionally, the more powerful the blood, the more powerful his abilities become.
With blood like mine, he will be invincible. He will never break the deal. He won’t find a better one.
I flinch, thinking my Gram rolls in her grave at the insult. I don’t think anyone from our family has ever been tricked into a deal, and definitely not a blood deal. I am an embarrassment to my kin.
What a pathetic joke. How could I end up like that?
“My Lady…” Aidon bows mockingly, flashing the most arrogant smile. “…don’t be so hard on yourself. You’ve done far more embarrassing things than bonding a mutt.” His scarlet eyes burn with such contempt that it feels as though it could take physical form.
“Could you at least stay away from my thoughts?” I plead, folding my arms.
“And get back to paying for theatre? I’d rather not.” He smiles, tilting his head to the side, like the animal he is. His perfectly pointed ears stand at attention, probably hearing something from a distance.
“We have company,” he says before handing me the bags of donuts, then shifting and hanging around my neck as an Onyx Viper.
“At least I look cool.” I sigh and I wait for said company to arrive. Momentarily, a Navatian messenger approaches me. The female has a freckled face, blonde waves and lots of earrings.
“My Lady.” She bows and hands me a letter.
I smile and slip a coin into her hand for the service. Her neck flushes red and she pulls away.
My Gram always said to treat folks with respect. They are the easiest way for an assassin to get close. Loyal service is the first line of defence. Not your guards, not the army, and not Dragthralls.
Ouch! The freaking viper bit my neck.
“What the fuck are you doing? Have you poisoned me?” I hiss.
Relax,he sasses mentally.No venom. You sounded like a pretentious prick. I wanted to interrupt it before your inflated ego burst.
I toss him angrily from my neck, but he doesn’t hit the ground as I expect. In an instant, a majestic desert tiger materialises before me — a ghostly predator with molten-gold fur and dark brown stripes, baring its massive teeth.
“We are even now.” I smile, not at all afraid of his size.
The cat tilts his head left, looking amused.
I look at the Sun, which is inexorably approaching its resting place. I think there are still a few hours to kill. I groan at the phrase I’ve just used.
Some proposed we adapt to the humans’ clock system with their strange names, but why the hell should we put more restrictions on ourselves? Dawn, morning, late afternoon, midnight - that’s enough. Why would we need to split time into small segments? Hours, the humans call them. Twenty-five hours, or twenty-four. I don’t remember.
I love lazy mornings and long nights. I know if it’s still today or not by the movement of the Sun. I suppose those creatures are so afraid their flesh is rotting that they stop living.
But still, some Fae want to be innovative and the terms start to creep into our lands. Progress, they call it.
